THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

VOL. II. JULY, 1835. No. 7.

CONTENTS.

Page

I. MIND IN CONNEXION WITH NATURAL THEOLOGY — REVELA-
TION AND REASON 1

II. CRITICAL NOTICES OF THE LESS KNOWN ENGLISH POETS. —
No. I. THE EARL OF SURREY, SIR THOMAS WYAT, AND SIR

JOHN DAVIES 14

III. IMPROVERS AND IMPROVEMENTS : AN IRISH SKETCH ... 22

IV. SKETCHES OF THE HISTORY AND TRADITIONS OF THE STREETS

OF LONDON. — No. II. . 27

V. EXPERIENCES OF A SURGEON. — No. V. THE STUDENT IN

LONDON — LODGING-HUNTING, &c 32

VI. To THE PALO DI VACA, THE Cow OR MOTHER TREE .... 38

VII. KUYP VAN KAARTEN, OR THE GNOME VALLEY 39

VIII. PARISIAN SKETCHES. — No. I. CEMETERY OF MONTMARTRE . 45

IX. THE SEVENTH DAY. — PARAPHRASE FROM MILTON .... 48

X. THE LAKES OF SCOTLAND ibid.

XL THE PHYSIOGNOMY OF COATS 56

XII. SONNETS. BY SIR EGERTON BRYDGES . 59

XIII. THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE AND HIS PRINCESS ... 61

XIV. LELIA. BY P. GASKELL, ESQ. CANTO II 67

XV. WILLIAM COBBETT 71

[ Turn over.

LONDON :

PUBLISHED BY JAMES COCHRANE AND CO,
11, WATERLOO PLACE, PALL MALL.

PRESENTED

. ft DEC 1M9

CONTENTS. — (CONTINUED.)

XVI. MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. — Latrobe's Rambler in
North America— Works of Cowper, by the Rev. T. S. Grim-
shawe, M.A., vol. 4. — Poetical Works of Milton, by Sir
Egerton Brydges, vol. 1.— Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopaedia, vol.
67 : Dunham's History of the Germanic Empire, vol. 2. — Life
of Edmund Kean — The Enthusiast — Harold de Burun; a
Semi-Dramatic Poem, by H. A. Driver — Mrs. London's
Philanthropic Economy — Matthews's Hydraulia ; an Account
of the Water-works of London — Hughes's Continuation of
the History of England, vol. 3. — The Works of Pope, by
Dr. Croly, vol. 3. — Pringle's Residence in South Africa —
The National Church Vindicated — Colton's Modern Antiquity,
and other Poems — Bosworth Field — Voice from the Dormitory
— The Poetical Works of Samuel Rogers, Esq., Part 4. —
Boothroyd's Bible, Part 1.— Mrs. Hofland's Fortitude-
Know les's Dictionary, Part 6. — Mrs. Butler's Journal —
How to Observe: Geology. By H. T. De La Beche.—
Ainslie's Ernest Campbell 75

XVII. FINE ARTS.— Stanfield's Coast Scenery, Parti.— T. Roscoe's
North Wales Illustrated, Part 3. — Byron Beauties, Part 7.
— Winkles' Cathedrals, No. 6.— Illustrations of Moore's
Irish Melodies, Part 1.— Cottage Musicians 94

XVIII. LITERARY NOTICES 96

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

VOL. II. JULY, 1835. No. 7.

MIND IN CONNEXION WITH NATURAL THEOLOGY—
REVELATION AND REASON.*

" The proper limits of knowledge are, — first, that we do not so place our
felicity in knowledge as to forget our mortality : secondly, that we make
application of our knowledge to give ourselves repose and contentment,
not distaste and repining : thirdly, that we do not presume by the con-
templation of Nature, to attain to the mysteries of God. * * * And
for the third point, it deserveth to be a little stood upon, and not to be
lightly passed over: for if any man shall think, by view and inquiry into
these sensible and material things, to attain that light whereby he may
reveal unto himself the nature or will of God, then, indeed, is lie spoiled
by vain philosophy." — BACON.

THERE is an expression recorded by Cicero, as having been made
by Simonides to Hiero, when tbe latter had inquired, " What is
God ? " — " That it was impossible to say ; because the longer he con-
sidered the subject, the more obscure did it become." This is a
question which every man living has perhaps asked himself, and the
answer has probably been something of the same nature as that of
Simonides. The wit and wisdom of man, indeed, utterly fail him,
when he endeavours to raise up a personality of Omnipotence ; and in
the language of Job, " We darken counsel by words without know-
ledge." If we thus know nothing of what God is, beyond what
Revelation has told us, we nevertheless know that there is a
Crod, by the mysterious workings of power and goodness; the action
of which is seen, turn which way we will, whether to investigate
ourselves, or the external world in which we " live, move, and have

* " A Discourse on Natural Theology," &c. ; being Vol. I. of "Pa-
ley's Natural Theology Illustrated." By HENRY LORD BROUGHAM. —
Charles Knight, London.

. M.M.— No. ?: A

2 REVELATION AND REASON.

our being." This belief of the existence of Deity is co-extensive
with the human race, and it is a belief totally independent of rea-
soning or of observation.

It was remarked by an acute French writer, " that a peasant is
as well acquainted with himself, with the world, and with God, as
Leibnitz, and with the relations of these to each other ; but he has
not the secret and complete explanation of his knowledge : he feels
its possession, but he knows not how to account for it." This com-
mon acquaintance, this unexplained knowledge, gave birth to phi-
losophy, which clothed the hitherto half-formed ideas in the shape
of science, and, by a course of inductive reasoning, led man from
nature to " Nature's God." This is Natural Theology.

It is however singular, that in the pursuit of this noble study, the
very highest branch of it has been in a great measure left un-
touched ; and it is here that Lord Brougham has stepped in, and
ranked himself beside Locke, Bacon, and Hume. " The evidences
of design (to demonstrate the existence of an intelligent Creator) are
not merely those which the material world affords : the intellectual
system is equally fruitful in proofs of an intelligent cause, although
these have occupied little of the philosopher's attention, and may
indeed be said never to have found a place among the speculations of
Natural Theology." Paley's work, in this respect, is utterly de-
ficient, nor can we wonder that it is so, since his mind was absolutely
unfitted for psychological inquiries. His predecessor, Derham,
from whose labours Paley composed his * Natural Theology, 'merely
popularising materials, and adapting facts to the improved state of
science, is nearly as silent; and from what we can gather from Ray's
celebrated ' Wonders of Creation/ it may be doubted whether or
not he classed the human soul as a portion of the created system.

" At first sight," says his Lordship, " it may be deemed that
there is an essential difference between the evidence from mental
and from physical phenomena. It may be thought that mind is of a
nature more removed beyond our power than matter ; that over th$
masses of matter man can himself exercise some control ; that to a
certain degree he has a plastic power, that into some forms he can
mould them, and can combine them into certain machinery; that he
can begin and can continue motion, and can produce a mechanism
by which it maybe begun, and maintained, and regulated; while
mind, it may be supposed, is totally beyond his reach : over it he

REVELATION AND REASON. 3

has no grasp : its existence alone is known to him, and the laws by
which it is regulated : and thus it may be said the Great First
Cause, which alone can call both matter and mind into existence,
has alone the power of modulating intellectual nature. But when
the subject is well considered, this difference between the two
branches of science disappears with all the rest. It is admitted of
course, that we can no more create matter than we can mind ; and
we can influence mind in a way altogether analogous to our power
of modulating matter. By means of the properties of matter, we can
form instruments, machines, and figures ; so, by availing ourselves
of the properties of mind, we can affect the intellectual faculties,
exercising them, training them, improving them, producing, as it
were, new forms of the understanding. Nor is there a greater dif-
ference between the mass of rude iron from which we make steel,
and the thousands of watch-springs into which that steel is cut, or
the chronometer which we form of this and other masses equally
inert, than there is between the untutored, indocile faculties of a
rustic, who has grown up to manhood without education, and the
skill of the artist who invented that chronometer, and of the ma-
thematician who uses it, to trace the motions of the heavenly bodies."

In thus comparing the plasticity of mind and matter, we question
how far his Lordship has aided his specific argument ; we have
quoted it here, because it would have been more logical in the noble
author to have adduced it in the earlier part of his work. Reverting
to page 56, it is said : —

" The evidence for the existence of mind is to the full as com-
plete as that upon which we infer the existence of matter : indeed, it
is more certain and irrefragable. The consciousness of existence,
the perpetual sense that we are thinking, and that we are per-
forming the operation quite independently of all material objects,
proves to us the existence of a being different from our bodies, with
a degree of evidence higher than any we can have for the existence
of those bodies themselves, or of any other part of the material
world. It is certain — proved, indeed, to demonstration, — that many
of the perceptions of matter which we derive through the senses are
deceitful, and seem to indicate that which has no reality at all.
Some inferences which we draw respecting it, are confounded with
direct sensation or perception — for example, the idea of motion ;
other ideas, such as hardness and solidity, are equally the result of
reasoning, and often mislead. Thus we never doubt, on the tes-

4 REVELATION AND REASON.

timony of our senses, that the parts of matter touch, that different
bodies come in contact with one another, and with our organs of
sense; and yet nothing is more certain than that there still is some
small distance between bodies which we think we perceive to touch.
Indeed it is barely possible that all the sensations and perceptions
which we have of the material world, may be only ideas in our own
minds; — it is barely possible, therefore, that matter should have no
existence. But that mind — that the sentient principle — that the
thing or the being which we call " I '' and " we," and which thinks,
feels, reasons, should have no existence, is a contradiction in terms.
Of the two existences, then, that of mind, as independent of matter,
is more certain than that of matter apart from mind. We must
keep steadily in view, therefore, the undoubted fact that mind is
quite as much an integral part of the universe as matter.

*******
" The mind, equally with matter, is the proper subject of observa-
tion, by means of consciousness, which enables us to arrest and
examine our own thoughts : it is even the subject of experiment by
the power which we have, through the effort of abstraction and
attention, of turning those thoughts into courses not natural to them,
not spontaneous, and watching the result. Now the phenomena of
mind, at the knowledge of which we arrive by this inductive process,
the only legitimate intellectual philosophy, afford as decisive proofs
of design as do the phenomena of matter, and they furnish those
proofs by the strict method of induction. In other words, we study
the nature and operations of the mind, and gather from them
evidences of design, by one and the same species of reasoning— the
induction of facts."

Here follow some able illustrations drawn from the power of rea-
soning, attention, curiosity, memory, habit, the feelings and passions,
— all clearly evidencing the most skilful contrivance, and in the
highest degree harmonious; which are closed by the following
eloquent comparison : —

" View the intellectual world as a whole, and surely it is impossi^
ble to contemplate, without amazement, the extraordinary spectacle
which the mind of man displays, and the immense progress which it
has been able to make in consequence of its structure, its capacity,
and its propensities. If the brightness of the heavenly bodies, the
prodigious velocity of their motions, their vast distances and mighty
bulk, fill the imagination with awe, there is the same wonder excited

REVELATION AND REASON. 5

by the brilliancy of the intellectual powers, the inconceivable swift-
ness of thought, the boundless range which our fancy can take, and
the vast objects which our reason can embrace. That we should have
been able to resolve the elements into their more simple constituents,
to analyze the subtle light which rills all space — to penetrate from
that remote particle in the universe of which we occupy a speck, into
regions infinitely remote — ascertain the weight of bodies at the
surface of the most distant worlds — investigate the laws that govern
their motions, or mould their forms, and calculate to a second of
time the periods of their re-appearance, during the revolution of
centuries — all this is in the last degree amazing, and affords much
more food for admiration than any of the phenomena of the material
creation. Then what shall we say of that incredible power of
generalization, which has enabled some even to anticipate by ages
the discovery of truths the farthest removed above ordinary appre-
hension, and the most savouring of improbability and fiction, — not
merely of a Clairault conjecturing the existence of a seventh planet,
and the position of its orbit, but a Newton learnedly and sagaciously
inferring from the refraction of light, the inflammable quality of the
diamond, the composition of apparently the simplest of the elements,
and the opposite nature of the two ingredients, unknown for a century
after, of which it is composed ? Yet there is something more mar-
vellous still in the possession of thought by which such prodigies
have been performed, and in the force of the mind itself, when it acts
wholly without external aid, borrowing nothing whatever from
matter, and relying on its own power alone. The most abstruse in-
vestigations of the mathematician are conducted without any regard
to sensible objects; and the helps he derives in his reasonings from
material things at all, are absolutely insignificant, compared with the
portion of his work which is altogether of an abstract kind, — the aid
of figures and letters being only to facilitate and abridge his labour,
and not at all essential to his progress ; nay, strictly speaking, there
are no truths in the whole range of the pure mathematics which might
not, by possibility, have been discovered arid systematized by one
deprived of sight and touch, or immured in a dark chamber without
the use of a single material object. The instrument of Newton's
most sublime speculations — the calculus, which he invented, and the
astonishing systems reared by its means, which have given immor-
tality to the names of Euler, Lagrange, Laplace, are all the creatures
of pure abstract thought ; and all might by possibility have existed in
their present magnificence, without any material help whatever,

0 REVELATION AND REASON.

except such as might be necessary for their recording and communi-
cation. These are surely the greatest of all wonders of nature, when
justly considered, although they speak to the understanding and not
to the sense. Shall we then deny that the eye could be made
without skill in optics, and yet admit that the mind could be
fashioned and endowed without the most exquisite of all skill, or
could proceed from any but an intellect of infinite power?"

Assuredly not : — there is no portion of the works of God that
impresses us so forcibly with the conviction of his wisdom and power
as the mind of man ; we say, as in common, parlance, the wisdom
and power of God, though, in making use of these terms, we are guilty
of little less than profanation. Our idea of the Godhead implies the
ubiquity of an Intelligent Spirit, and, consequently, that Omniscience
is an essential attribute : to speak, therefore, of the wisdom and power
of such a Being is surely needless ; his wisdom and power must of
necessity be infinite : and we question whether the search after Divine
power and wisdom, through the material parts of his works, is calcu-
lated to convey to us a proper impression of Divinity. For our own
part, we are ready to confess that the appeal to the mechanism of
the human hand or the bird's foot, ft;r beauty of adaptation and inge-
nuity of contrivance, and to deduce from these the inference that the
contriver must be an all-wise God, has always appeared something
widely at variance with our knowledge of the Divine attributes.
How far indeed do our researches take us ? — hardly beyond the reach
of human ingenuity, as far as mechanical contrivance is concerned : a
skilful mechanician will lay bare the different organs of our body, and
will explain fully the method of their workings precisely as he would
take to pieces a skilfully contrived machine. So far as adaptation is
concerned, this is plain and obvious: the duck's foot is a beautiful
paddle, and we find that it is so on mechanical principles. The perching
of birds is another beautiful contrivance, and is equally explicable by
mechanics : the entire arrangement of the organs of vegetables may be
referred to mechanical laws : — but does the knowledge of all this con-
trivance and adaptation aid us in contemplating the peculiar charac-
teristics of the Divine Architect himself? We think not, because we
stop short here : life, or the working principle, is entirely a mystery
to us ; we explain it by negatives only, — and the same with regard to
the entire universe. The mechanism of the heavens we speak of

REVELATION AND REASON. 7

and explain by certain known or supposed laws of motion, and here
we end. And this mode of making Natural Theology declare the
power and wisdom of God as a mechanical contriver, has led to a
human conception of the Supreme, or, at all events, to comparisons
with mere humanity, which we think are repugnant to a proper esti-
mation of the Godhead. We could quote numberless passages from
the writings of many eminent men of a very recent date, who, in rea-
soning upon data drawn from the material world, speak exactly as if
they were analyzing the work of an equal. This is an error, and one
of no light consequence. Lord Brougham, the nature of whose work
to some extent removed him from this ground of error, has not how-
ever wholly escaped it, in the following summing up of his argument
drawn from psychological phenomena : —

*' The facts relating to the velocity of mental operations — to the
exercise of attention — to its connexion with memory — to the helps
derived from curiosity and from habit — to the desires, feelings, and
passions, — and to the adjoining provinces of reason and instinct; — are
all discovered by consciousness or by observation ; and we can make
experiments upon the subjects, by varying the circumstances in
which the mental powers are exercised by ourselves and others, and
marking the result. The facts thus collected and compared together,
we are enabled to generalize, and thus to show that certain effects
are produced by an agency calculated to produce them. Aware
that if we desired to produce them, and had the power to employ
this agency, we should resort to it for accomplishing our purpose, we
infer both that some being exists, capable of creating the agency,
and that he employs it for this end. The process of reasoning is
not like, but identical with, that by which we infer the existence of
design in others, with whom we have daily intercourse. The kind
of evidence is not like, but identical with, that by which we conduct
all the investigations of intellectual and of natural science.

" Such is the process of reasoning, by which we infer the existence
of design in the natural and moral world. To this abstract argument,
an addition of great importance remains to be made : the whole
reasoning proceeds necessarily upon the assumption that there exists
a being or thing separate from, and independent of, matter, and con-
scious of its own existence, which we call mind. For the argument
is: ' had I to accomplish this purpose, I should have used some
such means ; ' — or, ' had I used these means, I should have thought
I was accomplishing some such purpose.' Perceiving the adapta-

6 REVELATION AND REASON.

iion of the means to the end, the inference is, that some being has
acted as we should ourselves act, and with the same views. But
when we so speak, and so reason, we are all the while referring to our
mind, and not to our bodily frame. The agency which we infer
from this reasoning is, therefore, a spiritual and immaterial agency,
— the working of something like our own mind, an intelligence like our
own, though incomparably more powerful and more skilful. The be-
ing of whom we thus acquire a knowledge, and whose operations, as
well as existence, we thus deduce from a process of inductive reason-
ing, must be a spirit, and wholly immaterial ; but his being such is only
inferred, because we set out with assuming- the separate existence
of our own mind, independently of ma* .^Y : without that, we never
could conclude that superior intelligence existed or acted. The
belief that mind exists is essential to the whole argument, by which
we infer that Deity exists ; it is the foundation of Natural Theology
in all its branches; and upon the scheme of materialism no rational
— indeed, no intelligible account can be given of a First Cause, or of
the creation or government of the universe.

*******

" All the proofs of the Deity's personality, — that is, his indivi-
duality, his unity, all the evidence which we have of his works,
showing throughout, not only that they proceeded from design, but
that the design is one of one distinctive kind, — that they came from
the hand, not only of an intelligent being, but of a being whose in-
tellect is specifically peculiar, and always of the same character :
all these proofs are in the most rigorous sense inductive."

If his Lordship, in closely urging his argument, thus at times
makes the Supreme Intelligence reason like ourselves, he can never-
theless so express himself as to convey to us a proper sense of the
Deity, and to convince us that he has felt the sublimity of his
subject.

We pass over his Lordship's expositions of the reasoning of Dr.
Clarke, Mr. Locke, and Dr. Cudworth, on the argument d
priori, as also the chapter he devotes to Lord Bacon's doctrine of
Final Causes, with the section on the moral or ethical branch of
Natural Theology — though full of fine argumentation, and abounding
in felicitous and philosophic illustration ; and come to the third
section of the second part of the work— being the connexion be-
tween natural and revealed religion. The subject is one of no

REVELATION AND REASON. 9

slight delicacy, and we differ in many points from his Lordship: —

he says, —

" The ordinary arguments against Natural Theology, with which
we have to con tend, are those of atheists and sceptics, — of persons who
deny a First Cause, or who involve the whole question in doubt,
or who consider the reasons on both sides so equally poised, that
they cannot decide either way. An objection of a very different
nature has sometimes proceeded unexpectedly from a very different
quarter — the friends of Revelation, who have been known without
due reflection to contend ,, that, by the light of unassisted reason,
we can know absolute!} ^tiling of God and of a future state."

We have no hesitation in saying that this is our own opinion ; not
to the full, because the savage who knows nothing of Revelation,
nevertheless has a God, and believes in a future state — but in so
far, that, with the light of reason only, we should never have enter-
tained precise or consistent notions of the Godhead. We hold this
opinion, because, living with the 'Word' before us, we are alto-
gether compelled to look to it as the resting-place of our inquiries ;
and because neither Lord Brougham, nor any other man who is
aided and sustained by Revelation, can estimate what his opinions
might have been, had he been unknowing of Scriptural record. It
is not enough to say that the greatest advocates for Natural Theology
have been sincere and zealous Christians ; — they were Christians
before they were Theologians ; and we do no discredit to Ray,
Clarke, Derham, or Paley — the greatest of modern Natural Theo-
logists, in placing against them the names of Plato, Aristotle,
Lucretius, and Epicurus — men of lofty mind and wide intellectual
grasp ; — yet did these men, by the power of reason alone, attain any
certain knowledge of the Deity? Their works, the noblest record of
mind, say, No : their ideas concerning God were often sublime,
but they were varying, inconsistent, and hardly philosophised by
themselves— a fact Lord Brougham has recorded in his own pages.
Nor must we ever forget, in speaking of the knowledge of man as
applied to the Deity, that there can be no dispute but that He
himself, in the earlier ages of the world, was the religious instructor
of mankind. This is in accordance with the Mosaical account of
the patriarchal eras; nor indeed can we suppose, that man, who had
been fashioned but a little lower than the angels, and endowed with
M.M.— No. 7. B

10 REVELATION AND REASON.

an immortal soul, would be left in ignorance of the first steps of his
duty.*

The Book of Job, the oldest record of the opinions of mankind
as to the nature and being of God, is at once conclusive on this
point. No man, however sublime might be his conceptions, could
have formed so elevated an idea of the Godhead, as is given in this
magnificent work : all its details are of the most pure and spi-
ritualised character, and the mind is carried to a pitch of grandeur
by them, in contemplating the Great Supreme and His works,
which the writings of the wisest and most eloquent of the Heathens
entirely fail in producing ; and this book constantly refers to tradi-
tions of an older date.

The idea given by the Deity himself was, however, so spiritual, that
man, when removed from direct intercourse with his Maker, began
to yearn for something more tangible — for some visible form or imper-
sonification of the Creator, on which he might pour out his human
sympathies. The vast and apparently illimitable circle in^ which he
found himself placed, naturally excited profound emotions of wonder
and awe. Every thing around him breathed of design, every thing
was harmonious : — day and night, the sun, the moon, the stars, the
diversified face of the earth, the forest, the flower, and the herbage —
the living creatures that surrounded him, with their varied forms,
and their diversified capabilities ; — all these roused within him a sense
of religion and devotion, and he sought, in his weakness, for an
emblem of the power which he felt, but could not fully compre-
hend. Under the influence of these feelings, and still having in
his remembrance some of the traditionary religion of his fathers,
he consecrated the tallest tree and the loftiest mountain, and re-
paired thither to pay his devotions; seeing in the strength and
beauty of the one, and in the immensity of the other, a dim sha-
dowing forth of the might and power of his Maker.

As mankind, however, became scattered over the face of the
earth, and removed to scenes far remote from the locality in which
was first given to them a knowledge of God, the traditions became'
weakened, altered in character, but never lost. The spiritual Essence

* Vide Eusebius, in Praep, Evang. lib. i. Hyde, Hist. Relig. Vet.
Persarum.

REVELATION AND REASON. 11

of the Divinity was in a great measure overlooked; and man, in
place of elevating himself to the Deity, brought down God to the
level of his own nature, and deified his passions, and even his
crimes. Thus the Theologists of early Greece* made Gods of Virtue,
Honour, Liberty, Victory, Piety, Concord, Death, Fear, and Lust;
and these Divinities had statues and temples in the proudest days
of imperial Home and of intellectual Greece ; proving most clearly
that the philosophy of reason had failed to discover, even remotely,
God, as He has revealed Himself to us ; and that men whose names
have descended to modern times, as examples of virtue and wisdom,
were as ignorant in this point as the untaught Indian — who

" Sees God in clouds, and hears him in the wind."

Yet had these men, so highly endowed, all the helps of Natural
Theology and tradition, and searched as anxiously, and speculated as
abstrusely, upon the phenomena of the material world, as the most
enthusiastic Natural Theologist of modern times.

The remark upon which we have thus at length commented —
namely, " that the friends of Revelation have been known without
due reflection to contend, that, by the light of unassisted reason
alone, we can absolutely know nothing of God ami of a future
state," — is followed by his Lordship with many ingenious arguments,
to show, that without the aid of reason employed in developing the
existence and attributes of God, we should be in danger of lapsing
from Revelation. Reason has been given to us, undoubtedly, to be
employed in the noblest of all pursuits — that of inquiring after Divine
things ; and therefore we would have it so exercised : but we again
repeat that, in speaking of reason, we speak of it as being acquainted
with Revelation ; and that, consequently, all inquiries (if Reve-
lation be true) tend to one point — namely, to strengthen and illustrate
Scriptural record; and in this way the use of natural reason, when
employed in the search after natural religion, is to be encouraged.
The lamp of science, in the hand of a believer in Revelation, is
perpetually guiding us to some new proof of the unity and wisdom
of the Creator ; but when Lord Brougham declares, " that it is a

* Vide the Theology of the ancient Grecians, as exhibited in the Iliad
and Odyssey.

.12 REVELATION AND REASON.

vain and ignorant thing to suppose that Natural Theology is not
necessary to the support of Revelation," we do not think he fully
considered the force or applicability of the argument that might be
drawn from it. Shortly afterwards, he remarks, " that the doctrines
of the existence of a Deity, and of his attributes, which natural
religion teaches, preclude the possibility of such ambiguities, and
remove all those difficulties (which might attend upon Revelation
alone). We thus learn that the Creator of the world is one and the
same ; and we come to know his attributes, not merely of power,
which alone communication by miracles could convey, but of
wisdom and goodness. Built upon this foundation, Revelation be-
comes at once unimpeachable and invaluable. It converts every
inference of reason into certainty, and, above all, communicates the
Divine Being's intentions respecting our own lot with a degree of
precision, which the inferences of Natural Theology very imperfectly
possess. This is, in truth, the chief superiority of Revelation, and
this is the praise justly given to the gospel in sacred writ, — not that it
teaches the being and attributes of God, but that it brings life and
immortality to light." We are certain, however, that Moses did
not base either his Cosmogony, or his Theology, upon natural reason:
we are also equally certain that the Prophets, who have since his
time been the agents for conveying the will and knowledge of the
Almighty, were not natural philosophers : and we are equally certain
also, that reason and natural religion neither have explained, or ever
can explain, the advent of Jesus Christ; — this revelation does solely.
Neither do we accede to the postulatum of his Lordship, when he says
that " Revelation cannot be true, if natural religion is false,'' — because
it assumes that our ideas of God, as resulting from the examination
of his works, are necessarily accurate, — and that our present inquiries
have reached the limit of human reasoning ; for the results of these
inquiries have been of very diverse and even opposite characters ;
and from them one man becomes a sceptic, and another finds his
previous faith in Revelation strengthened. We have seen that the
ancient philosophers never, by the help of reason, approached a
knowledge of God. Thus Timaeus declares, that the Deity ought
not even to be inquired after, and at other times declares the stars,
the world, and the soul, to be Gods. Aristotle speaks equally
vaguely. Strabo says, that nature is God, having power to increase

REVELATION AND REASON. 13

or diminish, but without sense or form ; whilst Xenocrates makes
eight Gods,— and so on. Reason, aided by the evidences afforded by
the material world, convinced these men that there was in truth a
God ; and many noble and sublime notions had they of this God, —
witness Thales, Milesius, Pythagoras, and Plato : but did reason do
more than give them fragmentary ideas ? or did it lead them to a pure
and spiritual worship ? or did it teach them the attributes of our God ?
Did they not call their Gods proud and imperious, and strive
anxiously to banish that instinctive feeling, which every man has
within him, of an over-ruling and ever-watchful Providence.
" Dum Deum rerum authorem facitis, imposuistis in cervicibus
nostris dominum sempiternum, quern dies et noctes timuerimus.
Quis enim non timeat omnia providentem, et cogitantem, et anirnad-
vertentem, et omnia ad se pertinere putantem, curiosum et plenum
negotii Deum ?" Such were the feelings of some of the wisest of
reasoning men, upon the attributes of the Deity.

Our difference with his Lordship therefore rests here : — we hold
Natural Theology to be the handmaid of Revelation, whilst his Lord-
ship, though fully admitting Bevelation, makes its credibility rest
upon Natural Theology.

We cannot at present proceed further, but no long time will elapse
before we meet his Lordship upon another point. The work which has
afforded the ground for these comments, though not strictly logical,
either in arrangement or argumentation, is a splendid production,
and has not many superiors, whether for closeness of reasoning, or
strength of argumentation : it tills up an important hiatus in science,
and completes the imperfect works which have hitherto constituted
our Natural Theology. We regret, however, that it is put forth as a
leader to Paley, and should have greatly preferred a complete work
from Sir Charles Bell and his Lordship : we think it indeed hardly
fair to Paley to attach a production like the present to his work, as
they are widely dissimilar in more points than one.

THE EARL OF SURREY, SIR THOMAS WYAT,
AND SIR JOHN DAVIES;

BEING No. I. OF
CRITICAL NOTICES OF THE LESS KNOWN ENGLISH POETS.

WE do not know of any portion of our literature, which requires
developement more than that appertaining to our earlier poets.
Johnson's ' Lives' are splendida vitia; and although they are, perhaps,
about the noblest monument of his genius, they are not biographical
or critical notices to satisfy the poet or the scholar. He went back
no farther than Cowley, and his list, even as far as it comes down, is
incomplete. It is true that he cannot, perhaps, be fairly charged
with the very imperfect nature of the materials forming his Lives of
the Poets, as the names were furnished him by the publishers ; but
it is much to be regretted that the omissions have not yet been com-
pletely filled up. Johnson's Lives comprise fifty-three authors only,
whilst we are satisfied that not less than two hundred writers
deserve a place in a complete edition of our English poets.

Chaucer, Spenser, Shakspeare, Milton, Dryden, and Pope, as the
chief priests of song, have been abundantly 'annotated and com-
mented upon ; arid yet we think that Chaucer has not yet had full
justice done to him. It is wonderful to observe with what ease and
sportiveness he plays with his cumbrous language, and how his
native simplicity and dignity shine out through his quaint and
sometimes repulsive dress. His great work, " The Canterbury
Tales," have had done for them all that the wit of man can,
perhaps, do ; but his minor poems still want a critic. What can
exceed the ease, the playfulness, the copious illustration, and graphic
skill of his " Balade in the praise, or rather dispreise, of Women for
their doubleness?"

" This world is full of variaunce
In every thinge who takith hede,
That faithe and truste, and all constaunce,
Exilid bene — this is no drede ;
And save only in woman lied,
I can yse no sikirnes :
But for all that yet — as I rede,
Beware alwaye of doubleues.

Also that the freshe somir floures,
The white and red, and blewe and grene,
Ben sodenly with winter shours
Made fente and fade, withoutin wene ;

THE LESS KNOWN ENGLISH POETS. 15

That trust is none, as ye may sene,
In nothing;, nor no stedfastnes,
Except in women, thus I mene ;
Yet aye, beware of doublenes.

The crokid mone, — this is no tale,
Somewhile ishene, and bright of hewe,
And after that ful derke and pale
And every monith chaungith newe ;
And who the veray sothe knew
AH thinge is bilt on brotlenes,
Save that women alwaye be trewe ;
Yet aye beware of doublenes."

And so on, for many more verses, he carries on his cautionary com-
pliments, in a style of gallantry, as just as it is beautiful, ending by
a I' envoy e, with

" O ye women ! whiche ben enclined
By influence of your nature,
To ben as pure as gold yfined,
And in your trouth for to endure,
Arrnith yourself in strong armure,
Lest men assaile your sikirnes,
Set on your brest, yourself to 'assure,
A mighty shield of doublenes."

But to our more immediate purpose. Chaucer lifted himself so
high above his contemporaries, and made so long a stride forward in
our language, that, for the space of a century and a half, he remained
almost alone, as a national poet. Langland, Gower, Lydgate,
Skelton, and other writers, showed, indeed, that the " spirit of
song" was not dead ; but they produced little worthy of record : nor
was it till the middle of the reign of the eighth Henry that any
notable advance was made in poetry amongst ourselves. Then
arose the " twin stars" of love and poesy, Surrey and Wyat, realising
our most exalted ideas of chivalry and romance. To the noble and
gallant Surrey more especially belongs the merit of being the first
classical poet in our language. It is difficult to say why he is now
so little known, as he has hardly been rivalled in the pathos and
simplicity of his love-verses. They are a thousand times superior to
the mawkish sentimentality and puling tenderness of the major part
of later amatory poets. They are full of nature and simplicity, and
free from the metaphysical caste of Petrarch and other Italian poets,
who are supposed to have been his models, — a caste which ruined the
writings of Cowley and many of his immediate followers. Surrey
offers to our contemplation one of the noblest specimens of our race,
and even his heroic vanities lend a charm to the higher attributes of
his character. As a scholar, a poet, a warrior, a statesman, and a
lover, he stood forth the most accomplished gentleman of his age ;
and as his verse reflects his character, it is natural that it should be
full of noble sentiments, and generous devotion to that sex, the great
ornament of which, " the fair Geraldine," was so long the idol of his

lt> CRITICAL NOTICES OF

worship. Her name and her fame were borne through Europe on
the point of his lance, and recorded in verses so full of grace and
delicacy, that she will live as long as our language. Surrey fell a
victim to the jealous despotism of a master, to whose reign he had
lent one of its chief glories, only a few days before the tyrant
breathed his last.

There is a very close resemblance between the writings of Surrey
and his friend Sir Thomas Wyat ; witness " The Complaint of the
Faithful Lovers."

EARL OF SURREY.

" If care do cause men cry, why do not I complain,

If eche man do bewaile his wo, why shew I not my payne,

Since that amongst them all, I dare well say is none

So farre from weal, so full of woe, or hath more cause to mone?

For all thinges having life, sometimes hath quiet rest,

The bearing asse, the drawing oxe, and every other beast —

The peasant and the post, that serves at all assayes,

The ship-boy and the galley-slave, have time to take their ease.

Save I, alas ! whom care of force doth constantly constrayn

To wale the day — and wake the night, continually in payne ;

From pensiveness to plaint, from plaint to bitter tears,

From tears to payneful plaint again, and thus my life it wears.

Nothyng under the sun — that I can hear and see

But moveth me, for to bewayle, my cruel destyny ;

For where men do rejoyce (since that I cannot so)

I take no pleasure, in that place, it doubleth but my woe.

And when I hear the sound of song or instrument

Methinks eche tune there dolefull is, and helps me to lament.

And if I see that some, have theyre desired syghte,

Alas ! thynke I, eche man hath weale, save I most woful

wyghte.

Then as the stricken deere withdrawes himself alone,
So do I seeke some secret place, where I may make my mone."

This is a portion only of the Earl's Complaint, which is distinguished,
not less by its pathos, than by the purity of its language, and the
smoothness of its versification. It abounds in apt similes and
beautiful illustrations, which have thus the precedence of similar
images, which are to be found in almost all subsequent poets.
Wyat wanted the simplicity of Surrey; he suffered himself to be led
away not unfrequently, by the ingenious conceits of the meta-
physical writers ; yet his Complaint is finely pathetic, and full of
beauty.

SIR THOMAS WYAT'S COMPLAINT.

" I see there is no sort
Of thinges that live in griefe,
Which at sometimes may not resort
Whereto they have reliefe.

THE LESS KNOWN ENGLISH POETS. 17

The stricken dere by kintle
Of death that stands in awe,
For his recure an herb can fynde
The arrow to withdraw.

The chased dere hath soyle
To coole him in his heate ;
The asse after his very toyle
In stable is up set :

The cony hath his cave ;
The little bird his nest,
From heat and cold themselves to save,
At all times as they list :

The owle with feble sight
Lyes lurking in the leaves,
The sparrow in the frosty night
May shroude her in the eaves.
But wo to me, alas !
In sunne nor yet in shade
I cannot find a resting-place,
My burden to unlade.
But day by day still beares
The burden on my backe,
With weeping eyen and watery tears,
To hold my hope aback.

All thinges I see have place
Wherein they bowe or bende,
Save this, alas ! my woful case,
Which no where findeth ende."

Another quotation which we shall make from the " noble Surrey,"
is entitled *' Complaint of a Ladye, her Husband being upon the
Sea." For beauty of sentiment, for elegance of diction, for truth
and simplicity, and for grace and facility of expression, these verses
are equal to the very best productions of later times.

" Good ladies, ye that have your pleasures in exile,

Step in your foote, come take a place, and morne with me awhile —

And such as by theyre lords do set but little pryce,

Let them sit still, it skilles them not, what channce com on the

dice.

But ye, whom love hath bound, by order of desyre
To love your lords, whose good deserts none other would require ;
Come ye, yet once agayne, and set your foot by myne,
Whose wofull plight and sorrowes great, no tong can well define.
My love and lord, alas ! in whom consists my welth,
Hath fortune sent to passe the seas, in hazard of his helth —
Whom I was wont to embrace, with well-contented mynde,
Is now amid the foming floods, at pleasure of the wynde :
Where God will him preserve, and soone him home me send,
Without whiche hope, my life (alas !) were shortly at an ende :
M.M.— No. 7. C

18 CRITICAL NOTICES OF

Whose absence, yet although my hope doth tell me playne,

With short return, he comes anone, yet ceaseth not my pain :

The fearfull dreames I have, oft time doe grieve me so,

That when I wake, I lye in doubt where they be true or no :

Sometimes the roaring seas, me seems doe grow so hye,

That my dear lord, ay me, alas ! methinks I see him dye !

At other times, the same doth tell me he is come,

And playing, where I shall him find, with his fair little sonne —

So forth I goe apace, to see that lefesome sight,

And with a kiss, methinks I say, ' Welcome my lord, my knight ;

Welcome my swete, alas ! the stay of my welfare,

Thy presence bringeth forth a truce atwixt me and my care :'

Then lively doth he look, and kisseth me agayne,

And sayeth, ' My dear, how is it now that you have all this payne ? '

Wherewith the heavy cares, that heapt are in my brest,

Break forth, and me dischargen clene, of all my huge unrest.

But when I me awake, and find it but a dreame,

The anguish of my former wo beginneth more extreme,

And me tormenteth so, that uueath may I fynde

Some hidden peace, wherein to slake the gnawing of my mynde.

Thus every way you see, wyth absence how I burue,

And for my wound no cure I fynde, but hoape of good returne :

Save, when I thinke, by sowre, how swete is felt the more,

It doth abate me of some paynes, that I abode before :

And when unto myself I say, when we agayne shall mete,

But little while shall seem this payne, the joy shall be so swete.

Ye wyndes ! I ye conjure in chieiest of your rage

That ye my lord doe safely send, my sorrowes to assuage !

And that I may not long abyde in this exesse,

Do your good will to cure a wyght that liveth in distress."

The feelings of a wife, and of a mother, whose love is still in its
noon-day glory, are most beautifully given, because most naturally
depictured in the above complaint, whilst the leading sentiment is
sustained unbroken throughout it. Its style is chaste, its measure
harmonious, and its language, notwithstanding its slight quaintess, is
elegant, and would do no dishonour to the taste of the most refined
writer of the present day.

Wyat, although wanting in the simple dignity and easy flow of
images which characterise the works of Surrey, had merits of a high
but different order. Some of his " Songes and Sonnets" are,
perhaps, equal in pathos and natural description to those of his
friend; oftener, however, the style is involved, and he runs his
feelings through the gauntlet of the Italian inflections. Still they
are eminently beautiful, notwithstanding that his language, as well
as his thoughts, wants the simplicity of his noble contemporary. He
shines in easy satire, and there is an Horatian elegance and readiness
of expression running through his " Epistles to Poines and Bryan,"
infinitely superior to the style and manner of Hall and Donne, both
his successors, although Hall wrote finely and systematically. To
Wyat also belongs the honour of being the first English poet who

THE LESS KNOWN ENGLISH POETS. 19

wrote a pure pastoral. This is an honour generally given to others,
but it is due onlytoWyat; and his " Harpalus, Philliades, and
Corin," is unequalled even in Spenser, for its imagery, rural allusion,
and grace of measure.

There is another author, contemporary with Spenser, Shakspeare,
Jonson, and Milton, whose merits have been buried beneath the
splendour of the reputation acquired by his co-mates ; and who has
been overlooked amidst the universal homage paid to the " Gentle
Edmund," to the "Swan of Avon," and to the divinity of the
" Blind Bard." This is Sir John Davies, who passed through an
active and useful life in the late part of the reign of Elizabeth, and
the early period of the Stuart dynasty. His " Nosce Teipsum," a
poem on the Immortality of the Soul, stands alone in our language ;
and is alike extraordinary for the beauty of its composition, the in-
genuity of its reasoning, the extent of knowlege displayed in it, and
as being the first philosophical poem written by an Englishman.
In our opinion, " Nosce Teipsum," and the " Faery Queen," are
the two literary boasts of the age of Elizabeth. The works have
no points in common, and cannot therefore be compared : both
have equal merits of their own, but Spenser's has been fully appre-
ciated, whilst Sir John Davies is little known to the general reader :
yet we know of no poem better fitted to be universally read. An
excellent preface was given with an edition published by Tate,
in 1697, in which appear the following remarks on the work : " But
as others have laboured to carry out our thoughts, and to entertain
them with all manner of delights abroad, it is the peculiar character
of this author, that he has taught us to meditate upon ourselves ; that
he has disclosed to us greater secrets at home — the rare science of a
man's self, which the moral philosopher loses in a crowd of defi-
nitions, divisions, and distinctions : the historian cannot find it among
his musty records, being far better acquainted with the transactions
of a thousand years past, than with the present age or with himself:
the writers of fables and romances wander from it in following the
delusions of a wild fancy, chimeras, and fictions, that do not only

exceed the works, but also the possibility of nature.

* * * * * •* #

" What deep philosophy is this ! to discover the process of God's
art in fashioning the soul of man after his own image, by remarking
how one part moves with another, and how those motions are varied
by several positions of each part, from the first springs and plummets,
to the very hand that points out the visible and last effects. What
eloquence and force of wit to convey these profound speculations, in
the easiest language, expressed in words so commonly received, that
they are understood by the meanest capacities ; for the poet takes
care in every line to satisfy the understanding of mankind : he
follows step by step the workings of the mind from the first strokes
of sense, then to fancy, afterwards by judgment, into the principles
both of natural and supernatural motives : hereby the soul is made
intelligible, which comprehends all things besides."

One of the most remarkable points about the " Immortality of
the Soul " is its exquisite finish, the harmony of its rhythm, and

20 CRITICAL NOTICES OF

the simple and easy flow of its language, — which show its author to
have been a perfect master of versification. Our space will not per-
mit us to do more than give the conclusion : —

" O ignorant poor man !. what dost thou bear,

Lock'd up within the casket of thy breast?
What jewels and what riches hast thou there ?
What heavenly treasure in so weak a chest ?

Look in thy soul, and thou shalt beauties find,
Like those which drown'd Narcissus in the flood :

Honour and pleasure both are in thy mind,
And all that in the world is counted good.

Think of her worth, and think that God did mean
This worthy mind should worthy things embrace :

Blot not her beauties with thy thoughts unclean,
Nor her dishonour with thy passions base.

Kill not her quickening power with surfetings ;

Mar not her sense with sensuality ;
Cast not away her wit on idle things ;

Make not her free-will slave to vanity.

And when thou think'st of her eternity,

Think not that death against her nature is :

Think it a birth ; and when thou go'st to die,
Sing like a swan, as if thou went'st to bliss.

And if thou, like a child, didst fear before,

Being in the dark, where thou didst nothing see :

Now, I have brought thee torch-light, fear no more ;
Now, when thou diest, thou canst not hood-winked be.

And thou, my soul, which turns with curious eye
To view the beams of thine own form divine,

Know that thou canst know nothing perfectly,
While thou art clouded with this flesh of mine.

Cast down thyself, and only strive to raise
The glory of thy Maker's sacred name :

Use all thy powers, that blessed power to praise,
Which gives thee power to be, and use the same."

This poem is not the only legacy bequeathed to us by Sir John
Davies : he wrote twenty-four hymns, in acrostic verse, in honour of
Queen Elizabeth. They are lavish of praise, but exceedingly in-
genious, and rise immeasurably above similar conceits of his day,
when such things were in repute. His '« Orchestra," or " A Poem
on Dancing," again amply redeems his genius and poetic powers.
Under the fable of a dialogue between Penelope and one of her
wooers, he gives us an account of the antiquity and excellence of
dancing; and there is an abundance of splendid imagery and classi-
cal illustration in it.

THE LESS KNOWN ENGLISH POETS. 2l

XCVI.

" See this is dancing's true nobility —

Dancing, the child of music and of love;
Dancing itself, both love and harmony,
Where all agree, and all in order move ;
Dancing, the art that all arts do approve,
The fair character of this world's consent,
The heaven's true figure, and the earth's ornament.

CII.

Yet once again Antinous did reply —

' Great Queen, condemn not Love, the innocent:
For this mischievous lust, which treacherously
Usurps his name, and steals his ornament.
For that true love which dancing did invent
Is he that tuned the world's whole harmony,
And link'd all men in sweet society.'

civ.

This is true Love, by that true Cupid got,

Which danceth galliards in your amorous eyes,
But to your frozen heart approacheth not :
Only your heart he dares not enterprise,
And yet through every other part he flies.
And every where he danceth nimbly now ;
That in yourself yourself perceive not how.

cv.

For your sweet beauty daintily transfused,

With due proportion, throughout every part —
What is it, but a dance where love hath used
His finer cunning and more curious art;
Where all the elements themselves impart,

And turn and wind, and mingle with such measure,
That he who sees it, surfeits with the pleasure.

cvu.
And when your ivory ringers touch the strings

Of any silver sounding instrument,
Love makes them dance, to those sweet murmurings,
With busy skill and cunning excellent : —
O that your feet those tunes would represent,
With artificial motions to and fro,
That love this art in every part might show ! "

These verses are taken at random ; and it would be difficult to
find their parallel for felicity of diction, equality and smoothness of
rhyme, and well-sustained spirit. It is greatly to be lamented that
a part only of the " Orchestra " has been handed down to us.

There is a rich mine of poetry still to be brought to light from an
examination of what are called our minor poets. Warton is, perhaps,
the only critic who has gone over their productions with any thing
like poetical and philosophical acumen. Our chief commentators

22 IMPROVERS AND IMPROVEMENT.

appear to have thought that their labours should be claimed by the
illustrious and popular alone; but the minor poets are often exceed-
ingly rich in brilliant imagination and polished elegance. We do
not speak of the " mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease," and who
wooed the courtly muse, for an ode, a song, or a madrigal ; but of
noble spirits, whose vigorous intellect now and then disported itself
in verse. The writings of these men are also well worthy of atten-
tion on another ground — as being the links or stepping-stones be-
tween the eras of our few great poets, whose names and whose
writings have become land-marks in our literature. They also con-
vey a very accurate impress of the progress of refinement in style,
both as regards language and sentiment; and are in every way
worthy of attention. Not unfrequently, indeed, we find amongst
them perfect gems, snatches of true poetry, which afford abundant
evidence that the fire of genius, and the enthusiasm of song, were at
work in the hearts of their writers; and often we have to deplore that
the reliques which have come down to us are mere fragments.

G.

IMPROVERS AND IMPROVEMENT.

AN IRISH SKETCH.

B — — PARK is the residence of Sir Henry A , who, on

coming unexpectedly into possession of this large estate in the South
of Ireland, determined to quit England, and reside on his newly-
acquired property, as soon as the house (which the last owner had
commenced building) could be put in a fit state to receive his family.
He promised himself infinite gratification from the good he should
effect amongst the poor people, and hoped soon to see his tenantry
distinguished for the superiority of their condition and their morals.

He had travelled much, and resided long abroad, but nowhere
could he find England's equal for the industry and neatness of its
people. Sir Henry made it his model ; and, in moments of enthu-
siasm, his imagination painted the day, perhaps, not very distant,
when, in point of cultivation and comfort, his Irish estate should
look like an English oasis.

On becoming a resident, Sir Henry lost no time in taking down
all the old cabins near his demesne, and erecting in their places very
neat slated cottages: these were occupied by the gamekeeper, the
ploughman, the shepherd, and the families of other out-of-door ser-
vants. But there was one cottage on which more care and expense
had been bestowed than on the others; it was two stories high, having
bed-rooms up-stairs, and the kitchen was fitted up with what was
considered a suitable grate. These circumstances combined, made it
the wonder of all the cabin-holders about.

IMPROVERS AND IMPROVEMENT. 23

Throughout Ireland the peasantry make their turf fires upon the
hearth, and are wholly unacquainted with the use of grates. Their
great wide chimnies '« pay a double debt;" the ostensible purpose is
to serve as an egress for the smoke, but they also admit as much
light into the house as is usually obtained by means of a window ;
and for working or reading in an Irish cabin, a seat under the chim-
ney is preferable to one in the middle of the room, being much
lighter. Every good has its attendant evil — so has a wide chimney !
for it admits rain just as readily as it does light ; and to escape a
wetting in a stormy night, the inmates of such abodes generally
bring the fire almost to the centre of the room, and sit round it ;
but I recollect an ingenious man, called Mick Doolan, who, one
rainy night, to keep out the " fast falling torrents," mounted up
with the help of a ladder, and put a large bee-hive on the top of his
chimney. This proved an effectual remedy, and more than one of
his neighbours considered it an example worthy of imitation.

But to return to our subject — one cottage was better built than

the others; this was partly owing to its nearer vicinity to B

Park than the others, and partly to the extensive and agreeable
prospects its situation commanded.

Fronting the cottage was a small but picturesque glen, at the
bottom of which rolled a mountain rivulet : on the right, its shelving
bank was adorned by orchards, which, when I saw them, were
richly laden with the fruits of Autumn ; and on the left were corn-
fields and pasture-lands. Beyond the glen, and at about five miles
distance, was seen the tapering spire, and the barracks of the neigh-
bouring town, with the richly wooded and extensive demesnes of
Moore Park and Castle Hyde, through which the Black Water
(the most beautiful of all the Irish rivers) winds its romantic
course.

At least a dozen grey ruins of castles, churches, and " ivy-mantled
towers," were spread over the extent of country visible from the
cottage ; the whole was bounded by the Kilworth Mountains, the
Balhyhooley Hills, and Cairn Thierna.

It was not an easy matter to obtain a suitable tenant for this
deservedly favourite spot. Many applicants were rejected, as it was
not desirable that a large family of children should be brought to
it; for they are all alike famous for their destructive powers. At
length, an elderly woman was fixed upon, who, from her decent
appearance, seemed calculated to become an example of neatness and
comfort to her neighbours.

She gave a ready assent to all that was required from her as a
tenant, and seemed to think that her part would be by no means
difficult to perform. The prospect of being constantly employed in

spinning for Lady A , and having the charge of all the poultry

belonging to the " big house," as they were both light and pleasant
employments, no doubt blinded her to a multitude of troubles, which
otherwise she would have perceived awaited her in her new home.

We must not forget to state, that Biddy Magragh (such was the
old woman's name) had been a widow for several years ; her chil-
dren were all grown up; and, according to the ideas entertained on

24 IMPROVERS AND IMPROVEMENT.

the subject, in that part of the kingdom, she had done her duty to
bring them up dacently and honestly : the only family affliction she
had known since the death of her husband was the marriage of her
only daughter to a private of the Tenth Infantry, whom (to the
great distress of her mother) she was obliged to accompany abroad,
his regiment being ordered to the Mediterranean.

The family forbore to call upon Biddy till she had been rather
more than a fortnight in office. On this their first visit, they found
but few delinquencies from cleanliness and neatness, and they were,
on the whole, very well satisfied with the appearance of things.
The old woman complained that it gave her a world of trouble to
make fires in the grate, and that she could scarcely ever get them to
burn. She also said something about having had a touch of the
rheumatism : but she had that morning received a letter from her
daughter ; a circumstance which made her so happy, that she nearly
forgot all disagreeables. First she told the contents of the letter

to Lady A , dwelling upon them in a simple and affectionate

manner ; and at length she gave her the letter to read ; and the fol-
lowing is a correct copy of it : —

" My dear Mother, "

" 1 hope this will find you in good elth, as it leaves us at present,
that is Mick, and me, and the child ; we call her Biddy after you.
We heard a report here, that you were dead, but dear, dear mother,
I hope it is not true, for, if it was, I think you 'd have written to tell
me. We are now at Corfu, our Redgment was ordered here from
Malta last December, and I should like this place best, but in re-
gard of its being farther off old Ireland. Dear mother I send you
in this letter, Mick and me arm-in-arm; it was one Corprol Reilly
we got to draw our picturs, for I thought you might like to look
upon me, when I am far away out of your sight; and by the same
token I shall put in a small little bit of the child's hair, she has left
off caps, the weather is so warm here, and indeed her hair grows
iligantly. The pretty gownd you bought for me yi Cork, (for Biddy
had accompanied her child to the place of embarkation, and had
stripped herself of her last shilling to assist in equipping her daugh-
ter for the voyage,) I have had made by one of the Sergeants'
wives, I shall take great care of it, as quite a bettermost thing, till
the time comes that I see you again. Is my cousin Mary and Tim
Shea married yet ? Does Dick Hefferrnan ever ask after me? I hope
my uncle Pat is not having the colic so bad this winter, as he had
last. Give my love to all that enquire about me, and believe me,
dear mother, till death,

" Your truly loving daughter,

" PEGGY RYAN.

" P.S. In regard of the report mentioned at the top of the letter,
send me word if it 's true immadiately, for neither Mick or me had a
wink of sleep after hearing it."

The ladies returned home much gratified, after participating the
pleasure of their humble neighbour.

IMPROVERS AND IMPROVEMENT. 23

Some weeks after this, as Sir Henry was passing the door, on his
return from a shooting excursion, he determined to call and rest him-
self, and inquire how his tenant was going on.

He opened the door, and, on accepting the invitation to "walk
in," he found Biddy and a neighbour with her, both seated before a
large fire made upon the floor. Sir Henry inquired, with amaze-
ment, " What was become of the grate ?"

The old woman rose, which at first she appeared half-afraid to do,
and, pointing to her seat, replied, " 'Tis there it is, Sir, — I got my
grandson Jack to take it down yesterday, for 'twas tired of my life 1
was ; the best saved turf in five parishes wouldn't burn in it, bad luck
to it ! — not a pratie could I boil ; and where in the wide world,
your Honour, would I make the fire but on the hearth, to get any
good from it ? — 'tis an iligant sate the grate makes, — it holds two
and a gossoon ! "

The dismay and indignation of Sir Henry may be easily conceived,
and, as soon as his choking anger would permit him, he exclaimed,
— " How dare you, you old hag ! pull down any of the fixtures in
the house, without first obtaining my permission to do so ?"

" 'Tis true for you I might have done that same, but Jack stepped
in so convanient last night, and advised me to it, for, says he, ' His
Honour has the heart of a gintleman, and surely by no manner of
means would wish you to be kilt for want of the hate.' — ' Why,' says
I, ' if he should plase to take the house over my head next week, 'tis
happier I 'd be walking the world than live under the roof with that
thing of a grate ; the feet have been could with me ever since I came
near it, and I've got the rheumatism in 'em, and all from having the
fire so high entirely above, in place of its being on the hearth, where
we can put the feet agin it.' Better than three nights ago, I couldn't
get up all day long, and was quite dead — barring the breath, — and
all from taking a big could."

** I give you notice," said Sir Henry, (as soon as he could find an
opportunity of speaking,) " to look out for another berth for yourself,
for I perceive, if I keep you here, the house will soon be in as bad
a state as its predecessor — the cabin. You '11 pull down the stairs to
make seats, the next thing."

" And if it wasn't that it would be bould to say it to your
Honour's honour, that same would not be a bad work ; sorrow much
1 trouble the steps, for when I do, they do be almost breaking the
legs of me, and taking the breath."

*' Well, well," muttered Sir Henry, " I see I 've been throwing
pearls before swine."

" Is it the pig, Sir, you asks for ? — Why then 'tis not well he has
been at all since he came to this place : the poor baste is so lonesome
out in that little coop by himself, and 'tis very natural that he should
be grieved to the heart, and not thrive at all, but the other way,
when he thinks how he used to be rubbing his nose against me
iwinty times a-day and more, and go in and out like one of the
family, as sure he was, and just the pattern of a purty pig 1 and
MOW, ullagone ! 'tis shut up he must be, the cratur!"
301.— No. 7. D

'26 IMPROVERS AND IMPROVEMENT.

" I thought my Steward told you that you were welcome to
drive your pig upon the road sometimes/'

" He did, Sir; only it isn't the road he wants, but it's what he's
used to, is the face of a Christian, and all the dumb craturs like it.
The cocks and kins, and let alone the turkeys, would lay twice as
many eggs as they do — ay, and more, if they might be with me in
a warm cabin."

Somewhat softened and amused, in spite of himself, at the manner
in which the old hen-wife gave vent to her sorrow and expatiated on
the calamities which a kitchen grate and a flight of stairs had
plunged her into, the generous landlord left her, and, during the re-
mainder of his walk, he naturally enough thought over the scene he
had witnessed, and endeavoured to trace effects to their causes.

He began to perceive the mistake he had fallen into, in supplying
his people with things of which they had never felt the want — things
which were to them a great deal of extra trouble, attendant with no
adequate reward, but, on the contrary, with great discomfort, as ap-
pears from the circumstance of the grate.

We must bear in mind that these poor people, as yet, have no
idea that neatness is essential to comfort.

Sir Henry, in his anxiety to make his tenant comfortable, had
forgotten how much we are all controlled by the strong power of
habit, and that to leave off long-practised customs and usages, and
to acquire new ones, is a difficult task for middle-aged people, and
must be still worse for old ones.

" Yes," said he, "it is the young we must compel to improve-
ment: it is no punishment; while the bodily and mental faculties are
flexible, they may be accustomed to any thing."

He determined in all his future innovations to begin with the
young, and leave the old people free to adopt improvements or not,
as they chose.

In this amendment, we ourselves beg leave to support him ; and
perhaps, at some future time, we may show how eminently success-
ful his endeavours became.

H.E. D.

SKETCHES OF THE HISTORY AND TRADITIONS
OF THE STREETS OF LONDON.

No. II.

ADELPHI — Durham Place — Chivalry — Henry VIII. — Lady Jane Grey,
&c. — SAVOY — John of Gaunt — Chaucer — Richard II. and Bolingbroke
— SOMERSET HOUSE — The Protector Somerset — Catherine Parr —
Henrietta Maria — Catherine of Braganza.

As we were pursuing our way along the Strand, for the purpose of
glancing at Temple-bar and the Temple, and parts " that there-
abouts do lie," my college friend deflected into the Adelphi, and
said —

" There are few, if any, places in London, that I could longer
linger in than this; not, as you may suppose, from any thing regarding
its present aspect or history, but because it recalls to my memory the
gallant manners of our forefathers. Like other historic and tradi-
tionary scites, woe and suffering mingle with our reminiscences of
joust and banquet, of crosier and cross, of peer and pilgrim. Not
a vestige remains of Durham-place — the costly erection of De Beck,
patriarch of Jerusalem and Bishop of Durham — nor of that of De
Hatfield, built in the reign of the first Edward — nor of the magnifi-
cent building and tilt-yard, where, in 1540, the eighth Henry gave a
splendid tournament, which brought together the flower of chivalry
from Spain, France, and Flanders. How different is the whole
scene,- — how choked up and even suffocating, when one calls to remem-
brance the pleasant road, lined at intervals with the mansion of our
warlike nobles, which led from hence to Whitehall ! The eye may,
indeed, for a moment cheat itself, and gaze along the vista of brick
walls, and summon up a gallant train of knights in all the pride and
pomp of state ; and lo! the barriers are opened, and the cry resounds
' St. George for England.' I know not how it is, but the era of
chivalry has always had a peculiar hold on my imagination ; and
when I see the crowd of human beings, that, like a great stream, is
pouring along the Strand, intent, apparently, on mere pelf or sordid
gain, I sigh and think of past ages. I am to some extent a recluse,
and people the world with beings of my own temperament; yet
surely there was something most ennobling in the lives, actions, and
pursuits of a ' true knight.' The race is, indeed, utterly extinct —

'The knights are dust,
Their good swords are rust,
Their souls are with the saints, I trust.' "

" Yes, it certainly requires some stretch of imagination to recall
sights and sounds that were once familiar to the spot on which we are
now standing. The era of chivalry, although it nursed many vices,

28 HISTORY AND TRADITIONS OF

was the breeder of much good : it was the mark of one particular stage
of civilisation, but would be as foreign to our present habits as the
spruce shopmen of the day would be to the cry of « Clubs, clubs!' of
a former period ; and yet it is sometimes a source of surprise, that
the tournament is not revived to a limited extent amongst us. It was
a noble sport for gay and gallant spirits, and the tilt-yard would
surely be a finer field for manly exercise than lounging at Tattersall's
or in the Park. The motto —

' La guerre est ma patrie,
IVIon harnois ma maison ;
Et en toutc saison,
Combattre c'est ma vie,'

is lost amidst modern refinement, and we are glad that it is so."

" True— and it is perhaps well — at all events it is inevitable. How
is it that 'bluff Harry7 is so mingled up with our recollections of
almost every spot in the metropolis famous for ' gentle deedes? ' He
it was who headed the gallant train that assembled in Durham-
place, accompanied by ' the Flander's mare/ as the polite monarch
called Anne of Cleves.''

" Henry's reign marks a transition both in our social and political
history. Like other men who have been distinguished for despotic
rule, he appears to have been born for accomplishing a particular
purpose : this purpose in him was the final abolition of feudalism and
monachism. His father had laid the train; but what the Seventh Henry
did by petty juggling or nice balancing of personal interest, his son
accomplished by daring boldness. In the tyrannous and haughty
Henry, the elements of good and evil were so curiously mingled, that
he ruled despotically with perfect impunity. His character has been
but imperfectly delineated. We permit our just hatred of his cruel
and salacious disposition to lower our opinion of his talents and his
wisdom. The man who set at defiance long recognised rights of
property, and who made that property available to his own private pur-
poses,— who held back, by his sceptre, the spiritual director of the most
powerful and wealthy of his subjects, must have had talents of no
common order — even if we call his firmness despotism, and his aliena-
tion of church-property rapacity. But pass we on ; and the next pa-
geant held in Durham-place was one nearly displacing the crown
from the heads of the immediate descendants of ' bluff King Hal,'
the marriage of Guildford Dudley and the young, the beautiful, and
the accomplished Lady Jane Grey, victims both, and unwilling ones,
to the folly and ambition of their respective parents — the Dukes of
Northumberland and Suffolk."

" Most true, and a brilliant and heart- touching bridal-day that must
have been; but what an amount of personal misery was the speedy
result! What bright eyes dimmed ! — What young hopes crushed!
— What noble hearts quenched on the scaffold! — Dudley, Her-
bert, and Hastings, Jane Grey, her sister Catherine Grey, and
Catherine Dudley — met together in all the glow and enthusiasm of
plighted love, and a few brief clays, and lo ! death was on their traces."

Our friend turned away from the modern building, we believe,

THE STREETS OF LONDON. 2J>

quite unconscious of its existence ; and musing silently we winded our
way till the word " Savoy" caught his eye, and again turning from the
busy Strand we stood amidst the quiet of a back street in London.

" We will revisit the Adelphi," he said, " and the buildings
nearly opposite, which occupy the scite of * the new Exchange,' —
the resort of the gallant but licentious courtiers of Charles : I have a
story of the « White Widow' for you, but the Adelphi makes me
melancholy, whether I think of it in my own secluded residence, or
with the situation before me."

" With all my heart. Peter of Savoy, uncle of the queen of our
Third Henry, — how many mutations has the place undergone, which
still retains his name ! It deserves our remembrance chiefly from the
splendour which the building attained during the chivalrous and
warlike reign of Edward III., when it became the residence of
John of France, a prisoner to the spear and shield of the Black
Prince."

" Ay, and a subsequent period, the dwelling-place of John of
Gaunt, the patron of Chaucer, and defender of Wickliffe — a name
distinguished in our annals above almost all others. He was a
noble and a generous patron ; and the poet seems to have lived on
terms of social intimacy with him, honourable alike to both parties.
His wife Philippa was sister to the celebrated Catherine Swynford,
the Duke's mistress, but subsequently his wrife. It is rare that genius
is so fortunate in its alliance with greatness, as it happened with
Chaucer and the noble Lancaster : his fortunes indeed varied with
those of his protector, but their regard for each other appears to have
remained unshaken. For one man to have nurtured the father of
English poetry, and the father of our religious reformation, is a glo-
rious epitaph ; and this epitaph should be inscribed on a mausoleum
erected to the memory of John of Gaunt. It is this which makes
us linger over his character as sketched by Shakspeare as ** old John
of Gaunt, tirae-honour'd Lancaster." He shows him to us in extreme
age, when bowed down by wrong, and filled with gloomy anticipa-
tions ; bufr his vigorous intellect and love of his country survive
his weakened body. The language placed in his mouth by the
great poet of nature, is such as makes him a worthy companion of
Chaucer.

' O but they say the tongues of dying men
Enforce attention like deep harmony.

*##***

The setting sun, and music at its close
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last.

******

Methinks I »m a prophet new inspired — '

are fine bursts of poetry : and listen how elaborately he depicts the
* Ocean Gem' — his country :

' This royal throne of kings, — this sceptred isle —
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars —
This other Eden, demi- paradise —
This fortress built by Nature for herself

30 HISTORY AND TRADITIONS OF

Against invasion or the hand of war, —

This happy breed of men, — this little world, —

This precious stone, set in a silver sea,

Which serves it in the office of a wall,

Or as a moat defensive to a house

Against the envy of less happier lands —

This blessed plot — this earth — this realm — this England !' "

" Chaucer, the noble Lancaster, and Wickliffe — what a magnifi-
cent trio for a united biography! and I wonder the task is not under-
taken. What a powerful and characteristic speech is that of
Ilichard II. to the admonition of the aged nobleman! —

' And thou a lunatic — lean-witted fool,
Presuming on an ague's privilege,
Dar'st with thy frozen admonition
Make pale our cheek ; chasing the royal blood
WTith fury from his native residence.
Now by my seat's right royal majesty,
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,
This tongue, that runs so roundly in thy head,
Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders.'

Ilichard, whose fate was so mingled with the ' Lancaster/ comes
vividly before me, whilst standing on the ground once occupied by the
mansion of John of Gaunt, whose foot has passed again and again
over the very spot on which we are standing. His character is
drawn with extraordinary skill, and contains some of the very finest
of Shakspeare's poetry. Here was nursed " his thrice noble cousin
Harry Bolingbroke ;" and, spite of his weaknesses, we cannot help
sympathising with the dethroned monarch. How full of beautiful
sentiment is Richard's speech on landing, when on his return from
Ireland —

Aum. ' How brooks your grace the air ?
K. Rich. Needs must I like it well — I weep for joy
To stand upon my kingdom once again.
Dear earth! 1 do salute thee with my hand :
As a long parted mother with her child
Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting;
So weeping, smiling, do 1 greet thee, earth ! J

There is, perhaps, nothing more natural or more touching than
these lines in the compass of our language. The passage, however,
where he addresses his friends, after being told of the success of
Bolingbroke, is, without exception, the most splendid production of
* the Bard,' — full of power, stern truth, and magnificent imagery :

* Nothing can we call our own but death,
And that small model of the barren earth,
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground,
And tell sad stories of the death of kings —
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed —
Some poison'd by their wives — some sleeping kill'd —

THE STREETS OF LONDON. 31

All murder'd — for within the hollow crown,

That rounds the mortal temples of a king,

Keeps Death his court : and there the antic sits

Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp ;

Allowing him a breath, a little scene

To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks;

Infusing him with self and vain conceit,

As if this flesh, which wails about our life,

Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus,

Comes at the last, and with a little pin

Bores through his castle wall, and — farewell king !

Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood

With solemn rtverence; throw away respect,

Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,

For you have thus mistook me all this while :

I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief,

Need friends : — subjected thus,

How can you say to me — I am a king ?'

The climax is splendid ; and the whole passage magnificently
graphic, and exquisitely polished, and beautiful in style and lan-
guage."

"The palace of Savoy," resumed our friend, "underwent the
usual changes incident to noble mansions, when left stranded by the
receding tide of fashion ; — the town out-grew it — and, as a hospital, a
prison, and a scene of ruins, made the hiding-place for traitors and
cut-throats of all castes and conditions, its remains were at last
removed, and no trace remains but its name linked with the historic
memoirs, which endear it to us. And here we come to one of the
best specimens of your street architecture — Somerset-house — the pro-
duction of John of Padua, Inigo Jones, and Sir William Chambers."

" Ay, the ' proud Duke of Somerset,' and his young charge,
Edward VI. History has hardly done justice to Somerset,

' Men's evil manners live in brass, their
Virtues we write in water : '

and the man whose blood was worshipped by a populace must have
had qualities of no common order. Northumberland, who hounded
him to death, was in his day as much execrated as his victim was
beloved."

" True, and his royal nephew would alone have been sufficient to
wrest his memory from evil tongues and evil times. What a strange
family history is his ! His brother Thomas, the lord high admiral,
was, I think, one of the most thorough-paced villains that ever drew
the breath of life ; and much as we may deplore the punishment of
one brother by another, it is impossible to withhold our approbation
from the conduct of the Protector. Poor Catherine Parr, whose
life had more than once been jeopardied by her savage husband
Henry VIII., found a thrice-dyed villain in Seymour, and dearly
rued the precipitate and indecorous step of wedding a subject, ere
her late lord and master was well removed."

32 EXPERIENCES OF A SURGEON.

" Somerset House recalls the name of another queen, whom ill-
judged love, or misplaced ambition, rendered miserable — Henrietta
Maria, widow of Charles I. The Earl of St Albans, to whom she
had privately given her hand, treated her with the most ruthless
contempt : she descended from a throne to be the minion of his
vilest pleasures, whilst her proud and indignant spirit was held in
subjection by measures of stern severity. The change must have
been one of the most bitter kind, as her domestic relations with
Charles were happy and confidential."

"And here, too, dwelt the queen of another Stuart — Catherine of
Braganza, not a widowed wife indeed, but one deserted by a profli-
gate and licentious husband. She bore much : whether from native
indifference, or from a feeling of policy generated by a court edu-
cation, it matters not; but Whitehall became at times the sty of
lascivism, too gross, even for her nerves, and then she removed
hither. The 'merry monarch' and his licentious nobles overthrew,
with a vengeance, the reign of puritanism, and did more mischief to
the morals of our country than any set of public vagabonds of an
earlier or later date. I have somewhere seen a remark made by
Bonaparte, to the effect that ' immorality is the worst of faults in a
sovereign : it introduces it as a fashion amongst his subjects, and
strengthens every vice, blights every virtue, and infects all society
like a pestilence.' And in saying this, he spoke the truth."

EXPERIENCES OF A SURGEON.

No. V.— THE STUDENT IN LONDON.

LODGING HUNTING— LODGING-HOUSES— AND EATING-
HOUSES.

As it was likely that I should determine upon the School in
Windmill Street for the prosecution of my studies, I looked out for
suitable apartments in that neighbourhood. My search therefore
extended through Golden Square and its vicinity ; such as Pulteney
Street, Warwick Street, Wardour Street, Rupert Street, &c. I
found nothing there exactly to my taste. I then pursued my inquiries
about Soho Square; perambulated Dean Street, Greek Street, Frith
Street, King Street, Queen Street, Gerrard Strtet, Lisle Street ; and,
in short, there was hardly a street between Berkeley Square and Soho
that I did not visit. I was astonished at the vast number of lodging-
houses I found. In fact, in those streets which were not active
business thoroughfares, almost every house of respectable exterior
was ticketed as having *' Apartments to let." I was a good deal
amused, too, though at last tired enough. My object was to secure
clean and comfortable rooms at the least possible expense. I was a
perfect stranger, and, as was likely in the course of such a search,

EXPERIENCES OF A SURGEON. 33

stumbled into all sorts of places; but generally speaking there was
a great similarity amongst the different decent houses, both as to
arrangement and price. In tenements of this nature there were, I
found, four, five, or six various localities, each having its grade of
respectability and expense, and each claiming for the owner a
greater or lesser degree of respect. In the first place, the ground-
floor generally consisted of two rooms, tolerably furnished, and
styled the front and back parlours : to these were attached bed-
rooms, somewhere towards the attic, containing a tent-bed, one
chair, and a cracked looking-glass: for these the terms were one
guinea per week : this included attendance, but nothing more : every
thing had to be found by one's self. The parties occupying these
situations were considered as respectable : on the first-floor was a
drawing-room and bed-room, let together : these were often well and
showily furnished ; sometimes even handsomely. The payment for
these varied from a guinea and a half to three guineas a week, and
entitled the tenant to consider himself as the great man of the house :
he had the pas of the other lodgers, and received a proportionate
share of the bows of the landlord, the smiles of the landlady and her
daughters, if she had any, and the zealous attention of the kitchen
and house-maids. The next story above this was a sort of miscella-
neous story : the two ground-floor gentlemen had probably their
resting-places in the two back closets : while the front room was set
off" as another independent mansion, serving both as a bed-room and
sitting-roorn for its occupier ; for this he paid 10s. Qd. per week, and
this of course placed him a great deal below his immediate neigh-
bours in family consequence : and then, again, one of the attics
was apportioned to a still inferior lodger, who, for '2s. Gd. or 3s., was
content with a truckle-bed and bare walls. Where the family lived
and slept I could not imagine : it must either have been in the
kitchen, coal-hole, cock-loft, or some out-of-the-way place that a
cursory inspection failed to discover : nor could I imagine that any
thing but extreme indigence could lead parties thus to convert their
homes into an inn under the most troublesome form.

My own taste would have led me either to engage a parlour or the
drawing-room, but I felt that inferior accommodation would answer
my purpose quite as well. Then here was a stumbling-block : I
was proud, — had been used to attention ; and I could see plainly
enough that if I ascended to the third story, I must be content to be
the third or fourth best man. When I made the first inquiry at one
of these houses, being possessed of a decent and respectable appear-
ance, I was shown with great civility, by the house-maid, the two
parlours : if I asked for the drawing-room, the mistress was sum-
moned, and in person ushered me through it : if f inquired farther,
the maid again took me in leading, and accompanied my ascent, —
and here her civility was changed to easy familiarity, a thing I espe-
cially hated : and if my curiosity went still higher, I was left to
make the inspection alone. Now I should have preferred the third
story for economy ; but the certainty that I should have to yield
precedence of attendance, and been kept waiting till it was conve-
nient to wait upon me, — which would have given me the fidgets, —

M.M.— No. 7. E

34 EXPERIENCES OF A SURGEON.

prevented my securing one or two very eligible situations. Indeed,
I was determined that if I did locate myself in one of these man-
sions, I would even pay my guinea, and endeavour to save the dif-
ference in some way. Before doing so, however, 1 resolved to see
whether I could not find something inferior, and where my half
guinea might make me a person of consequence.

Stranger as I was, and ignorant of the character of the streets or
their inhabitants, and of the marks by which an individual of expe-
rience would have detected the quality of some of the places, into
which I entered with the most perfect simplicity, 1 was of course
exposed to annoyance and temptation. Wherever I saw a house
having a decent exterior, with a card labelled " Apartments," sus-
pended by a bit of ribbon, or placed on the edge of the blind, I
straightway made application : many of these I soon discovered
were avowedly houses of ill-fame ; and others, though less openly
devoted to the same purposes, were chiefly occupied by nymphs of the
pave. I found the classical account of the descent into hell, " facilis
descensus Averni," &c. well illustrated in these dens of 'infamy : it
was indeed easy to get in, but by no means so easy to get out. The
pertinacious civility and forward impudence of these " darnes d'a-
mour," from the mistress herself down to her draggle-tailed Abi-
gails, were rather above my match. I had no experience amongst
such personages, and was not disposed to commence by locating my-
self in the very midst of them. I had great difficulty, however, in
freeing myself: I was no bully; and my natural method towards
women, which was always respectful, in one or two instances was
heartily laughed at, and in others misunderstood. It required, I
found, some firmness and tact to evade impure blandishment, and to
save my pocket ; —

" Ne quisquam Ajacem possit superare nisi Ajax."

I managed as well as I could, and extricated myself unharmed : I
grew more cautious too as I went on, and reconnoitred the premises
before I made an entry.

I should strongly recommend to parents that they should pro-
cure for4 their sons some information as to respectable lodging-
house keepers, before turning them afloat in situations where
they may so easily be led astray, and form connexions which
are likely to end in their ruin. A raw country lad is sent up to
town, with his pocket full of money, and is left to find a home; —
what wonder is it that he is inveigled from the straight path of virtue,
when he is hemmed in on all sides by decoys admirably got up to
deceive him ? This is great oversight, and one that parents and
guardians should be on their guard against.

Driven by the considerations above-mentioned from the front
streets, I now prosecuted my search in a different hemisphere, — I
turned aside into by-lanes, alleys, and back streets. There was no
lack of intimations that apartments were to be had ; but these were
couched in a different language. " Lodgings for single men," " Sin-
gle men taken in here," or " A room to let," were scrawled on a
dirty bit of paper, and stuck in windows, amongst old boots and

EXPERIENCES OF A SURGEON. 35

shoes, old clothes, potatoes, herrings, or eggs, oysters, beer-cans, or
pipes, and other indications of the callings of the inmates. The
filthy and squalid aspect of the majority of these places of rest was
too disgusting and repulsive to permit of any examination beyond
what the nose and eye could make from the outside : others that
promised better, I inquired after : a stare, or a brief remark that the
room was for a single man, was all the information I could get.
After pacing backwards and forwards for some hours, I at length
prevailed upon a slip-shod damsel, with a marvellously grimy dress,
to show me the " Room to let," as notified by a paper in the win-
dow. It was a miserable affair, truly ! — three-pair back, as she
called it; — and smelt abominably. This survey satisfied me that
" Lodgings for single men" would not be in my way.

I now turned into another set of streets. Avoiding the great busi-
ness-thoroughfares, I explored the secondary shop streets, chiefly
inhabited by little tradesmen ; the ground-floor being used as a shop
of some sort or other, — either a shoe, grocery, watchmaker, baker,
pawnbroker, or hairdresser. The announcements of lodgings were as
numerous here as in the other situations I had already visited : it
seemed indeed as if the idea of a strictly private house was unknown.
" Respectable lodgings," " Furnished rooms," or " Lodgings" sim-
ply, met me on every hand. Many of these were very eligible, and
moderately cheap ; but there were also objections to many of them :
in some, the only entrance was through the shop and kitchen : in
others they could not cook for me : in a third it was expected I
should not even breakfast there. Now none of these met my views :
I wanted a place in which I could breakfast, dine occasionally, take
tea regularly, and spend my evenings. In this I at last succeeded,
in a street near Golden-square. I engaged a comfortable room,
containing a tent-bed, a chest of drawers, two chairs, a dressing- table
and glass, and a lock-up cupboard : it served as my drawing-room,
parlour, and bed-room, and was on the second-floor back. 1 had of
course to pay for eating and drinking, coals, washing, and other clean-
ing besides. To show how hundreds of families live in London, and
how little they consult what is called domestic comfort and seclusion
in the country, I will mention how the household was constructed of
which I now formed a part ; and I had means of learning that this
was a pretty fair exemplar of a large class of housekeepers. In the
first place, the ground-floor formed in front a respectable-looking
shop, occupied by a boot and shoemakerv: this man did not sleep on
the premises : behind the shop was a kitchen and other places, in
which lived the landlord of the entire building. The first-floor con-
sisted of a drawing-room, as it was styled, communicating by folding-
doors with a bed-room behind it : these were now tenanted by a can-
tatrice attached to one of the great theatres, and a female companion
said to be her mother. The third story was in possession of my im-
mediate landlady : the front room she lived in herself, with two boys
— (she was the wife of the head- waiter at the Clarendon Hotel) :
this room was her kitchen, wash-house, coal -cellar, scullery, sitting
and sleeping room : her husband she rarely saw : in the back room

3fi EXPERIENCES OF A SURGEON.

I had my resilience. The story above this was divided in like man-
ner ; one division occupied by two young; women, and another by a
journeyman bookbinder. There were thus under the same roof, seven
distinct families, each unconnected with and perfectly independent
of his neighbour. The stairs were of course common to all ; and it
was astonishing- how orderly and quiet the place was. I lived here
nearly eight months; and so little intercourse was there amongst the
members of the colony, that I never knew the name of any one of
them, and believe my own was equally unknown : nobody seemed
to trouble themselves either as to the mode of life or character of
those around them. With the exception of the passing along the
stairs, and the sound of mirth, music, and singing, from the first-floor
at times, I was as secluded and solitary as if in the midst of a number
of Trappists. I never saw but once my fair neighbour, and that
only for a moment: she was a fine, showy young woman, and had
an air of espitglerie and insouciance belonging to her profession.
My landlady was civil and attentive; and as my rent and other ex-
penses were punctually paid every Monday morning, and as my
hours were regular, we were good friends : she was honest, and kept
my apartment clean, and never intruded herself.

I now commenced housekeeper on my own account — bought
sugar, tea, coffee, cheese, ordered a loaf to be left every morning;
while my landlady got me butter, chops, and steaks, when I did
dine at home — took me a pennyworth of milk daily, and a peck of
coals weekly, and found me pepper, mustard, and salt, gratis : she
had my linen washed and my shoes cleaned ; and, on the average,
these several items made my weekly expenditure about a guinea.
As to dinner, I usually made a substantial one in the evening, as
this left me the middle of the day quite at liberty; now and then,
however, I dined at an ordinary, of which there were a vast number,
and of all grades and prices. One half the population, I verily
believe, never cooked their own dinners, but supplied themselves
from the eating-houses. 1 could get a very good dinner, including
bread and a pint of stout, for one shilling ; this of course consisted of
one dish only. The house I principally frequented, was a French
one, in a narrow street leading out of Leicester-square : it was
admirably conducted, and had a great choice of dishes and soups :
the bread was especially good and cheap : I donjt know a pleasanter
eating-house ; and it was attended by very respectable people. I
have often seen ladies dine there, in as much privacy as if at their
own table: the gar^on, William, was an orderly and civil waiter,
and well deserved his penny fee. The coffee was superb, but very
dear, fourpence a cup: the liqueurs too were excellent ; and one
might make a dinner for a shilling or a guinea, just as it was con-
venient. There was, when T was in the habit of visiting there, a
smart French girl in the bar, and a most singular-looking cat without
a tail, that made a regular circuit round the room, taking a turn
before each of the fires, of which there were three, and then squatted
herself down in the middle of the room, as if to watch the company.
Many of the dishes I did not like, and some of the soups I could

EXPERIENCES OF A SURGEON. 37

not eat; but the fish and plain joints and steaks were good; so were
the mock-turtle, mulligatawney, and ox-tail soups. Take it all in
all, indeed, I never met with a better conducted, and more com-
fortable establishment, and I can safely recommend it, if still in the
same hands.

Occasionally 1 dined at a French ordinary in Princes-street: here
the proprietor sat on the landing of the stairs ; and, on giving him
eighteen-pence, we were entitled to a pint of table-beer, and as
much as we could eat : the table was always filled, and there was
plenty of food, but dressed d la Fran^ais. The soup ordinaire was
liberally supplied, and was capital : this, with a roll of bread, consti-
tuted the best part of my dinner. To this succeeded joints, boiled
or roasted, and some made dishes, with vegetables ad libitum. The
guests were chiefly Frenchmen and Germans, inferior artists, hangers-
on about the public offices, and teachers of language. They were
most ravenous and enormous feeders, and despatched such quantities
of food, that I doubted the provider had but a poor bargain with
their eighteen-pences. It was a pleasant place enough for getting a
cheap arid substantial dinner. The company, when the first heat of
their appetites was appeased, talked with wonderful volubility and
great good humour. I have heard conversations carried on at the
same table, in German, French, Italian, Spanish, and Dutch : in
this respect, they offered a strong and pleasing contrast with
Englishmen, who meet together under similar circumstances, amongst
whom, brief question and answer, or unsocial silence, is sure to
reign.

Curiosity led me to visit a cheap free-and-easy eating-house, as it
is called ; I believe it was situated somewhere behind Carnaby-
market; but of this I am not sure, as I never went there but once,
and under the guidance of a friend. It was cut and come again, at
boiled joints of mutton and pork, with stewed potatoes and cabbages.
It was a cheap and nasty place, — the waiters impudent, the landlord
noisy, and the guests a strange mixture of all sorts, amongst which,
however, vulgar canaille had the preponderance. I was surprised to
find it the chosen haunt of a great number of medical pupils. I
paid sixpence to a dirty drab of a woman, who was the gouvernante
of this delicious salle-a-manyer.

( 38 )

TO THE PALO DI VAC A,
THE C(3\V OR MOTHER TREE.

[THE Cow-Tree gives forth its milky fluid most abundantly at
sunrise. Humboldt and Bonpland drank a considerable quantity of
it, and found it of a pleasant smell and taste, and quite free from
acrimony. It grows in parched situations, where a drop of rain
never falls for six months together : it has a dry and leather-like
foliage, and huge twisted roots, which seem hardly to penetrate the
ground ; yet when an incision is made into its bark, it yields its pe-
culiar fluid very abundantly, and this is freely drunk by the native
Indians.]

Whence is thy pure, thy milky stream ?

Where does thy life spring well ?
Is it, as untaught Indians dream,
Their mother there does dwell ?
That midst the waving of thy leaves,

Within thy trunk confined,
Their simple faith hopes and believes-—

The mother's soul is shrined ?

That, as the Memnon sighs, touch'd by the sun's first ray,*
So stirs the mother's yearning love, whilst round her children
pray?

0 fount of love ! O generous tree !
I hail thy gushing tide ;

Joys, memories, are roused by thee,
Tears from a source long dried.

1 think of all my mother's love,

I think of all her pride,
When dancing forth, a joyous child,

I prattled at her side.

1 kneel before thy rugged stem ; my soul is stirr'd by prayer ;
I bless thee, for thou shadowest forth my mother's love and care.

* Connected with the early Indian superstitions, is the belief of a
general father and mother, a Ynca and a Mama, who dwelt for some
time amongst them, teaching various agricultural and social arts. They at
length disappeared from the earth, and became objects of worship — a
fable having some remote analogy to the Isis and Osiris of the earliest
Egyptian records.

KUYP VAN KAARTEN,

OR THE GNOME VALLEY.

" What are these,

So wither'd, and so wild in their attire ;
That look not like the inhabitants of the earth,
And yet are on 't ? Live you ? or are you anght
That man may question ?

Were such things here, as we do speak about ;
Or have we eaten of the insane root,
That takes the reason prisoner ?"

SHAKSPEARE.

THE South American traveller may possibly remember that there
are a number of secluded, yet ancient villages, whose population,
thin as it is, is a medley of Portuguese, Mulattoes, New Yorkists,
Virginians, and a few individuals whose parents were people of
England, situated on the north-western boundaries of Brazil, — with
whom communication is uncertain and unfrequent, and whose man-
ners and mode of living, owing to their removal from the influence of
modern improvement, are almost as simple as the patriarchal ages.
One of these, named Rio-del-Nema, is the scene of the following
narrative.

The inhabitants of this village were a nondescript kind of people,
somewhat superstitious, but friendly in their intercourse with one
another, and hospitable to the very few strangers that wandered in
their direction. Half cultivators, half huntsmen, they wanted spirit
and perseverance to become, or profit as either; a few plots of
maize, and the raising a few vegetables that did not demand much
experience, supplied them with the principal means of subsistence:
inconstant by temperament, the spade was often relinquished for the
rifle, and the reaping-hook for a gin. From the surpassing grandeur
of the scenery around them, one might have expected to meet an
admiration of the beauties of nature, an elevated tone of thinking
and feeling, or at least a not total indifference to the refinement of
mind. But this was not the case; — they seemed perfectly insensible
to the hundred natural beauties, to which they could not avoid being
daily witness ; and plodded on with an apathetic equanimity, not
certainly very enviable.

Among the inhabitants of the Kio-del-Nema, of best substance,
about the middle of the past century, might be reckoned a wight,
termed Kuyp Van Kaarten. His grandfather had, for some political
reasons, migrated from New York somewhere about the year 1679 ;
and, after roving through the coast towns of the Brazils, had wandered
westwards, and at last had settled down at Rio. Sprung from an
ancient Dutch family, he inherited the thrift and industry peculiar to
the nation, and, in course of years, accumulated a tolerable property;
not indeed in coin, but in grain, cattle, &c. This descended to his

40 KUYP VAN KAARTEN,

heirs with increase ; and in 1734, Kuyp was able to look about him
with complacency, and congratulate himself on possessions, which
were the envy of his neighbours, and a source of much satisfaction to
himself. Never backward to relieve the deserving or undeserving,
always jovial, familiar, and good-hearted, he was, as he ought to
have been, extremely popular in the village : to him, as the most
influential amongst them, were his neighbours accustomed to look
for the administration of executive and distributive justice; to his
opinion all were accustomed to defer ; and representative and legis-
lator of the little commonwealth, he might with justice have
reckoned himself, had he been acquainted with the name, a Solon on
a small scale.

His age was about forty-five; and, though stout, he was tall, and
of a goodly presence : endowed with strong capabilities of supporting-
fatigue, and a mind not easily terrified by danger, it was often his
practice to make long and extensive excursions into the surrounding
country. A South American woodman has resources in himself,
calculated to surmount obstacles, and obviate what to others would
appear insuperable inconveniences. When preparing for expeditions
of this description, he would fit himself out in a species of Robinson
Crusoe fashion ; carrying, besides rifle, couteau, and powder-horns,
an axe to cut passages through brushwood, a bag containing pro-
visions, a quilted cloak of ample volume to sleep upon, a flask of
spirits, and sundry other necessaries of similar kind. Attended by a
dog of superior breed, that he called Maurice, after the Dutch
worthy of that cognomen, and which was apparently as well pleased
with these sallies as his master, was Kuyp accustomed to range the
forests and savannahs of that part of America; traversing long tracts
of woodland, under the scorching beams of a tropical sun ; swimming
rivers, and crossing ridges of seemingly inaccessible mountains.

It happened that Kuyp had occasion to visit a Mynherr Bom-
styck, an offset from the colony, at a distant point ; and this coming
in to add to his rambling disposition, he prepared for his journey.
One tempting morning, properly accoutred, he set out, and walked
stoutly forwards : masses of forest trees began to close round him,
until the greater part of the lower country was shut in from view.
On the brow of a grassy eminence, that sloped gently downwards,
which he had now attained, Kuyp turned, and for the last time
caught a far glimpse of the village he had left behind him. .. It lay
vaguely reposing in the early sunlight ; its antique church-tower
peeping from the dark foliage that seemed to sheathe it in solitary
peacefulness, and its few gilded roofs gracefully contrasted with the
blueness of the country beyond.

Calling his dog to his side, Kuyp turned round, and strode
valiantly forwards. Soon all traces of cultivation or inhabitants
faded from his eye. A monotonous repetition of the same colour,
green in all tints, from rich autumnal brown to the deepness of the
olive, or the freshness of the emerald, seemed calculated to tire the
eye. Forest succeeded forest in never-euding succession ; and no
sound broke the melancholy stillness of the scene, but now and tru n

OR THE GNOME VALLEY. 41

a strange and fitful whispering of the ocean of leaves that was spread
before, and on either side of him; and, perhaps, the solitary cry of
some bird of prey, rendering the silence more oppressive, by a mo-
mentary interruption of its reign.

Two days Kuyp spent in penetrating the forests that lay in the
neighbourhood of his native settlement. Towards the approach of
evening on the third, the country began to assume other and still
more majestic aspects. He was approaching a towering ridge of
mountains of unequal height and magnitude, — their bases clothed with
luxuriant verdure, abounding in birds of the most brilliant plumage,
and broken with picturesque confusion into masses of rock, and
partial breaks of water, and copsewood.

He threw himself on a soft green bank; and, taking off his cap,
abandoned himself to a feeling of delicious listlessness ; either
watching the clouds, as they floated one after the other over the
heavens; listening to the murmuring of a distant waterfall, or the
plaintive cry of the distant mountain eagle; or conjuring up shapes
among the ancient trees before him, and

" Chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancies:"

but night gradually began to creep on, and the scene to fade from
his view. Rising hurriedly, and surprised at the length of time he
had spent in rumination, he called Maurice, and endeavoured to rind
some shelter for the night : his bag of provisions, too, ran low ; and
he hoped by encountering some eatable animal to be furnished with
the means of replenishing it. Cautiously advancing, therefore, into
a romantic gla'de that opened-before him, and seemed to invite his
footsteps, — rifle charged and primed, he peered before and about
him, on the look-out for an object of attack. Fortune favoured him
more than he could have hoped for : about forty paces before him a
deer bounded across the sward. Casting a quick and terrified glance
from his bright dark eye at the unwelcome intruder, it hastened for-
wards, and, after two or three ineffectual attempts to pierce' the
thicket of branches and leaves that formed an impenetrable barrier in
many places beside it, leaped boldly upwards, flying like the wind
over an almost perpendicular acclivity. Kuyp's rifle was however
levelled in a moment — crack ! — the shot had told. Thus supplied
with Afresh and wholesome provision, Kuyp, after making a hearty
woodland dinner, and washing it down with a copious draught of the
clearest water, duly impregnated with the contents of his flask, now
turned his thoughts upon constructing a temporary night shelter.
Having, by the help of his friendly axe, cut a number of stakes from
the branches of the trees about him, bending almost to the ground,
he fixed them in a small circle in the earth ; and wrapping himself
tightly in his cloak, carefully laying his weapons within instant
reach, composed himself to sleep. His slumbers were undisturbed
by the visit of any hairy wanderer, and he did not awake until the
sun was high in the fervid heavens. Provoked at his unconscious
waste of time, and anxious, now that he had got far from the abodes
of mankind, to make the most of the day, he started quickly up; and,
M.M.— No. 7. F

42 KUYP VAN KAARTEN,

drawing some refreshment from his wallet, ate hastily as he walked.
The aspect of the country again changed : all seemed a wild and
melancholy solitude. A disagreeable and overpowering feeling of
utter loneliness stole over him, almost rising to something like terror :
every minute, although he seemed to be the only inhabitant of the
world, he caught himself looking furtively over his shoulder : but he
strode boldly on, guiding himself by the sun : sometimes he was
more than half tempted to think he had lost his way, as by this he
had expected to see the country open towards districts more suscepti-
ble of cultivation ; but traces of any thing calculated to justify the
expectation were not to be discovered. Still mass after mass of fo-
liage, covering steeps, scaling eminences, or declining into valleys,
disclosed themselves one after the other. Kuyp was nearly brought to
a stand-still : he first became dubious of his route, then misgiving,
and at last totally bewildered. He feared to proceed, through the
suspicion that he might be increasing the distance between him and
symptoms of civilisation : he feared to retrace his steps, through the
dread of still farther involving himself. In this state of indecision
he sat himself down, and night began to close around him. To
heighten his perplexity and vexation, a violent thunder-storm came
on, and roused the forest solitude' into one wild roar of confusion.
Sheltering himself as he best might, he waited for its subsidence ; and
after wringing his cloak, he walked a little way forward ; but the dis-
couraging consciousness that he knew not to which point of the com-
pass to direct himself, made him stop, and look wistfully around.

At this moment a light in the distance attracted his attention.
Kuyp laboured on : he now perceived that the ground rose rapidly ;
the woods became more gloomy ; and had Kuyp been a believer in
fays and goblins, this was a spot eminently calculated to recall all the
tales and traditions of the kind to the reluctant memory ; but Kuyp
had never troubled himself with speculations as to their existence or
non-existence, and had credence in nothing but what could be
brought to the te*t of actual experience.

From what the light proceeded it was totally impossible to disco-
ver : it emitted a reddish misty glare upon the nearest objects, but
left all in obscurity beyond. Kuyp would have shouted, but some-
how or other his voice seemed to stick in his throat : an indefinable
feeling of awe stole over him, his knees trembled, and unconsciously
he stood for a moment still. At intervals there seemed to be some-
thing like faint peals of laughter borne towards him on the breeze :
laughter sounded strange in such a place; but it only confirmed his
impression, namely, that there must be some human creature within
hail. After much toiling, he attained the topmost edge of the
ridge ; but who can express his fright and astonishment at the scene
that met his eyes below !

A large fire of heaped up twigs and branches was kindled in the
centre of a wide amphitheatre, whose craggy walls shot upwards to
an immense height ; here shelving into precipices, and there branch-
ing off into narrow rocky ledges, only practicable for animals of the
surest feet. Above rose pyramids of foliage ; trees bending horizon-
tally inwards, and shutting out the moon-lighted clouds :— ponderous

OR THE GNOME VALLEY. 43

crags, which seemed as if a touch would hurl them OH the sward be-
low ; and caverned blocks of fretted rock, fringed with intertwisted
festoons of ivy. A dusky glare was profusely shed on every object,
crimsoning leaf, branch, and trunk, and faintly irradiating the sky.
Gathered around the fire was an assemblage of strange and hideous
shapes ; dwarf-like in proportion, and monstrous in feature : their bo-
dies were covered with hair, deformed, and uncouth in motion : from
their shrivelled hands there extended claws of odious length : their
heads, covered with lank black hair reaching down to their feet, were
large and heavy-looking, with " foreheads villanous low," ape-like
ears, mouths resembling those of brutes, armed with yellow fangs,
and fringed with shaggy beards; and the skin of their faces was
withered and wrinkled. Every now and then, loud shouts of discord-
ant laughter burst out from their lips, making the woods re-echo for
miles round. A fawn, which they were devouring, lay torn and
bleeding before them. But Kuyp had scarcely leisure to observe all
these particulars : his first thought, and a horrible one it was, was
that he beheld an assemblage of demons, revelling with satanic glee
over the body of some lost mortal.

Kuyp had the ordinary courage of man, and would have feared
nothing that had come before him in a human form ; but this con-
gregation completely mastered him. He lay gazing in a sort of
fascination ; while party after party of fresh comers descended into
the valley, till the whole space was literally covered with the strange
and hideous- looking creatures. Every jutting rock and branched
tree were also occupied ; and the fire seemed to glow brighter and
fiercer, and to shed its glaring light with increased intensity. The
whole scene seemed to Kuyp's disordered faculties a type of the in-
fernal regions, if not the infernal regions in reality. Roar and revel-
ry, and shout and wild laughter, and still wilder antics, made the
valley before him seem absolutely alive; and the cry was " Still
they come !" — till so densely was the place peopled, that crowd was
heaped upon crowd, and vast masses of these horrid beings were
growing up like walls around the fire. Kuyp became utterly bewil-
dered : he lay deprived of all power of locomotion, his head jutting
over a ledge of the rock, the fierce light glowing in his face, and the
struggling and yelling heaps of demons rising every moment higher
and higher directly beneath him. Horrible were Kuyp's thoughts;
and, stirred by the same feelings which make men induced to throw
themselves from lofty eminences, he swayed to and fro, every second
losing his self-possession more and more completely, — till at length,
absolutely maddened, he toppled over the crag, dragging his dog
with him ; himself uttering a scream of horror, and his companion a
howl of the same signification. As soon as his person was descried,
whirling over the crag, a thousand arms were opened to receive him,
and a yell arose that drove consciousness from the mind of our un-
lucky traveller, — who knew nothing farther till he awoke as from a
dream, and found that the sun was almost in the meridian. Shud-
dering at the recollection of the horrors of the past night, he arose,
and gave one fearful glance around : all was now quite noiseless
and deserted, and he strode as fast as possible away. Anxious to

•14 KUYP VAN KAARTEN, OR THE GNOME VALLEY.

escape from so horrible a neighbourhood, he travelled on with asto-
nishing speed, and at evening had the satisfaction of perceiving that
the country began to open. A little time after he descried in the
distance, the thrice-welcome spire of the ancient Portuguese village
in which Mynherr Bomstyck resided. When he arrived at it, the
wonder with which his tale was received may be easily imagined :
some disbelieved it ; but Mynherr Bomstyck and a considerable
portion of his neighbours gave it the fullest credence, aware of the
irreproachable character for truth which Kuyp had always main-
tained. From one thing to another, it became a popular belief,
through all the districts to the north- westward of Brazil, that there was
a valley inhabited by gnomes or obscene spirits : and as Kuyp was
never able to decide exactly which was the precise one on which he
had stumbled, a long range of valleys were placed under ban, and as
sedulously avoided by the hunters and wayfarers as if certain de-
struction would have attended on entering the haunted district.

Not many years ago, circumstances placed me in the vicinity of
Kuyp Van Kaarten's gnome-valley. The story was told me, and I
was solemnly warned of the consequences which might follow a visit
to the secluded spot, which for nearly a century had been untrodden
by the foot of man; so universal was the tradition, and so firmly
was it believed by the primitive-thinking inhabitants. Many fearful
additions had doubtless been added to Kuyp's original'dream, — and
the glare of fires and the roar of voices were still seen and heard ;
whilst numbers of their herds were stolen away for the nightly orgies
of the gnomes. Not having much faith in supernaturals, and placing
the opinions of the secluded people to the credit of superstition, I
shouldered my rifle, and proceeded to explore the haunted valleys.
I was of course given up as a doomed man. Like Kuyp, 1 lost my-
self, and was benighted ; but, unlike him, I saw nothing in the
shape of demons : 1 found the valleys rich in picturesque scenery,
and abounding in game : they had indeed been the receptacles for all
the stray cattle of the surrounding villages, and hence were crowded
with wild and half-tame animals. I had excellent sport. I re-
turned on the evening of the second day, greatly to the surprise of
the beholders. My tale was listened to, doubted, half believed, —
and on the morrow a party accompanied me for the purpose of re-
claiming the animals. The solitude was completely broken in upon,
and the tradition of Kuyp Van Kaarten buried amongst other reli-
quiae of past times.

( 45 )

PARISIAN SKETCHES.
No. I.— CEMETERY OF MONTMARTRE

AMONG the thousands of English who run to see the cemetery of
Ptre la Chaise, not one in a hundred ever thinks of going to see
that of Montmartre ; which, however, is, in my humble opinion,
fully as well worth seeing as its more modern rival. There is some-
thing in Montmartre itself peculiarly interesting; its heights forming
so conspicuous a feature in the panoramic view around, and so
effectually commanding- the proud city of Paris itself, that glitters at
its feet; its antique feodal-looking mills crowning its summits, its
winding narrow streets, all speak of the past, and will incline the
pensive loiterer to muse on ages and generations bygone : the
cemetery, too, seems to belong more generally to the people, to the
great mass of human beings who can be characterised by no other
designation : it is with them, after all, that our human sympathies
are more really linked than with the higher classes, who, whilst they
claim, and seem to do so somewhat imperiously, the respect due to
them individually, for their rank, talent, or power, suspend the
feelings with which we involuntarily regard the sorrows of those who
ask our condolence, simply because they weep. It is these humble
sorrows that interest me at Montmartre. A mechanic leading his
children to the grave of their mother, — a widow kneeling with her
orphans at the edge of the sod that covers her husband, — a son or
daughter coming to renew the garlands on the tomb of a parent,
(whose love they find too late, sometimes, no other love can supply
with such disinterestedness) — an artisan visiting the spot where may
rest the companion of his morning life, the associate of his maturer
labours, — to recall their social hours, and supply for a moment, by an
ejaculation to his memory, the void his departure may have left in
his bosom, — such are the sights that may be seen every day and
every hour at Montmartre : and who can see them without having
such sympathies awakened, as, by removing us farther from self,
bring us nearer to heaven ? Yes, it is among the graves of the pool-
that grief holds her real court, and sympathy pays her real homage !
Within the gilded grilles that guard the marble mausoleum, we see
the weeds springing, and an air of abandonment strangely at variance
with the pompous emblazonment of the titles and virtues of the
defunct, in whose honour it may be raised, and with the eternal
regrets that are vowed to their memory ; but look at the humble
grave, unenclosed, save by a little border of box, or mignonette ; —
look at the smooth sod that covers it, the watered roses and lilies
and pensees with which it is decked, the fresh wreaths that hang on
the simple stone, or still simpler wooden cross, which has no other
record to tell, but the brief, the comprehensive one of all the human
race —

" They suffered and they died !"

46 CEMETERY OF MONTM ARTRE.

Does not all proclaim that willing feet and duteous hands visit con-
tinually the cherished spot which retains in death what was beloved
in life ? Alas ! the grave of those he loves is the only spot of earth
in the pendent globe, on which the poor man can place his foot, and
say '* It is mine" The " narrow house," which must finally
enclose the richest and the greatest, is the only one to which he can
ever look forward as his own : his griefs raise him to the dignity of a
proprietaire : and as he weeds the handful of grass which he has a
right to adorn according to his fancy, he feels something of the
pleasure of possession, — he feels that God is no respecter of persons ;
and says to himself, " one day all will be equal."

But Montmartre is not solely devoted to the poor and lowly — no ;
the city of the cemetery has its departments, its quartiers distingucs,
and its obscure alleys: the districts allotted to its humbler inhabit-
ants may be easily recognised by the piles of black wooden crosses,
looking at a distance like trains of ecclesiastics, congregating beneath
the cypresses that shadow them ; among these a few are overgrown,
dark, solitary, nameless: perhaps those who moulder beneath were
strangers, for whom hearts afar off may be breaking in silence.

The patrician quarters display many a lofty monument : many a
proud and noble name is to be found there, — many a high and daring,
deed is 'there recorded. The Montmorenci, one of the four oldest
families in Europe, is exalted on a tall column,

pointing to the skies :"

and at its side a prince of Saxe Cobourg cries out from his grave
upon the injustice of his enemies; though, by his own acknow-
ledgmentj he had, at any rate, the privilege of being tried by his
peers.

" Les princes, assis sur leurs tribunaux, m'ontjuge —
Les medians ! ils m'ont poursuivi, ils m' ont tue ! "

It is a strange effect which is produced in the mind, by long
wandering among places thus consecrated to the dead ; it seems as
if they, alone, were the real and rightful habitants of their respective
districts, and that all besides are intruders, and shadowy. One
becomes indeed dreamy, and uncertain : the perpetual recurrence of
the " $i-git" the " born on such a day," " died on such," seems to
make the span of existence, whatever space may in reality have
filled up the interval, no longer, in imagination, than the moment it
requires to read the brief summing up of the putting on and putting
off " this mortal coil." So entirely does it seem the business of life
to die, when we see only the memorials of death around us, that we
feel as if it were an impertinence to be still living; and as we peruse
the varied narrative of the perpetually recurring griefs of the sur-
vivors, for only sons, and only daughters, and the tenderest of
mothers, and best of fathers, and most beloved of wives, and revered
of husbands, and devoted of friends, the mere circumstance of dying,
in itself, seems the least misfortune of any that " flesh is heir to,"
—nay, rather, a most fortunate escape from the chance of having to

CEMETERY OF MONTMARTRE. 47

endure the same woes and sorrows and desolations as the survivors.
Nor is it on leaving the Cemetery, that we can shake off the images
which have impressed themselves upon the mind ; they are con-
tinued to us, as we retrace the road by which we approached it;
there is no occasion to ask the way : it is lined on each side with the
humble residences of those who live by the dead ; and at every step
the eye is arrested by the emblems and materials of their employ-
ment, from the marble monument to the humble wooden cross, with
the variety of yellow, white, and black flowers which the hands of
youth and age are alike busy weaving into chaplets for the tombs ;
sometimes the form of the tribute is varied into a heart, or a cross,
for those mourners who may like something un pen recherche, — some-
times signifying by white the youth and purity of the object to be
deplored, — sometimes by black the profoundness of the offerer's grief,
— but most frequently by the little yellow flower called everlasting,
the perpetual nature of its duration here below, joined with the hope
of that immortality where it may reasonably be supposed to cease.

No such thoughts, however, occupy the minds of those whose
fingers are thus employed ; they laugh and chat and sing whilst they
weave their wreaths : the workmen echo their strains, whilst they are
chipping and polishing the grave-stones, among which the little
children play at bo-peep, scarcely out of their cradles ere they begin
to familiarise themselves with forms and images of the grave.

At the entrance of the Cemetery is the bureau, where we are
informed that Linguet, marbrier, $i-devant a Pere la Chaise, entre-
prend la plantation des jardins et les entretient a Canute. It may
be some consolation to us as we enter the Cemetery, to think that
we may have our gardens or our burial-places, entretenus, after the
last fashion of Ptre la Chaise ; but as for taking care of them by the
year, we feel no way inclined, when we come out, to make any
bargain of the sort, whatever we may have done on going in. Who
could think of looking forward to a year certain, after all that we
have been contemplating ? If any way of a nervous or gloomy
temperament, we shall rather wonder whether we shall have time to
get home and make our wills, ere we may be called upon to fill up
our niche in the society we have just left. As we get out of sight of
the fleuristes, however, and out of hearing of the marbriers, and
come once more within reach of the gay spectacles and lively sounds
of le beau Paris, those lugubrious ideas begin to clear away ; and ere
the evening returns, with its balls, its concerts, and its conversaziones,
we are in more danger of forgetting that we are to die, one day, to a
certainty, than of imagining that that day may be to-morrow.
Happy those who on so important, so awful a subject, can preserve
the golden mean between presumption and despair ; and who, acting
upon the advice of the English worthy, resolve every morning so to
conduct themselves with regard to temporal concerns, as if they were
to live in this world for ever ; — with regard to their eternal ones, as if
they were going to leave it at night.

E. S.

( 48 )

THE SEVENTH DAY,

(Paraphrase from Milton.)

THE sun is set beneath the western wave :
O'er Eden's garden soft-wing'd twilight steals ;
Stars one by one, in golden clusters, pave
The darkening sky, while the lone night-bird peals
Her liquid harmony, and nature feels,
O night ! thy soothing power, and seeks repose.
Man to the God of darkness now appeals,
And in the south night's silver queen arose,
And o'er the sleeping world her cool, clear beams she throws.

The night serenely pass'd — the seventh day came,
And rosy dawn steals o'er the eastern sky :
Nature awakes, and breathes through all her frame
One sigh of prayer and praise to God most High.
Pleased with His works, thus spoke Eternity:
" This day be hallow'd, set apart for rest,
Sacred from toil — in holy memory
Of this new world — a world which we have bless'd.
The Sabbath we appoint, for man to be our guest"

THE LAKES OF SCOTLAND.

WHO has not heard of the Scottish Lakes? We had so often heard
the most glowing descriptions of their romantic and picturesque
scenery, that we determined in the summer of last year to enjoy the
luxury of a visit to them. High as were our expectations of plea-
sure from the ramble, the reality far exceeded it. Half the beauties
of the Scottish Lakes have not yet been told ; nor will they ever be ;
for no description, however graphic, can do any thing like justice to
them.

The first lake we visited, as being nearest the Scottish metropolis,
was the celebrated Loch Leven. The day on which we first beheld
this vast expanse of water, with the delightful scenery which sur-
rounds it, was the 4th of June — a day which never returns without

THE LAKES OF SCOTLAND. 49

bringing to our minds many pleasing reminiscences of our boyish
years ; for, being the birth-day of George the Third, we used
always on that day to escape from Mavor, our copperplate copy,
Cocker, Euclid, Virgil, and all the other Juggernauts of the school,
and engage in the more congenial task of kindling bonfires in proof
of our juvenile loyalty to that monarch. It was the afternoon of this
day before we reached Loch Leven. The weather was unusually
fine. The sky was unclouded : there was a fine gentle breeze from
the east — just as much, and no more, as was sufficient to neutralise
the otherwise oppressive rays of the sun. A scene, therefore, which
is beautiful in no ordinary degree at any time and under any cir-
cumstances, was pre-eminently so when it first met our vision. The
lake was calm and tranquil in the distance ; and even on nearing it,
it was but slightly ruffled by the zephyrs which played over its
surface. The surrounding scenery owes much of its beauty to the
variety of objects grouped into it. On the west and north-west side
of the lake, is the charming vale of Kinross, environed by hills in
the distance ; while the foreground is enriched by plantations, plea-
sure-grounds, and fields luxuriant with pasture. On the margin of
the lake, on the same side, is the burgh of Kinross, with its nu-
merous orchards and gardens. Not far distant, in an easterly direc-
tion, stands the dilapidated castle of Burleigh. The rugged western
termination of the Lomond Hills overhangs the north-east extremity
of the water : on the south side it is similarly overhung by the hill of
Binarty. Towards the east is a level piece of carse ground, at least
three miles in length, and fully one in breadth. There are several
islands in the lake, but only two of any extent. The most imposing
one is that adjoining the shore in the neighbourhood of Kinross.
The islands contribute essentially to the effect of the scene : on one
of these are still to be seen the ruins of the castle in which the un-
fortunate Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned ; made still more
celebrated by the singular circumstances under which, assisted by
the boy Douglas, she effected her escape from it. The lake is about
eleven miles in circumference. We luxuriated among the beauties of
its surrounding scenery until the declining sun admonished us that it
was time to seek, in the adjoining town of Kinross, a place of repose
for the night.

The origin of the name Loch Leven is somewhat curious. It arose
from the circumstance of the number eleven occurring often in matters
connected with the lake. As already mentioned, it is eleven miles
in circumference : there were lands belonging to eleven lairds which
embraced its margin : there are eleven rivers and streams which run
into it : it contains eleven kinds of fish ; and in the adjoining plant-
ations were eleven kinds of wood. The name was, therefore, ori-
ginally, Loch Eleven ; but in the course of time the E was omitted
as at present.

The celebrated Loch Lomond was the next of the Scottish lakes
whither we directed our steps. It is appropriately called the
Queen of Scottish lakes. It is entitled to the appellation whether
as respects the length, and breadth, and depth of its waters, or the
grandeur and magnificence of the adjoining scenery. It is thirty
M.M.— No. 7, G

50 THE LAKES OF SCOTLAND.

miles in length, in some places eight in breadth ; while its depth
varies from sixty to three hundred and sixty feet. There are thirty
islands, of different sizes, which vise above its surface : the larger
ones are beautified with fine plantations.

Loch Lomond is completely embedded amidst extensive chains of
hills. The far-famed Grampian Mountains terminate in the neigh-
bourhood of its eastern extremity. From whatever part the lake is
viewed, the scene is unspeakably grand and beautiful. The scenery,
however, partakes of a very different character when viewed from
different points. Our first view was from the hill of Ardleishdoun,
which looks in a southward direction. The scenery seen from this
point is eminently picturesque. The varied shores of the vast ex-
panse of water, with their numerous and diversified bays and head-
lands, and the rugged hills with their various passes and lonely glens,
— form altogether a scene of surpassing beauty and interest.

Our next view was from Mount Misery near the southern ex-
tremity of the lake. It was not without some exertion and much
fatigue that we climbed this hill, but amply did the prospect reward
us for our trouble. The lake is here to be seen in its greatest
breadth. The eye is also, from this point, able to take in most of
the numerous islands which are scattered over its surface. On its
western and eastern banks are various chains of mountains, which
seemingly embrace each other towards the north, where their
rugged and serrated tops pierce the sky. From the top of Mount
Misery, the scenery is infinitely diversified as well as of the most
enchanting kind. Here the eye is distracted with the multiplicity of
objects which claim its attention. The effect of the whole, to the spec-
tator who has a relish for the beauties of nature, is absolutely over-
powering : we were so completely lost in amazement at, and admira-
tion of, the grandeur and magnificence of the scene, as to remain for
a time totally unconscious that we were animated beings. And in
addition to the charming workmanship of Nature, with which the
surrounding scenery abounds, it was hallowed to our minds by the
recollection that within a few miles of the spot on which we then
stood, were born three of the most distinguished individuals in the
literary and scientific history of Scotland. Buchanan, the historian ;
Napier, the inventor of logarithms; and Smollett, the novelist,
were severally ushered into the world within a circle of four miles
of Mount Misery.

One day's survey of the magnificent and picturesque scenery of
Loch Lomond, instead of satisfying, only awakened in us a desire
for still further converse with its beauties. Next morning we re-
sumed the grateful exercise of rambling among its wooded banks.
We had been awe-struck and amazed on the preceding day at the
colossal proportions of Ben Lomond ; yet, notwithstanding our con-
viction of the toil and trouble of ascending that vast mountain, we
determined on the enterprise, assured in our own minds that the
view from thence would constitute an ample compensation. We
were not disappointed. What a scene ! The spectator while he
beholds it forgets that he belongs to this world. He fancies himself
in another sphere, and that he is conversing with objects other than

THE LAKES OF SCOTLAND. 51

those he was accustomed to meet with. We question if there be
another spot in Europe, whence a view combining in an equal
degree the attributes or' extensiveness, variety, sublimity, and gran-
deur, may be had. Beneath are the broad expanse of water, the
numerous islands with which it is gemmed, and the valleys, plan-
tations, and pasture-fields which adjoin its margin. When the
weather is fine, which it happily was when we gained the summit of
the mountain, the populous city of Glasgow is to be seen on the one
hand, and that of Edinburgh on the other. Towards the south, the
eye is distracted by the variety and extent of the prospect : it takes
in at once the entire county of Lanark, the fertile vale through
which the Clyde rolls its majestic waters, with the towns and
villages on its banks, and even the far distant mountains of Cumber-
land. To the west, are seen the counties of Renfrew and Ayr, with
the interesting islands of Bute and Arran ; while still farther on, are
the coast of Ireland, and the wide Atlantic ocean, in the immensity
of which the eye loses itself. The prospect in a northerly direction
partakes in an eminent degree of the sublime and awful. The spec-
tator, while beholding the scene, feels an emotion come over him which
he finds it impossible to describe : it is of a mixed kind, — partaking
largely of melancholy and astonishment, not unmingled with fear.
Mountain rises above mountain in all their gigantic proportions,
while their infinitely diversified and rough and rugged forms impart a
grandeur to the whole scene of the most striking kind.

About two hours before sunset, the sky, which was formerly un-
clouded, became suddenly overcast. Shortly after, a scene ensued of
a most terrific kind : but few such could ever have been witnessed
in Europe. We found ourselves above the region of the clouds :
they floated in the atmosphere beneath, and hovered over the sides
of the mountains ; anon succeeded a vivid flash of lightning, which
was instantly followed by a peal of thunder, louder and longer con-
tinued, perhaps, than was ever before or since heard on British
ground. Again and again, in vivid forked sheets, did the electric fluid
flash, and again and again did the thunder peal, till its reverberations
among the mountains seemed to us as if they had been the prelude of
the disorganisation of Nature herself. Our courage, we are free to
confess, forsook us : we stood aghast at the appalling scene : we
then felt, for the first time, the utter insignificance of man : we felt,
moreover, as if we had been alone in the world. Happily, the
elemental strife, after raging with such violence for about half an hour,
began to subside, and we hastened to descend the mountain, seeking
to calm our yet troubled spirit in the nearest inn. We returned
next day to Glasgow, which is distant from Loch Lomond twenty
miles.

In a few days we quitted Glasgow for the purpose of visiting Loch
Katrine. It is situated in the county of Perth, and is nearly fifty
miles distant from Glasgow. In extent it is not to be compared
with Loch Lomond, being only ten miles in length, and from one
and a half to two in breadth. But nothing can surpass the splendour
and sublimity of the scenery which surrounds it : Nature seems
to run riot here. Elevated mountains and lofty rocks in every

62 THE LAKES OF SCOTLAND.

variety of form and aspect, are thrown together in " beautiful dis-
order ; " while not only the face of the hills, but even the tops of the
most haggard rocks, are beautified by shrubs and trees, all as
flourishing as if rooted in the most congenial soil. The lake is com-
pletely encircled by lofty mountains. It was some hours after a
heavy and long-continued rain, that we happened to visit the place ;
and the water still continuing in numberless streams to foam down
the furrowed sides of the mountains into the lake, imparted an
interest and effect to the scene which were quite overpowering.

This applies to the scenery generally ; but there are several points
whence the view acquires peculiar interest. The one we first se-
lected, was that which commanded the best view of the bristled
fields, or, to use the term most generally employed, the Trossachs.
The scenery here inspires the spectator, not only with a feeling of
admiration and amazement, but with one of profound awe. Vast
fragments of rocks, as if broken into pieces from a huge mountain
by the operation of some mighty volcanic agency, are scattered into
the water at the eastern end, and for nearly two miles along its sides.
Altogether, the scene can have but few parallels in the world for
" its wild nature" and terrific grandeur.

Proceeding a little further on the road which leads along the
northern shore of Loch Katrine, the tourist finds the aspect of the
scene materially changed ; it is both more varied and agreeable.
The rugged rocks are intermingled with numerous lofty cliffs
adorned with an ample covering of wood, which has the appearance,
despite the seemingly unfavourable soil, of so many thriving plant-
ations on a limited scale. On the distant hills, luxuriant with
heath, may be seen many thousands of sheep, while from the
adjoining valleys may be heard the lowing of cattle. On the placid
bosom of the lake are- often to be seen many hundreds of wild ducks,
sailing sportively about, as if they too were delighted with the
matchless beauties of the scene.

The third and last spot whence we took a special survey of Loch
Katrine and its surrounding scenery, was Craig Innes,* which is
three miles from the east end of the lake. The scene is eminently
beautiful, and we beheld it under circumstances which invested it
with unusual charms. The evening was far advanced, and the
yellow radiance of a declining sun tinged every object it touched.
The water, which was unruffled as a mirror, faithfully reflected his
countless rays, while the heath-clad mountains which adjoined, and
the fertile valleys in the distance, sparkled with every variety of
hue. We never before beheld a scene so soothing and grateful to
the mind. A thousand homilies, we are sure, could not have half
the effect in taming the fiercer passions of man's nature. We felt as
if we had been standing on consecrated ground, and as if it would

* It is but justice to mention, that in selecting the best places for
viewing this lake as well as Loch Lomond, we were assisted by a work
lately published by Mr. Swan of Glasgow, entitled, " Select Views of the
Lakes of Scotland."

THE LAKES OF SCOTLAND. 53

have aggravated a hundred-fold the guilt of any criminal action, if
committed there. We felt as if we could have lingered for ages
amid the beauties which surrounded us, — as if, indeed, time itself
could not have satiated the eye with the charms of the scene.

Not far distant are other places whence most interesting and
picturesque views of Loch Katrine and its scenery are to be had.
It is in one of these, that Sir Walter Scott, in his " Lady of the
Lake," supposes Fitzjames to be standing, when he makes him
exclaim : —

" What a scene were here

For princely pomp or churchman's pride !

On this bold brow a lordly tower ;

In that soft vale a lady's bower ;

On yonder meadow far away,

The turrets of a cloister grey.

How blithely might the bugle-horn

Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn f

How sweet at eve, the lover's lute

Chime, when the groves were still and mute !

And when the midnight moon should lave

Her forehead on the silver wave,

How solemn on the ear would come

The holy matin's distant hum !

While the deep peal's commanding tone

Should wake, in yonder islet lone,

A sainted hermit from his cell

To drop a bead with every bell : —

And bugle, lute, and bell, and all,

Should the bewildered stranger call

To friendly feast, and lighted hall."

Dr. Johnson, after describing the emotions he felt when he first
set his foot on Icolmkill, very happily observes, that the man is
little to be envied whose patriotism would not gain force on the
plains of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among
the ruins of lona. No poet could visit Loch Katrine without feeling
the poetic spirit more active in his breast than before. If, indeed, we
did not know that poetic genius is of necessity an innate quality in
those who possess it, we could almost suppose the scenery of this
lake must have the power of creating it. The effect it had on Sir
Walter Scott's mind, as a poet, is well known ; it is the scene of his
" Lady of the Lake," — undoubtedly the happiest effort of his Muse.
Loch Katrine and he have been of mutual advantage to each other.
While viewing its magnificent scenery, he poured forth the inspi-
rations of his Muse more felicitously than he ever did before or since ;
while the effect of his charming description of its beauties has been to
make it a hundred-fold better known than it had previously been.
Before the publication of Sir Walter's " Lady of the Lake," Loch
Katrine was little known and still less frequented : now it is
thronged by visitors from all quarters : perhaps it is visited by more
persons on excursions of pleasure than all the other Scottish lakes
taken together.

54 THE LAKES OF SCOTLAND.

Not many miles distant from Loch Katrine, is Loch Achray ; it
is only of limited dimensions, being but a mile in length, and not
more than half a mile in breadth. On this account, therefore, it is
not entitled to special notice ; but it is so on account of the matchless
beauty of the adjoining scenery, and the place it occupies in the
novels and poetry of Sir Walter Scott. The great magician, finding
it impossible, notwithstanding his unequalled powers of description,
to convey any correct conception of its beauties to the minds of his
readers, contented himself with the application to it of the word
"lovely:" nothing, indeed, could be more so. On the south, the
ground which gradually rises from the margin of the lake, is in a
great measure clad with heath, which in the summer season is not
only pleasing to the eye, but emits a fragrant smell. The northern
side of the lake has a rocky aspect ; but so far from having a
repulsive appearance, it is remarkably soft and pleasant, owing to
the rich covering of wood which conceals its harsher features. In
the distance are huge mountains, whose towering tops seem to
embrace the sky : amid these mountains are numerous glens of great
depth, whose silence is only disturbed by the streamlets which
gurgle on their transit to the lake. It was early on the morning
after we had visited Loch Katrine, that we proceeded to Loch
Achray. The lake itself was silvered over by the rays of one of the
brightest suns that ever shone on our world, — making the beauties of
nature more beautiful still : add to this, that on the boughs of the
trees which overshadow the northern margin of the lake, were
perched a countless throng of feathered choristers, all expressing by
their "sweet voices" how sensibly they were alive to the joy-
inspiring scene, — and some idea may be formed of the ecstatic delight
which we felt while we wandered along the shores of Loch Achray.

Passing over several other lakes abounding in romantic and pic-
turesque scenery, and which are well worthy a visit from the tourist,
we come to Loch Ness. This lake is situated in Inverness-shire :
its eastern extremity is about six miles southwest from Inverness : it
is about twenty-three miles in length, and from one to one and a half
in breadth : the depth in some places is so great, that it has never
yet been sounded : in many parts the depth varies from one to eight
hundred fathoms. The scenery on the north side of the lake is
beautiful in no ordinary degree : on the south side its magnificence
quite overpowers the mind. When it first broke on our eye, it
seemed as if we had been suddenly introduced into a new world.
The most imaginative poet that ever lived, never, in the most un-
bridled moments of his fancy, conceived any thing approaching
to it. We felt we were beholding a scene which immeasurably
transcended any thing of which we had ever read, — even in fairy tale.
Compared with it, how poor the happiest efforts of art! On either
side are a number of high hills, or rather ranges of mountains, whose
towering tops, as the poet expresses it, invade the heavens : the face
of these mountains is, for the most part, thickly studded with trees
of various kinds, including the beech, the oak, the ash, the birch, &c.
On the south side is a beautiful avenue of many miles length. The
road, which for excellence equals any in Europe, is on the very
brink of the lake, which enables the spectator to see the imposing

THE LAKES OF SCOTLAND. 55

scene under every possible advantage. The projecting headlands
and retiring bays, which are numerous and of various shapes and
sizes, with the rich covering of wood, of Nature's planting, which
adorns both sides of the lake, and the woods and vales, and hills and
dales in the distance, are all, without effort, taken in at one glance.
In fine, the scenery adjoining Loch Ness must be one of the happiest
efforts which Nature ever made at the grand and beautiful.

Loch Ness is celebrated for its historical associations as well as
its magnificent scenery. Culloden, where the battle was fought
which crushed the rebellion of 1746, is only a few miles distant from
it ; and it was in the humble cottage of a poor kilted peasant, on its mar-
gin, that Prince Charles found a place of concealment after his defeat
on Culloden Moor — though the friends of Government carried on, in
the immediate neighbourhood, a most rigorous search during the ten
days he was there secreted. It required great moral courage as well as
attachment to the Pretender, in the Highland cottager, to harbour the
unfortunate Prince in the face of the consequences threatened by
Government ; but the most extraordinary proof of virtue and fidelity,
on the part of the peasant, was the fact of his protecting the Prince
though he knew that by giving him up he would entitle himself to
the reward of £30,000 offered for the person of Charles. The fate
of the poor Highlandman, whose name was Kennedy, was melan-
choly in the extreme : he was hanged a few years afterwards at
Inverness for stealing a cow ! He was impelled to the crime by the
most urgent want ; and yet he possessed so generous a soul, that not-
withstanding his great poverty, not even the reward of £30,000 could
induce him to betray a fellow-being who, in the hour of misfortune,
had entrusted his safety to him. The records of ancient Greece or
Rome do not contain a more splendid example of true nobleness of
mind. The north side of Loch Ness is also celebrated as the place
to which General Wade, of " Highland road-making memory," is
known to have been more enthusiastically attached than to any
other spot in Great Britain, and as possessing one of the finest roads
in Europe, made by that General in the face of physical difficulties
such as, perhaps, were never before or since overcome.

If there was any qualification to the pleasure we enjoyed while
luxuriating among the matchless beauties of the scenery around the
Scottish lakes, it arose from the reflectio that they should be,
comparatively, so little frequented. There are thousands of our
countrymen who every successive summer quit their homes in quest
of picturesque scenery ; but the great majority of them seek for
that scenery on foreign shores, though much more beautiful is to be
seen in their own country. The taste, if such it can be called,
which thus induces men to visit far-distant lands for the purpose of
viewing their most interesting scenery, while scenery still more
interesting and beautiful is to be witnessed in their own, is at once
vicious and expensive.

J. G.

THE PHYSIOGNOMY OF COATS.

" Give me his coat."— OLD PLAY.

THE only distinctive mark of a gentleman remaining in these
modern times, is the wearing of an old coat ; and herein is shown
one of the most striking peculiarities of the true gentleman, — a fine
taste. No man, but one of the purest taste, can wear an " old coat"
without looking shabby, an appearance a gentleman never has : for
with an " old coat" every other part of a man's dress must be in the
truest keeping ; and here lies the distinction between taste and want
of taste. Now-a-days new coats are as common as blackberries, so
that a gentleman is absolutely ashamed of mingling with the herd of
" well-dress'd gentlemen,1' whose wit and whose wisdom, whose
pedigree and whose parentage, are solely dependent upon the
tailor.

Again, not only is an " old coat" an irrefragable proof that the
.wearer is a gentleman, but it indicates, also, that he is a man of
reflection, and of philosophic temperament; it shows that he is not
one of the common herd. A new coat, when habitually worn, is an
indubitable sign of an empty head and of a barren heart. To us, an
" old coat" is a kind of note-book, becoming the more valuable the
longer we wear it. It is the only visible link connecting us with a
multitude of by-gone incidents, and hence it is an invaluable com-
panion. Now a man whose coat smells only of the tailor's goose
has no resource of this kind : when he is alone, he is alone ; and in
place of having a friend and monitor at hand in the shape of an " old
coat," it is a hundred to one if he thinks of any thing beyond the
price, cut, fit, and colour of his last novelty. What a thing a man
becomes who ever dwells in a new coat !

It is astonishing, by the bye, what clever fellows tailors are ! — and
if we are ever to have a system of physiognomy worth attention, it
must come from this quarter. Lavater, Gall, Coombe, and others,
must hide their heads before a tailor. The knowledge displayed of
character, and the wonderful adaptation of a coat to it, has always
appeared to us as the very triumph of skill. Indeed, we wonder
that Camper, Blumenbach, and other noted physiologists should
have taken such pains to measure out a man's intellect and disposi-
tion by his face and his head ; and this because a better criterion
of both one and the other may be found in a man's coat. This is an
unerring guide. A man may mould his face, and may look as inno-
cent as an angel, although he has the heart of a devil ; — but not so his
coat. Look at that of a choleric man for example; — mark what a
multiplicity of corrugations are figured upon it — how angular and

THE PHYSIOGNOMY OF COATS. 57

fierce it looks, even whilst he is smiling like any lamb ; but more
especially watch it when he is in a passion — it seems instinct with life,
and this character soon becomes indelibly impressed upon it. Then
again, look at the coat of the humble-minded man, the henpecked
husband for example — how sleek and smooth it is from skirt to collar ;
from shoulder to wrist, it is a perfect index of his disposition ; and
though there may be hypocrisy in his face, and he may look right
valiantly — his coat betrays him : a smooth coat shows a man to have
no more spirit than a Bologna sausage. And again, mark the coat
of the meditative man, particularly if unmarried— its collar is
twisted, it is buttoned awry, and the cuffs are, ten to one, turned up,
whilst one of the skirts, from a habit which the man has of carrying
one of his hands resting behind him, has a most curious and
characteristic "swirl." Then the coat of the precise man, observe
the contrast — what mathematical accuracy ! every button breathes of
the man, order is legibly written upon it — and as he carefully raises
and lays aside the skirts as he sits down, you may fancy the broad-
cloth is acting in sympathy with his peculiar temperament — it seems
to lay itself out so smoothly and so gingerly. Mark the contour of
the careless coat — hitched up here, bagging out there, collar
crumpled, and skirts looking for all the world as if they had passed
through a plaiting-machine. You never need therefore to look at a
man's face : if you want to know any thing precise as to his dis-
positions and habits, look at his coat, that cannot lie. It matters
not whether the coat be new or old — by the wonderful adaptative
powers of the tailor, to which we have already alluded, he gives at
once a general character, the minor details being always at once
filled up by the wearer.

The physiognomy of coats is assuredly one of the most interesting
of street studies. You cannot very well stare a man in the face and
read his history there, but you may without offence march soberly
behind him, and lo ! he has his life written upon his back, and a
curious volume it often is. We are, ourselves, peculiar adepts in
this science, and many a singular autobiography do we pick up in
our daily peregrinations. The poor and proud man — he whom the
fates have thrust below his natural position, may be at once detected
by his coat : this is a painful subject of contemplation : we trace the
-decay of his fortunes, with all its sufferings and privations, in his
threadbare habiliment: his coat cannot lose its character, and what
pains and study must he have gone through to have preserved it in its
integrity ! all its vulnerable points have, perhaps, lost caste, but still,
as a whole, it is impossible to mistake cither the coat or its wearer.
We never come into contact with one of these subjects of reflection
but we are made melancholy, and are ready to chide the man for
thus markedly exhibiting his misfortunes. What right has he thus
to draw upon our sympathies? what business to hang out a sign-
board for pity ? He ought to discard his reliquice, and were he a
man of taste he would do so — but wo the while ! poverty and taste
are bad co-mates.

We have said that coats assume a particular character, dependent
M.M.—No. 7. H

58 THE PHYSIOGNOMY OF COATS.

upon their original wearer; and this character is indelible — it lives
and dies with it : nothing but absolute extinction, or passing through
the hands of Jew clothes-dealers can obliterate it ; and this opens
another fertile field of inquiry and amusement. This field is par-
ticularly susceptible of cultivation in that numerous class of men
known as cads, &c., hangers-on about coach-stands, inns, and other
places of promiscuous resort. Here may be seen the most ridiculous
figures, both as to dress and address. Here a coat out of all pro-
portion to its diminutive wearer, and yet carrying an elegant outline,
the owner having as little relation with it as a snail in a tortoise-
shell ; there a burly-visaged broad-backed blackguard sporting a
regular jockey cut, which gives the fellow's bust something of a
gentlemanly character, altogether dependent upon his coat: strip him
of it, and the man stands in his proper colours — a coarse, vulgar,
brutal slang-whanger.

Sometimes coats in the progress of their descent meet with con-
genial spirits : this is another curious subject of inquiry. How
often do we meet with a shabby tatterdemalion, wearing, notwith-
standing its woful dilapidation, a gentlemanly coat! The humiliated
garment has obviously passed through the entire " art of sinking,"
and here, upon the very verge of its existence, it finds a congenial
companion. How is this to be accounted for ? Man is not a block,
to which a good coat can give the appearance of a gentleman, as it
is altogether an error to suppose that gentlemen can be so manu-
factured ; yet here we find a piece of humanity, placed at the foot
of the ladder of life, who, if we are to trust to coat-physiognomy,
ought to be some steps higher : ask him of his birth and parentage ; it
is the lowest of the low: examine him as to his moral and intellectual
qualities ; they are a mere waste, utterly uncultivated : and yet,
notwithstanding these, he has the remains of a gentleman's coat on
his back, which evidently claims consanguinity with him. There is
a fine field here for the believers in Metempsychosis.

( 59 )
SONNETS— BY SIR EGERTON BRYDGES.

SONNET 504.

To wait upon another's will — how deep
The misery, — how frail and sick the hope !
There is no mercy in mankind ; no tear
Of sympathy, to which the sad may trust!

For those, who do not want our tears, we weep ;
To those, who safe can swim, we throw the rope ;
Give the night-lamp to those who have no fear ;
And fondly lift the risen from the dust !

Save in our own pure strength there is no peace ;
On our own mind and heart we must rely ;
Malice to strike the yielding will not cease,
And he, who shuns the fight, will soonest die !
Lord of himself may man in safety go,
And pass this battle-plain, though drench'd in woe.

SONNET 506.

The richest fuel, when the fire is lit,

Throws out most smoke and vapour ; — but it soon
Bursts into flame, and burns with brighter blaze,
Till in unclouded light it darts on high :

So work the strongest sparks of human wit,

Which comes in mightiest gifts from nature's boonr
First, dark and clouded wake the struggling rays.
Then rise in unstain'd splendor to the sky.

The more they blaze, the more exhaustless grow
The elements of their unyielding fire ;
The beamy splendors widen as they glow,
And with intenser rapidness aspire :

So mortal mind may turn to spirit pure.

And with ethereal essences endure.

(>0 SONNKTS.

SONNET 515.

O, what superfluous cares and griefs we nurse !

Envy and jealousy, and false esteem

Of good delusive ; and vain light desires;

And hopes on feeble pinions flitting far;
And love's fond flattery, and resentment's curse;

And idleness, which ease we falsely deem ;

And melancholy's gloom, and pleasure's fires;

And fears presageful, that our footsteps bar I —
All are the visions of a morbid mind

And heart unsound, to vapoury airs a slave !

If we our courage to the conquest bind,

The fiercest of these fancies we may brave :

Tis but to wave the sword, and still the breast ;
And we contented and at peace may rest I

SONNET 325.

No wrong ends with itself: the wounded deer
Is driven from the herd ; — who patient bears
An ill, becomes a mark :- — a well-aim'd blow
A thousand vultures on the victim draws :

Where Fraud has fix'd upon her prey, appear
Locusts unnumber'd, whose devourment spares
No relic of the blood, but drains, e'en low
To the last drop, the life-spring. — Thus with claws
Of iron sharpness feeds the cormorant

Upon the red-gored heart. — The distant bird
We must behold, while hovering fierce and gaunt
Up in the clouded air. His wing is heard
Flapping with awful indistinctness round ;
And we should gaze and tremble at the sound.

THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE AND HIS PRINCESS

CONSTANTINE was invariably dressed and visible at five in the
morning ; so that it was about half past four, that, uncomfortably
rousing myself from a sound sleep, 1 dressed and accompanied Sass
in his carriage to the JBelvidere. It was a modern, country-gentle-
man's-looking villa, within half a mile of the town, and separated
from the high road only by the width of its paved court, railed out
with palisades and sentinelled by half a dozen soldiers of the regi-
ment of Invalids. Every thing around looked cold, stern, and
gloomy ; for, though this was the usual hour of the levee, and one
officer after another was arriving in order to present himself to the
Duke, their demeanor was stiff and silent, and their salutations as
cold as those of antagonists at an approaching duel. It was only
with a silent smile that congratulations were received, and under
their breath that a remark or a joke was ventured to be exchanged.
Some half dozen recruits under the command of a scrjeant were
arranged like puppets in a corner of the anti-room ready for in-
spection ; while, standing here and there, most prim and starched,
their hair, mustachios, stocks, and regimentals arranged to the last
exactitude of the regulation, were those officers of the different corps
stationed in the city who were on duty for the day ; and three or
four generals and aides-de-camp of his Imperial Highness moved
noiselessly backwards and forwards from the room beyond. At last
the folding-doors of the saloon were thrown open — every sound was
hushed — every murmur stilled ; and the Grand Duke himself, ac-
companied by those of his staff who were immediately about his per-
son, entered the anti-chamber. In person, the Imperial bear was
tall and stout, very upright, with large limbs and a pair of broad
shoulders, surmounted by as truculent a visage as the imagination
could suggest; — a deep and overhanging brow, small swinish eyes,
a short and upturned nose, through the nostrils of which you might
almost look into his brain, a long upper-lip, a thick, heavy, and
protruding lower one ; so that when he smoked, the cigar was placed
perpendicularly in his mouth; and the whole of these unprepossessing
features dashed with the fierce and sullen expression of an untamed
hyena, save that he showed no fangs : he might be about fifty years
of age ; for his hair was somewhat grizzled. His dress was the
simple green uniform of a Russian general, white breeches, and the
long boots of our lifeguards. He bowed slightly to the officers in
attendance, passed on at once to Sass, and, glancing at me, ad-
dressed some remark to him in an under-tone, which was answered
after the same fashion. He then strode over to that side of the
room where I stood, and, abruptly addressing me in French,
asked me with a singular rapidity of utterance, and hardly allowing
me to answer the questions he put, Who I was? What were my

62 THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE

family? What I was ? What I intended doing? Where I was
going ? What brought me to Warsaw ? and a variety of other
questions of the same bearing. I answered as quickly and shortly as
1 could, consistent with due respect; but he did not give me time to
stand upon petty ceremonies, or even to make those statements which
had been the object of my visit ; for, having finished his category
without affording' me the slightest opening to commence an inde-
pendent sentence, he strode off to examine the trowser-straps, but-
tons, mustachios, and general equipment of the recruits at the back
of the room. This inspection concluded, and a few orders given to
the officers in attendance, we were dismissed without further parley ;
and, as I accompanied Sass back in his carriage, I said confidently
enough that I presumed there would be no further delay about my
passport ; but the meaning and silent smile which crossed his lips,
although I did not then interpret it in its true sense, was a sinister
enough augury of what I might expect. Yes — day passed after
day, and weeks enlarged themselves into months before the passport
I had so Jong and vainly expected was placed in my hands. It was
only afterwards that I was made aware that every passport passed
under the eyes of the Grand Duke himself, and that every foreigner
who might be merely journeying through Warsaw was either re-
quired by command, or induced under some specious pretext, to pre-
sent himself to his Imperial Highness; and he himself, taking the
office of political inquisitor into his own hands, catechized the new
comer as to his life, habits, education, and intentions ; and should he
be unfortunate enough to please, he was likely, ban gre mal gre, and
almost without being aware, to find himself tricked out one fine
morning in all the trappings, lacings, and paddings of a Russian
uniform. Nor was this all ; for once encased in this dress, adieu to
home, country, and friends for the best and most active portion of
his natural life. If, too, the unfortunate stranger should have been
suspected of entertaining liberal opinions, (it was enough that he
should be supposed to have come direct from France) he immediately
became an object of the secret attentions of the Grand Duke's go-
vernment : every step was dodged ; every motion watched, and every
word or opinion uttered by the supposed delinquent carefully regis-
tered and reported. Indeed the system of espionage in Warsaw was
carried to an extent perfectly wonderful — perfectly diabolical — at
the expense too of every natural and social tie : each class, each
grade, each department of the State had its overseeing spies ; some
of whom I believe were the authorised agents of the Russian go-
vernment, but by far the greater proportion, and particularly that
department of the system to which I and persons in my situation
became amenable, was an especial and private freak of the Grand
Duke's, perfectly unauthorised by the Emperor, unwarranted by the
government, and unknown to, or at least unacknowledged by, the
public. In short, it was a little stretch of his prerogative, if that
term could be applied to the powers of one, who, simply commander
of the forces in Warsaw, had, in defiance of the constitution, the
laws, and the oath of the Emperor, arrogated to himself — in fact,
usurped — the whole of the executive power. The constitution which

AND HIS PRINCESS. (53

was guarantied to Poland as an independent kingdom declared, that
the viceroyalty should be ever vested in a Polish nobleman of the
imperial appointment; but this, like the great majority of the clauses
in that unfortunate charter, soon became a neglected theory. Since
the decease of the first and last viceroy, who died in 1825, the office
had been in abeyance, the duties became a nullity, the place was
intentionally left unfilled, and Constantine became the Dionysius of
Poland. So much for constitutions manufactured at a congress and
guarantied at convenience by friendly powers. But I turn willingly
from so miserable a picture of careless legislation and neglect on the
one side, and broken faith on the other, which have made a brave
people their victims.

By degrees, and by comparing the anecdotes which now and then
flitted in whispers from mouth to mouth with the singular circum-
stances in which I was placed, it became sufficiently evident to me
that my detention in Warsaw was owing, not to any real or supposed
irregularity in my passport, but to some designing trickery or con-
nivance on the part of Constantine; for many posts had arrived
which might have brought back the expected document, and still the
answer to my daily inquiries at the post-office was in the negative.
At last the suspicions which I already entertained of some under-
hand dealing were confirmed, by my being made aware that every
private letter which passed through the post-office was opened and
read, and many detained or destroyed, under the especial orders,
and sometimes the personal interference, of the Grand Duke ;
but still his repeated and marked attentions to me, the many private
interviews with which he honoured me, and the kindness with which
he found me a home when I stood most in need of it, (for Sass, at
his request, took me into his house) tended rather to lull, when they
ought, perhaps, to have awakened, any doubts I might have enter-
tained as to his ultimate intentions towards me. It must be recol-
lected too, that, although I was a witness of much of his bearish
roughness and intemperance in private, yet no instances of the
wanton, and, 1 may almost say, diabolical spirit with which his
public character was so deeply seared, had been brought under my
immediate observation ; so that it is not wonderful that I forgot, or
to speak more correctly, hardly dreamt, that I was little better than
a prisoner on parole in Warsaw. But, in spite of his kindness, I
feared as well as mistrusted him : — dreading his violence of temper
and suspecting his motives, I was never at ease in his presence, and
always on thorns lest some ill-considered phrase or doubtful ex-
pression should rouse the angry passions of the slumbering bear ;
indeed, there were times when I almost trembled before him.

Three or four times a week I received commands to attend his
levee, and not unfrequently invitations to breakfast, — a meal which he
commonly took about eleven o'clock in the day. On these occasions
he seemed to take considerable pleasure in all I could tell him of
England and its modes and customs — its army, its capital, and its
domestic and commercial resources. If on some of these subjects I
confessed my ignorance, he would eye me with a doubting and
suspicious glance, urge me again and again on the same point, as if

04 THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANT1NE

he thought I was unwilling to explain, or expressly reserved that of
which I regret to confess I was utterly ignorant; "or he would dash
up in a towering passion, break into some intemperate expression,
and declare that I ought to be ashamed of myself not to be acquainted
with statistics, which even foreigners knew well. In these fierce
moods, in these sudden and unforeseen accesses of passion, he was
with difficulty pacified — a task upon which I never dared venture
— I could only look on and listen in silence ; but if his elegant and
amiable princess was present, as was not unfrequently the case, her
graceful tenderness and endearments calmed down the storm : she
petted him like a froward child, and with a doubting pause or a
half-muttered growl his good humour returned. This charming and
accomplished creature was his wife, by one of those left-handed
marriages so common and well understood among the German
princes; and it was always a matter of surprise to me by what
strange freak of destiny a being so mild and gentle in manner, so
graceful, so tender and amiable in all the acts and movements of her
life, could have been linked to such a monster; and what seems
stranger still, she loved him, and thence, perhaps, the secret of her
influence. I have seen him often playing with her long ringlets, or
fondling in his great paw the prettiest and whitest hand in the
world, or kissing his hand to her at a window with an air that
actually approached to tenderness. She, indeed, was the only person
who possessed any real influence over his mind, and her gentle ways
could soothe the wild beast in his angriest rnootls : she would follow
him as he stamped about the room : she expostulated, she wheedled,
she caressed, she would try with a tear in her eye to make him
laugh ; and it would seem that, almost in spite of himself, the smile
she sought so anxiously came at her bidding : he would look into her
eyes, kiss her little hand, and seat himself again without another
allusion to the cause of the explosion. He seemed almost to en-
courage her interference, and he played with her as a child would
with a doll, but she was a plaything with which he never quarrelled.
He seemed proud too of her mental acquirements, and he delighted
in the display of her accomplishments. Indeed, I at one time
attributed it as a principal cause whjf I was so often an invited guest
at the Belvidere, that it afforded her the opportunity of speaking
English, — an accomplishment in which she excelled : she possessed
considerable fluency, and that least possible smack of a foreign
accent which could not be otherwise than pleasing on the lips of a
pretty woman. Constantine took great pleasure in setting us talking
in that language, — rubbed his hands, and listened with evident
gratification as she prattled away in a tongue which he did not
understand, and continued repeatedly to express his pleasure and
satisfaction.

His tenderness for this mild and gentle being was at least a
redeeming point in his character, and his attachment was repaid on
her part by the most devoted and entire affection. Poor thing ! his
death broke the slight cord which attached her to life ; — whether it
was that her whole soul, her existence, was wrapped up in him who
had raised her from comparative obscurity almost to a throne, or

AND HIS PRINCESS. 65

whether it was that she missed the being who, however harsh and
cruel to others, was always after his fashion kind to her, — whom she
had been so long accustomed to cajole, to fondle, to guide, to
moderate, — the link was severed — her gentle heart broke under the
shock, and, after hardly two months of a painful widowhood, she
sunk into the grave which had received her husband.

Meanwhile the term of my acquaintance with this remarkable
person, if acquaintance it could be called between an imperial
prince and an unknown foreigner, was fast drawing to a close ; and
a single act of mine, as 1 have since had reason to believe, decided
Constantine to open to me at last the barriers of Warsaw. At an
audience to which I had been expressly summoned, he asked me,
without periphrasis, or the slightest attempt to lead the conversation
to the desired point, whether I would enter the Russian service ;
and as I almost feared that my immediate and unhesitating refusal
would have thrown him again into one of his intemperate fits, I was
agreeably enough surprised that, instead of the burst of passion I
had anticipated, he only repeated the question in his usual impatient
manner, concluding the query with an impatient " Yes or no?" I
repeated my decisive refusal, and with a dissatisfied grunt he turned
from me and left the saloon — a signal of course for me to leave the
Belvidere. My memory does not exactly satisfy me whether this
was the last interview with which I was honoured ; indeed, one other
audience I must have had, though simply to take leave ; but of this
I am sure, — that in no way was this subject ever renewed, or even
alluded to by the Grand Duke : he seemed to have dismissed it from
his mind altogether; and if the object of obtaining a recruit to his
service had ever been one of the causes of my detention, it appears
singular enough that neither in person nor by means of those who
through force and fraud were ever ready to do his bidding, should he
have made another effort to attain the point which my conjecture
has attributed to him.

Be that as it may, a short time only had elapsed after the occur-
rence I have mentioned, when, on my inquiry as usual at the post-
office for letters from Vienna, the packet containing the long-expected

passport was handed to me. Young S , the son of the Prince's

favourite, had happened to accompany me on this errand ; and as we
discovered that the Viennese postmark differed materially in date
from that of the delivery, he, evidently not in the secret, questioned
the official closely on this remarkable discrepancy ; and only to his
reiterated questions, and ultimately a threat of complaint to the
Grand Duke, was it reluctantly admitted that the packet on its
arrival had been detained from me by the express command of his
Imperial Highness, and had been forwarded to the Belvidere,
where it had remained nearly three weeks ! I leave to those, who may
have had better opportunities than I of knowing Constantine's cha-
racter, the task of explaining this infamous proceeding. I leave to
his admirers, if such exist, the office of finding apologies for such an
unprecedented disregard of the private relations of life, for such a
flagrant breach of the social rights of individuals ; not that mine was
a singular instance, for I have assured reasons to believe that such
M.M.— No.7. I

66 CONSTANTINE AND HIS PRINCESS.

was the every-day practice in the post-office of Warsaw. But I
had no time then for reflection, still less for remonstrance, for I was
too glad and anxious to use my recovered liberty ; and I hastened
to fly from the deadly influence of a government where open vio-
lence was abetted by secret treachery, — where tyranny based its
throne upon fraud and espionage, — where usurpation mocked at the
guarantees of the whole of Europe.

For Constantine himself, I was never able to overcome the dis-
gust with which his character inspired me ; for although, as I have
said, no striking instances of his violent and wanton cruelty were
obtruded upon my observation, evidences there were enough in every
corner of the capital of his crushing oppression ; and anecdotes were
too rife and too well authenticated not to produce their impression
upon my mind. It were useless to relate how he compelled an un-
fortunate Officer of Dragoons to leap again and again over a pyra-
mid of bayonets until both horse and man sunk dead with the last
effort ; or how he shot a Saxon postilion dead on the spot, with the
most Irish intention of inducing him to drive faster : — these with his
diabolical treatment of a respectable female who was so unfortunate
as to attract his attention, and his systematic persecution of his first
wife, with a hundred others, were true tales, which, although only
whispered in secret and under the breath in Warsaw, have long since
been current through the rest of the Continent. His cowardice, too,
— for that vice must always form an integral part of such a character
as his, — was sufficiently evinced not only by the low and shameful
practices by which he so long guarded his usurped dominion, but by
his last exertion of authority in Warsaw. He left his favourite
generals and aides-de-camp — those whose attachment to his person
gave them at least some claims upon his consideration — to be cut
down by an infuriated and successful mob ; while he, coward-like,
fled the palace through a secret passage from his bed-chamber. The
lives of his brave and devoted adherents had gained him time to
place his person in safety. Among the first fell Sass. — Poor Sass !
though circumstances had placed him in a most unenviable position,
his heart was in the right place : at least he deserved a better fate
than to fling away his life for a tyrant. The master's hour was not
yet come : and it was only in the effort to re-acquire by the Russian
bayonet what he had lost by his own tyranny and oppression, that
perhaps a violent, at least a painful and unregarded death closed a
life of violence ;— and the character of Constantine now belongs to
the history of the Polish revolution.

We shall say of him, that though he must have possessed some
good points in private, (else whence could have originated the at-
tachment of his second wife and the undoubted devotion of his
favourites ?) yet these qualities were forgotten and overborne in that
deadly and all-pervading stain, that wantonness of spirit, which,
attaining no end of government and adding nothing to his power, can
only be termed a sensual appetite for cruelty. Posterity will mark
him as the Dionysius, or rather the Nero, of Modern Europe.

For the Poles themselves, an utter disregard of their civil rights
and constitutional privileges, a long series of unequalled oppressions,

LELIA. 67

and a wanton trifling with the dearest feelings of human nature,
forced them into a last though vain effort for freedom. Smarting
with their injuries, heart-seared with a sense of their wrongs, in
despite of tyranny and in hopelessness of confederacy, the Poles
waged their existence against success, and rushed into revolt. " These
were the reasons why the people rose." Who of us can forget how
nearly that essay was successful ? how boldly and how long the un-
equal struggle was maintained? Indeed, but for the treachery of
some and the timidity of others among the nations of Europe, Po-
land might have now been numbered among her independent king-
doms. Alas ! Le bon jour ne reviendra jamais.

P.

LELIA.

BY. P. GASKELL, ESQ.

[Continuedfrom No. IV.]

CANTO II.

ARGUMENT — The Plague in Rome — Dispersion of the Slaves of Flavius— Sufferings
of Lelia — Care of the Christian Slaves — Its success — Effect upon Flavius — In-
fluence of Christian example on Lelia — Her Conversion.

WHAT horrid scenes the crowded city shows,
When through its streets the plague-stream fiercely flows,
That, like the scorching lava, finds fresh power
In every victim that it may devour !
That on and on, its ravage spreads around,
And strews with human wrecks the tainted ground !
When love and charity are lost in fear,
And man may die, unwept by Pity's tear !
When human sympathies are driven away, —
When hope is lost, and man forgets to pray !
When Death stalks triumphing in his path,
No barrier finds to check his awful wrath !

The " king of terrors" has the mighty power,
To trample in the dust the princely tower,
To crush the cottage roof, to smite the throne,1
And prince and peasant make alike his own.

The marble halls, where dwelt in Roman state
Patrician Flavius, shared the common fate :
Through the bronzed gate, the plague-stream freely flows,
Though all the saving arts their strength oppose.
Vows, prayers, and offerings to the gods were paid,
And wealth was lavished to procure their aid.

f>H LEL1A.

Vows, prayers, and offerings were made in vain ;
Nor lavished wealth, the wish'd-for aid could gain.
The terror-stricken slaves forgot their awe,
When 'midst their ranks the pestilence they saw ;
Shook off restraint, and scorn'd their master's nod,
Which late they worshipp'd as the will of God.
Then burst their bonds, and, all submission lost,
They fled away to join the wandering host
Of self-freed slaves, whose wild unbridled might
New horrors added to the fearful night.
Affrighted Rome then knew the fatal power
Which slavery can assume in danger's hour :
Then felt the curse that slavery ever brings —
The fearful hate which from oppression springs,
When the crush'd heart again begins to feel,
And fierce revenge its blighted hopes reveal ; —
When hate, long smother'd, turns to withering flame,
And deeds are done of unrecorded shame.

Within the walls, where hundreds lately slept,
The few that still remain'd sad vigil kept :
Like a bruised flower, the gentle Lelia lies,
And, wild with grief, on Heaven her sister cries,
Whilst Flavius kneels, and sheds the bitter tear,
Wrung from a Father's heart by mortal fear.

His noble girl — his best, his dearest child, —
In whose fair features all her mother smiled,
Had fall'n before the plague's unpitying power- —
Oh ! who can tell the torture of that hour —
The scalding tears, the agonies that speak
The struggle of a heart that fain would break —
When one, whose love has like a jewel hung
Within man's inmost soul, and there has flung
A heavenly radiance, as the day-star bright
That o'er life's breakers sheds its saving light, —
When one thus loved seems parting from the shore —
To bless man's sight, to cheer his heart no more !
Thus sorrow'd Flavius — for no hope remain'd
That help from gods or man would be obtain'd.

O God of Love ! to thee the Christian kneels,
When life's extremest woes he keenly feels ;
When all is dark, and not one ray of light
Gleams through the shadow of the fearful night.
He kneels to thee, when human love is dead —
He kneels to thee, when hope from man is fled.
O blessed faith! the faith that Christ has given,
Which thus can lift man's thoughts from earth to heaven,

Lelia, the dying Lelia, felt its aid,
When near her couch the Christian maiden pray'd :
Though all around were sunk in silent fear,
Aza, the slave, knew that her God was near \

LELIA. 69

To him she prays that Lelia may riot die,

And hope beams brightly in her step and eye.

Hour after hour, her utmost skill she tasks —

With soothing voice of every pain she asks ;

When others slept — for even grief will sleep —

A wakeful watch alone does Aza keep.

No hand but hers now Lelia wishes near,

No voice but hers is grateful to her ear :

Like a fond child, whose trembling tear-drops start,

And tell the thousand fears which swell its heart,

When the loved mother, on whose long-tried breast

In holy calm its gentle head would rest —

When she is gone, no solace can be given ;

She is its hope, its bliss, its very heaven.

Thus Lelia feels if from her anxious sight

Aza one moment glides throughout the night ;

No other hand, the proffer'd aid can give, —

If Aza come not, Lelia cannot live ;

No other voice has power to charm her pain,

If others speak, she answers, to complain :

And oh ! the comfort that the Christian gives,

When first she dares to whisper, Lelia lives !

Nay, the proud Roman bless'd the humble slave,

Nor did he chide when Flavia kisses gave ; —

The rush of love, with all its softening power,

O'ercame his heart in that delightful hour ;

And when he thanked his gods, the Christian care

Was mingled in the heathen Stoic's prayer ; —

Her very faith he then forgot to blame,

And to his children's— join'd the Christian's name.

Day after day the gentle Lelia lies, —
Too weak, too languid from her couch to rise :
Aza the slave slept near the Roman maid,
And nightly at her side the Christian prayed.
Oft Lelia heard the murmur'd vow of love,
That Aza breathed to Christ in heaven above ;
And in her heart the noble maiden felt
A reverence for her faith when thus she knelt.
She wonders what can be the blessed power
That on the Christian's mind such grace can shower :
She sees that those who call on mighty Jove,
Betray no sign of pure and holy love.
The prayer is prayed, the vow is lightly given, —
No farther trace than this they show of heaven.
But Aza — in her life and actions shone
A purity, that comes from God alone.
She sought no shrine, no pillar'd temple's shade, — :
Home was her altar, there her vows were paid.
Omens nor auguries the Christian seeks, —
The voice of God in other language speaks :
Nor charms, nor spells, she wears within her vest, —
The Christian's God was ever in her breast,
A God — by thousand acts of love endear'd,
Not, like the Heathen's, to be cursed or fear'd : 2
This Lelia feels— her Stoic's prayer is stay'd
When at her couch the humble slave-girl pray'd,

70 LELIA.

And on the clouds that o'er her spirits hung,
The dawn of faith — a glimmering brightness flung,
Till one wide burst of glory fill'd her mind,
And in her heart the living God was shrined !

1 " Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas
Regumque times." Horace.

2 The utter ignorance exhibited by the wisest of the heathen philosophers as to
the nature and attributes of God, are proofs what little aid reason can lend us in
acquiring a correct knowledge of divine things. The Epicureans indeed taught that
the gods (if there were such beings) enjoyed a life of ease and idleness, and were
entirely free from all interest as to humanity ; for that they neither made the world,
nor did they in any way care about it. " De deorum immortalitate nemo dubitavit :
quod autem aeternum beatumque sit, id non habere ipsum negotii quicquam, nee ex-
hibere alteri : itaque neque ira neque gratia teneri, quod, quae talia essent, imbecilis
essent omnia." — Epicurus in Cic. lib. i. de Nat. Deorum. They also taught as a.
corollary from the above, that the world was produced by fortuitous causes, and that
the idea of providence was a mere philosophical dream. Upon these strange opi-
nions Cicero very finely remarks : " Sed quis credit ex atomorum concursione fortuita
hujus mundi pulcherrimum ornatum esse perfectum ? An cum machinatione quadam
aliquid moveri videmus, ut spheram — ut horas, ut alia permulta, non dubitamus quin
sint opera ilia rationis ? Cum autem impetum coeli cum admirabili celeritate moveri,
vertique videamus, constantissime conficientem vicissitudines anniversarias cum smnmfi
salute, et conversatione rerum omnium, dubitamus quin ea non solum fiant, sed etiam
excellenti quadam divinaque ratione ? Quod si mundos efficere potest concursus
Atomorum, cur Porticum, cur Templum, cur Domum non potest, quae sunt minus
operosa, et multo quidem faciliora." — De Natur. Deor. lib. ii. They called their gods
proud and imperious, and appear especially to have wished to banish the instinctive
feeling, which every man has within him, of an overruling and ever-watchful God.
" Dum Deum rerum authorem facitis, imposuistis in cervicibus nostris dorninum
sempiternum, quern dies et noctestimuerimus. Quis enim non timeat omnia providen-
tem, etcogitantem et anhnadvertentem, et omnia ad se pertinere putantem, curiosum
et plenum negotii Deum." — Velleius in Cic. lib. i. The highest efforts of heathen phi-
losophising thus aimed at making man an irresponsible agent. How different is the
doctrine of our Saviour! — a Christian's hope, and a Christian's consolation, being, that
his God is ever near him, and ever attentive to his actions. The abstract ideas of the
ancient Roman and Greek writers as to the Divinity were occasionally very sublime ;
but these had never any influence upon the popular mind, nor did they change the
practice of those who conceived them. Thus it was a fine saying of one of the an-
cients, when asked what God was, " quia quanto diutius considero, tanta mihi res
videtur obscurior ! " and it bears a strong resemblance to a celebrated passage in St.
Augustine : " Certe hoc est Deus, quod et cum dicitur, non potest dici ; cum aesti-
matur, non potest aestimari ; cum comparator, non potest comparari ; cum definitur, ipszi
definitione crescit."

... ( 71 )

WILLIAM COBBETT.

A " STAR" of no common magnitude has departed from us, in
the person of William Cobbett. With every thing to oppose him, he
succeeded by dint of industry, aided by the possession of intelligence
of a high order, in making himself one of the most prominent men
of his day, and has left a reputation behind him which will live
when that of most of his coternporaries is buried in the pro-
foundest depths of oblivion. As an example of what may be
effected by a man's own efforts, — as an example of the indomi-
table force of native energy, — as an example of the irresistible
power of mind, Cobbett is unequalled. His name must in future
stand high in the lists of the " triumphs of mind," for it was upon
this basis that he reared his fame.

If the old poet's conception of a master-spirit be correct, Cobbett
was most truly one : —

" Give me a spirit, that on life's rough sea

Loves to have his sails fill'd with a lusty wind,
Even till his sail-yards tremble, his masts crack,
And his rapt ship runs on her side so low
That she drinks water, and her keel ploughs air.
There is no danger to a man that knows
What life and death is ; there is not any law
Exceeds his knowledge ; neither is it lawful
That he should stoop to any other law.
He goes before them, and commands them all,
That to himself is a law rational."

His works have never yet been either appreciated or read by the
higher portions of the community. A wall of prejudice hedged
them out ; and whilst they have been spreading over the middle and
lower classes, they have been a sealed book to others. Death,
however, the great leveller of distinctions, is also, to some extent,

72 WILLIAM COBBETT.

the rooter-up of prejudice. When the man, whose pen has been as
a sword, which we believed to be wielded against ourselves, is
gone from amongst us, curiosity, if no nobler feeling, will lead us to
examine the nature of the weapons which we have heard of, but
never seen, — the effect of which we may have felt, but have never
ascertained their temper. Such will be the consequences of the
death of William Cobbett upon some of his productions.

Neither has Cobbett as yet been fairly estimated by literary
critics; they have not fully understood his intellectual qualities.
Like the productions of a rich and uncultivated soil, they have
sprung up with the beauty and vigour of the wild-flower, but so
mingled with weeds, that a polished and schooled mind turned away
to things of its own mode of culture. There still remains, therefore,
for their examination a wide field, untouched by fair criticism ; and
it is a field abounding in beauties, which only require to be known,
to be admired.

John Webster, the dramatist, said finely, that

" The chiefest action of a man of great spirit
Is never to be out of action. We should think,
The soul was never put into the body,
Which has so many rare and curious pieces
Of mathematical motion, to stand still.
Virtue is ever sowing of her seeds, —
In the trenches for the soldier : in the wakeful study
For the scholar * * * * of all of which
Arise and spring up honour."

This was one of Cobbett's characteristics : he was never idle ; the
effect of which was a freshness of bodily and mental powers, un-
known to most men. Year after year, to the latest moment of his
life, his faculties were in untiring activity; and the products were
full of vitality to the last. His mind retained its vigour and elas-
ticity, and threw off its impulses with all the freedom of early life,
till a few hours before his death; there was no flagging, no signs of
waste, no appearance that the " cruise of oil" was running low : the
stream of intellect flowed freely, betraying neither by ebb nor pause
that its source was weakened.

Writh the exception of Montaigne, the prince of egotists and the

WILLIAM COBBETT. 75

most pleasant of philosophical writers, William Cobbett was the
most egotistical of men. He referred every thing to himself ; and no
wonder, — he had been the architect of his own fortunes, and he had
felt his own powers ; he had overcome obstacles, which, in the eyes
of the generality of mankind, are insuperable; and all this by
reliance upon himself.

As a politician and a statist, he was not a superior man. His
views were contracted : the causes of many of his opinions were
personal, either to himself or to others; and hence his political
harangues and his political writings are more declamatory than
sound. He was led away from the strict Vine of argumentation, by
trains of thought generated by his own private experience, unsup-
ported by application to generals ; and though many of his views
were rational, he marred their effect by a want of oneness and
simplicity. Still, with their manifold imperfections, his political
views were deserving attention, as coming from a man of vigorous
and observant mind, and who made it his study to test popular
opinion. They differed widely from our own in very many points;
and we have frequently expressed our disapprobation of them ; but
this does not blind us to the fact that they were sincere, and the
unavoidable result of his position. To Mr. Hunt, with whose name
he was at one time coupled, he was as superior as light is to dark-
ness ; and when party prejudice has subsided, the Author, in many of
his works, will be a favourite, although the living man was detested.

One of the most beautiful and most characteristic traits of
William Cobbett, was his love of Nature. Here the amiabilities of
his disposition had room to luxuriate ; and surely, if the enjoyment
springing from this source be a proof of a finely organised mind, of a
mind attuned to the influence of the gentler sensibilities, then was
Cobbett a man filled with all the elements of social and private hap-
piness. He delighted, even as a child, in the spring shower, the
summer sunlight, the autumnal repose, and in the chill breath of
winter. To him, the lake, the mountain, and the field, the rural
road, the quiet grassy mound, and the *' silver streamlet" had a
voice of welcome. Dearly did he love to feel their soothing in-
fluences; and few men have more pleasingly described them. It is
related by Coleridge, that, when once talking with John Thelwall,
seated in a beautiful recess, in the Quantocks, he said, " Citizen
MM.— No. 7. K

74 WILLIAM COBBETT.

John, this is a fine place to talk treason in ; " to which Thelwall re-
plied, " Nay, Citizen Samuel, it is rather a place to make a man
forget that there is any necessity for treason." This was a touching
and a beautiful expression : it developed a fine perception of the
harmonies of nature ; and when we convey ourselves with Cobbett,
from his den in Bolt Court to his farm, we feel that it is an ex-
pression which might rise to his lips in reference to his own political
struggles. We confess that we sympathised with the feelings he
must have had, when he desired that he might be carried out into
the open air, once more to inhale its fragrance, and once more to
witness operations to which he was passionately devoted. There
is more poetry in these feelings than we are willing to attribute to
characters like Cobbett, and they bring him to us in a more softened
form than as a coarse and oftentimes intemperate public man. The
words placed by Bulwer in the mouth of his dying friend might, if
freed from their sickly sentimentality, have proceeded from Cobbett,
on his death-bed. " Have I no farewell for that nature, whom,
perhaps, I behold for the last time ? O, unseen spirit of Creation !
that watchest over all things, thou gavest me music in the mountain
wind ! thou badest the flowers and the common grass smile up to
me ! I thank thee, Nature, that thou art round me at the last !
Farewell, thou, and thy thousand ministrants, and children ! every
leaf that quivers on the bough, every dew-drop that sparkles on the
grass, every breeze that animates the earth, are to me as friends ! "

We have said not a word of the man as exhibited in his everyday
affairs : we have viewed him apart from party ; we have placed
aside our conventional prejudices ; we have taken him in the noblest
aspect of his nature ; and we, who have struggled with him in life,
thus record our opinions. Let his errors, his contradictions, and his
occasional uncharitableness die with him : if he has done injury, the
vigorous arm that inflicted it is powerless ; let us repair the mischief,
let us balance the good and the evil, and let us try whether the
sword that wounded may not be made a means of healing. We
loved not the man when living ; but God forbid that we should do
dishonour to his memory when dead !

( 75 )

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

The Rambler in North America. By CHARLES JOSEPH LA-
TROBE. 2 vols. R. B. Seeley and W. Burnside, London.

EVERY reader who remembers Mr. Latrobe's " Alpenstock," " South
African Visitant/' and his " Pedestrian Tour/' will open this work with
raised expectations. Few books have been written on America, which
adequately describe either her people or her scenery ; and still fewer,
which speak fairly and discriminately on the perishing ' Red Men/
Mr. Latrobe has supplied us with a desideratum, and two pleasanter
volumes, whether as regards matter or manner, have not lately passed
under our notice. From this praise, we must indeed except some of the
early portion of the first volume. Our author accompanied Washington
Irving on his visit to the Prairies, which he has lately so well described;
and as long as he remained in Geoffry's company, he appears to have
been doubtful of putting forth his own original "Sayings and Doings ;"
fortunately for the reading public, Irving left the party, and Mr. Latrobe
and Count Pourtales were left to themselves, and here begins the un-
flagging interest of the work : why it should have done so we know not, as
there is a fund of quiet humour and fine feeling about Mr. Latrobe,
which makes him independent of his friend.

Our author's remarks upon " men and manners" in America, are
marked by courtesy and good sense, as rare as it is just. No words of
ours can convey the disgust with which we have read more than one
book on this subject. " America," says Mr. Latrobe, " feels, and with
reason, that justice has not always been done her in essentials, and by
Britain in particular. She knows there has been a spirit abroad having
a tendency to keep the truth and her real praise away from the eye of
the world, shrouded behind a veil of coarse ribaldry and detail of vul-
garity, which, if not positively untrue, were at least so invidiously chosen,
and so confirmatory of prejudice, and so far caricature as applied to the
people as a mass, as almost to bear the stigma of untruth. She has felt
that the progress made in a very limited period of time, and amidst many
disadvantages, in reclaiming an immense continent from the wilderness, — in
covering it with innumerable flourishing settlements, — her success in the
mechanic arts, — her noble institutions in aid of charitable purposes, — the
public spirit of her citizens, — their gigantic undertakings to facilitate
internal communication, — their growing commerce in every quarter of the
globe, — the indomitable perseverance of her sons, — the general attention
to education, and the reverence for religion, wherever the population has
become permanently fixed, — and the generally mild and successful ope-
ration of their government, — have been overlooked, or only casually men-
tioned ; while the failings, rawness of character, and ill-harmonised state
of society in many parts, — the acts of lawless individuals, — and the slang
and language of the vulgar, have been held prominently forward, to excite
scorn, provoke satire, and strengthen prejudice. * " *

" Causes of dissatisfaction and disgust will always be discovered by the
seeker, whoever and wherever he may be. There is no wit in de-
scribing as peculiar to America, that which is common to all the world.
As to coarseness and vulgarity of mind and manners, it is not, that

76 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

abundance is not to be found in our own country, but that it is, from cir-
cumstances easily understood, more obtruded 'for the present into pro-
minent positions in America. Does it not appear that there is something
essentially vulgar in that mind, which, in spite of its alleged disgust, can
continually occupy itself with coarseness in others, and load itself with
the memory of the details ?"

Mr. Latrobe journeyed into the " far west," arid gives a very graphic
account of many interesting circumstances connected with the country
and its inhabitants, — the frontier settlers, the growth of farms and vil-
lages, and the Indian Tribes. With the following remarks we fully agree :
— •• The gifts which the * pale-faces ' brought to the children of the
Forest have been indeed fatal ones, and by them the seeds of misery and
death have been sown to a wide extent. ******

*' Where the European found the Indians poor, he left them poorer;
where one scene of violence and vengeance had been seen, there many
have been enacted ; where he found one evil passion, he planted many;
where one fell disease had thinned their ranks, he brought those of his
blood and land to reap a more abundant harvest. His very gifts were
poison : selfish and inconsiderate in his kindness, he was ever bitter in
his revenge and anger : he excited the passion of the savage for his own
purposes, and, when it rased against him, he commenced the work of
extermination. * * * *

** We read the history of the conquest of the provinces in the Southern
division of the Western Hemisphere, and the islands, and we execrate
the blood-thirstiness of the Spaniards, who exterminated whole tribes
by the sword, under the banner of the blessed Cross ; and yet the con-
duct of the Pilgrim Fathers and their children towards the Aborigines
of the North is hardly less culpable, or less execrable. Like the Spaniard,
the Puritan warred under the banner of his faith, and considered the
war as holy. No one who reads the history of these countries since their
first settlement, can draw any other conclusion, than that the white man
secretly, with his grasping hand, selfish policy, and want of faith, has
been in almost every case, directly or indirectly, the cause of the horrors
which he afterwards rose up openly to retaliate. How often did he
return evil for good? That the wrath of the Indian, when excited, was
terrible, his anger cruel, and his blows indiscriminate, falling almost
always on the comparatively innocent, — and that defence, and perhaps
retaliation then became necessary, to save the country from repetitions of
those fearful scenes of murder and torture, which n;ake the early settle-
ments a marvel and a romance, is also to be allowed : — but the settlement
of the various portions of America, with but few exceptions, is equally in
the North and South a foul blot upon Christendom. * # * *

" The Indian tribes have melted like snow from before the steady march
of the white, and diminished in number and power: beaten back, they first
gave way, and retired beyond the mountains, and then beyond the Great
River, and to the Westward of the Great Lakes. If you ask, where is
the noble race whom Smith found in Virginia, the race of Powhatan,
which then overspread that fair country between the Alleghany and the
Sea ? where the powerful Tribes of the East, the posterity of Uncas or
Philip; the white man's friend, or the white man's foe; or the tribes
that clustered round the base of the White Mountains? — the same answer
suits all ; they are gone ! and the remnants scattered here and there
hardly preserve the name."

Mr. Latrobe's wanderings led him from one extremity of North Ame-
rica to the other ; and many " moving accidents," by land and flood, he
details. The accounts given of the Indians, their manners and customs,
are particularly rich. There is also mingled with much amiable feeling,
and a fine perception of natural beauties, no slight amount of

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 77

humour: witness his " Crapauds." The work, taken throughout, is
unique, and exceedingly valuable, both for its temper and its mate-
rials : it is a most pleasant work into the bargain ; and we are certain
that it will be highly popular on both sides the Atlantic.

The Works of William Cowper : his Life and Letters. Edited by
the Rev. T. S. GRIMSHAWE. Vol. IV. Saunders and Otley,
London.

In every respect a worthy companion of its predecessors. Cowper
stands before us as painted by himself; and if we pity, we love and
admire the more we know him. His acquaintance with Hayley com-
mences in this volume ; an amiable man, of considerable talents, and one
who lived high in the regard of his co-temporaries. He was Cowper's
first biographer, and his work forms the basis of Mr. Grimshawe's.
Hayley was exceedingly well qualified for his task, but he wanted nerve
and vigour, and failed utterly in delineating Cowper's peculiar religious
temperament. The illustrations are very beautiful.

The Poetical Works of John Milton. Edited by SIR EGERTON
BRYDGES ; with Illustrations by Turner. Vol. I. John Ma-
crone, London.

The despotism so long exercised by Johnson in his capacity of critical
biographer of our most illustrious poets has often surprised us, as he
was in many respects singularly unfitted for the task. His mind was
essentially unpoetical : the very finest and most brilliant passages of
Milton were sneered at, or passed over, as puerilities by him ; and yet
this has passed current for criticism ; and what is still more extraordinary
is, that Johnson put aside Addison, — a man as infinitely his superior as
a moralist, a critic, and a writer, as Milton was superior as a poet to
Johnson.

A life of John Milton, critically given in connexion with his works,
has long been wanting. To write such a life, however, acquirements and
mind of no common order were required. Todd, Hayley, Mitford, Sym-
mons, Warton, Johnson, Newton, Birch, and the Bard's own nephew,
have each essayed the task, and have produced works of various degrees
of merit. None of them however seem to have entered into the sanctuary
of Milton's thoughts ; none of them have felt the full power of his mag-
nificent intellect as developed in his works, and from thence shown us
the man ; none have brought a sufficiency of detail to bear upon his
productions and upon himself; and hence Milton, revered and honoured
as he is and has been, is but little known to us. The aspiring mind,
which found its congenial home amidst the grandest and most sublime
conceptions, has too often been overlooked ; and the genius of Milton has
been sought for in polemics and politics, and has been traced in his
domestic troubles and home infelicity. Sir Egerton Brydges has how-
ever done much to redeem him ; and if we think that his admiration
occasionally assumes an aspect a little too enthusiastic, we know that it is
impossible for any man to have felt the grandeur and magnificent rich-
ness of the greatest poet of the world, without having had stirred up within
him emotions of a nature widely apart from those generated by the
writings of any other author.

In speaking of " L' Allegro" and "II Penseroso," Sir Egerton re-
marks:— " It seems to me that these two poems are much more va-

78 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

luable for their developcment of Milton's studies and amusements, than
for their poetry, by proving his love of nature, of books, of solitude,
of contemplation, and of all that is beautiful and all that is romantic,
than for those bold figures and that glorious fiction which were his
chief power and his chief delight." Johnson's pure and elegant cri-
ticism is—" No part of * L' Allegro' is made to arise from the pleasures
of the bottle."

Sir Egerton traces and analyses the various productions of Milton
with singular acuteness and force, as well as delicacy of conception.
Himself imbued with pure poetical feelings, he tests his Author by the
truest of all methods ; and he places Milton before us in his native
grandeur and dignity. Neither has he permitted his partizanship to
embarrass his judgment ; he has truly felt that his subject was too noble
to be judged by political bias.

44 Of this ' greatest of great men,' the private traits and whole life
were congenial to his poetry. Men of narrow feelings will say that his
political writings contradict this congeniality. His politics were no doubt
violent and tierce, but it cannot be doubted that they were conscientious.
He lived at a crisis of extraordinary public agitation, when all the prin-
ciples of government were moved to their very foundations, and when
there was a general desire to commence institutions de novo. * * *

" Milton's imagination was not at all suited to the cold and dry
hypocrisy of a Puritan; but his gigantic mind gave him a temper that
spurned at authority. This was his characteristic through life : it
showed itself in every thought and action, both public and private, from
his earliest youth, except that he did not appear to rebel against parental
authority.

4' His great poems require such a stretch of mind in the reader, as to
be almost painful. The most amazing copiousness of learning is sub-
limated into all his conceptions and descriptions. His learning never
oppressed his imagination, and his imagination never dimmed or obli-
terated his learning : but even these would not have done without a great
heart, and a pure and lofty mind.

" That mind was given up to study and meditation from his boyhood
till his death : he had no taste for the vulgar pleasures of life : he was
all spiritual ; but he loved fame enthusiastically, and was ready to
engage in the great affairs of public business, and, when he did engage,
performed his part with industry, skill, and courage. * * * *

*' If intellect is the grand glory of man, Milton stands pre-eminent
above all other human beings — above Homer, Virgil, Dante, Petrarch,
Tasso, Spenser, and Shakspeare. To the highest grandeur of invention
upon the sublimest subject he unites the greatest wisdom and learning,
and the most perfect art. What has issued from the French schools of
poetry seems to be the production of an inferior order of beings."

Sir Egerton Brydges has performed his part of Critical Biographer
with rare skill and knowledge ; and has produced a work of great value
to readers, and one highly honourable to himself. It deserves high
praise, and, we think, cannot fail to meet with the success it undoubtedly
merits. He has proceeded boldly and judiciously, and the work will be
an addition to our literature. The illustrations are a vignette from the
pencil of Turner, and it is eminently grand in conception — it possesses
the sublimity and spiritualisation characterising the subject it is intended
to illustrate. The frontispiece is a finely engraved portrait of the
Bard in his old age.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 79

History of the Germanic Empire. Vol. II. By S. A. DUNHAM,
Esq., LL.D. Being Vol. LXVII. of Lardner's Cabinet Cy-
clopaedia. Longmans, London.

This volume concludes Mr. Dunham's very valuable " History of the
Germanic Empire." The work, as a whole, has some considerable de-
fects ; but it nevertheless fills up very satisfactorily a niche in our
historical literature. The account given by Mr. Dunham of the Re-
formation in Germany is tolerably explicit and full, though marked with
some little lightness. The progress of this Reformation, when men's
minds began to be loosened from the shackles of bigotry arid religious
thraldom, is marked by some extraordinary details of fanaticism ; and
the wildest and most wayward fancies gave a character to the earlier
steps of the Reformation, at once hateful and fearful. Luther himself,
though seemingly born for the purpose of operating this great change,
was a man of unscrupulous temper, who cared little for the means, pro-
vided he attained his ends ; and hence he not unfrequently pandered to
the worst passions of the people : and though glorious fruit has been the
result of his labours, the seed was sown not altogether by pure hands.
The Anabaptists present one of the most depraved specimens of fana-
ticism, which sprung immediately from Lutheranism. Cruelty, unbridled
lust, profanity, madness, and impiety, were most singularly and dis-
gustingly exhibited ; and, although Mr. Dunham has passed over very
properly much that must have come under his eye, even his picture
might have been softened. Were it not for the sufferings and the
diabolical wickedness of these religionists, their freaks and extravagances
might move our laughter: as it is, horror, pity, and hatred, are so
blended in examining their career, that it becomes one of the most painful
chapters in the history of human errors.

Mr. Dunham says as follows respecting Luther and his imprudent
marriage: — " The brutal invectives of the Reformer towards all his ene-
mies, whom he always designated as swine or asses, liars or devils, and
his presumptuous vain-glory, did more injury to his cause, than it was in
their power to inflict. Nor was his conduct in some other respects cal-
culated to remove their dislike, or even preserve the favour of his own
friends. His marriage with Catherine Borew, a nun, occasioned much
scandal to both. He had vowed chastity at an age when he well knew
the obligation of the contract, and was well acquainted with the tempt-
ations he should have to withstand. Whether that vow were a wise one
does not aifect the question ; he had deliberately taken it : it was con-
sequently obligatory on him for life. To teach that even a rash vow, so
long as its accomplishment does not interfere with the everlasting welfare
of the individual, can be broken, is strange morality. If a vow can be
annulled at the mere pleasure of him who has made it, so, a fortiori, may
a promise: hence, adieu to all human engagements, — to all social se-
curity. The zeal with which Luther had assailed monastic vows, and the
favour with which he had regarded men who had broken them, were
now apparent. Great was the triumph of his enemies. Not satisfied
with his own sacrilege, he had, they observed, incurred a double portion
^>f guilt, by prevailing on another to violate the sanctity of the obligation.
His marriage was indeed an unfortunate measure : it enabled men to
say that the causes, which had led to the Reformation, were to be sought,
aot in the convictions, but in the passions of Luther. Had he, indeed,
felt much regard for the great work beyond one purely personal — beyond
the consideration, and the other advantages it procured him, — he would
scarcely have taken a step so disastrous to his reputation for security, for
disinterested honest zeal. On every countenance which approached him,
even that of Melancthon, there was distrust. His own conscience was

Oi; MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

however the worst pang. For some weeks after the marriage he was
exceedingly dejected, until Melancthon, who had but little moral force,
began to pity him, and to palliate, — nay, even to represent as laudable,
what he had so strongly condemned. For this criminal indulgence, the
disciple's memory must be severely reprehended by every unbiassed
mind, since his guilt is only inferior to that of the master/'

In fact, the personal character of Luther, as well as that of other emi-
nent Reformers, has not yet been fairly chronicled. God forbid that
we should with irreverent and scornful hand lift aside the veil which
hides their human frailties ! But, nevertheless, a full exposition would not
be without its use : it would teach a lesson of humility, strangely at
variance with many of our preconceived notions, for religious pride is
one of the most dangerous stimulants to man's passions.

Mr. Dunham's history comes down to the year 1792, the commence-
ment of a new epoch. He traces the gradual settling of religious and
social disputes, and throughout displays considerable knowledge of his
subjects, an impartial judgment, and a degree of minute detail evi-
dencing great industry. We do not think that as a History, this of the
Germanic Empire can rank very high as a philosophical one; there is
occasionally displayed in it a want of grasp of thought, of compre-
hensive judgment, of general and sound views of national polity, and an,
unnecessary dwelling upon minutite, which weaken its general force, and
which show a mind stored with facts, but wanting in observation and the
power of generalization. These are defects, doubtless : they remove
Mr. Dunham's name from the list of the very few historians who have
graced our literature with its brightest and noblest trophies. He must
however have acceded to him no mean rank, and has within him the
capabilities for reaching one still more elevated.

The Life of Edmund Kean. 2 vols. Edward Aloxon, London.

The writer of this work has approached his task with acheeiful and
lightsome temper, which, greatly as we admire, we cannot participate
in. To us Kean has always been a subject of painful contemplation.
No man had a higher esteem for his histrionic talents than ourselves,
neither can any man be less disposed tlian we are to detract from it, now
that he has finished his career ; but, nevertheless, his life must be viewed
as the life of a thoughtless, an imprudent, and a profligate man. With
the exception of the one grand purpose of his ambition — the theatre,
there is nothing to interest us, unless his follies can be supposed to do
so. Mr Cornwall has indeed glanced over these lightly, and properly ;
but they stand out in too strong relief to be hidden. No posthumous
reminiscences can aid him at the tribunal of morals ; for, like the Grecian
Bard, he might have sung, —

" After death I nothing crave,
Let me alive my pleasures have —
All are Stoics in the grave."

The Life before us, as we have remarked, is confined in a great mea-
sure to the only part of Kean's life which will bear detail — namely, the
triumphs and trials of an actor; and thus gives the Author an oppor-
tunity for some good criticisms and anecdotes. In early life we find him
without parental control, and even without parental acknowledgment —
a creature little better than a cast-away, and subjected to all the ills of
a wayward and unsubdued temper; and so he grew into a man — steeped
in poverty, and never learning wisdom from his trials ; — and great and
grievous these doubtless were. He struggled long and painfully for

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 81

notoriety ; and when it burst upon him, it literally overwhelmed what
little moral animus had been his beforehand. His career, as an actor,
was brilliant, and deservedly so ; and he will, no doubt, hold a dis-
tinguished place in our stage annals, as the creator of style, peculiarly
his own — one which came upon the stage, and went from it, with him.
We give an extract, as it relates to a period when his removal to London
opened to him what, as he himself always declared he only wanted, — an
opportunity to be known.

" The death of his eldest born appears to have wounded Kean very
painfully. The child died at eight o'clock in the morning. The father
was affected to a degree bordering on suffocation. His passions were at
all times uncontrollable, and upon the present occasion, after some few
attempts to think that all was for the best, he flew out of doors in an
agony of grief, and drank to a prodigious extent, in order to forget his
loss. The brandy, however, instead of soothing or stupifying him, made
him mad. He returned to his house in an outrageous state, (his grief
still uppermost,) wept and lamented his child, and swore that he would
wake it from the dead. A.t last, exhausted by his anguish, and affected
of course by the liquor which he had drank, he fell into a hot and uneasjr
sleep. In the morning he was more composed.

" In the midst of all this sorrow, he was obliged to proceed with his
theatrical engagement at Dorchester. Indeed, it was necessary to do so,
in order to entitle himself to a benefit, by which means alone he could
hope to pay for his child's funeral, and the medical expenses which had
been incurred before its death. He took his benefit therefore, and de-
rived from it sufficient for those purposes. But he was still without
money for his London journey. The manager of Drury Lane Theatre
had not tendered him any, not being aware, of course, of his exigencies.
In this dilemma, the Dorchester manager, Mr. Lee, very good-naturedly
advanced him five pounds, and with part of this sum in his pocket, he
set forward, with a beating heart, to try his fortune on the metropolitan
stage."

This work is a far more pleasant and readable one than we had
thought it possible for a Life of Kean to be made. His errors and his
excellencies are alike acknowleged ; and there is nothing that the most
fastidious taste can object to in it. The estimate of Kean's powers is
pretty fairly drawn ; and we are thus in possession of his public life :
his private life, unhappily for. himself, and all connected with him, was,
equally criminal and miserable. •

The Enthusiast. 1 vol. Being Vol. XIV. of the Library of Ro-
mance. Edited by LEITCH RITCHIE. Smith, Elder and Co.
London.

It is a matter of surprise to us, that Mr. Ritchie should have shewn
his taste, critical judgment, and knowledge of the wants of English
romance-readers, as they are exhibited in the present volume. Spind-
ler's original work, of which this is said to be an adaptation, is a
strange compound of extravagant fancies, morbid enthusiasm, and vi-
sionary religion. The texture and tendency of many of these Ger-
man romances are essentially un-English, and it is absolutely im-
possible to make them attractive. Spindler's work was a bad example
even of these ; and we must say that this volume is not a very
welcome addition to the series". "The following scene occurs in a
Chapel, soon after we have been introduced to the Enthusiast : — '
M.M.— No. 7. L

02 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

" The tears that streamed from her eyes rendered her voice almost in-
audible, but this was still more effectually drowned by a voice behind her
back, which exclaimed, with a hollow and solemn tone — 'Yes! indeed,
and in truth, this is a holy person, and her prayer ascends as frank-
incense/ Astonished, the Margravine looked around her, and an in-
stantaneous glow overspread her pale cheeks as she met the gaze of
Leodegar, who, with outstretched arms and uplifted hands, advanced
into the Chapel from the door of one of the four rooms.

*' Overcome with rage, astonishment, and shame, she stood speechless
and immoveable. Leodegar, in a fit of enthusiasm, threw himself at her
feet, kissed the hem of her garment, and continued thus : — ' Blessed
be thou, who walkest with the Angels ! Blessed be thou, anointed
and crowned penitent, who art striving for the fairest crown of the
Saviour ! ' " — and so on, with a strange mingling of human passion and
religious enthusiasm, which, occurring where it does, becomes '"utterly
foolish and improbable.

There are a number of vigorous descriptive passages in the volume,
and some eloquent writing; but, as a romance, it is wanting in the
elements of interest and of popularity.

Harold de Burun. A Semi-Dramatic Poem ; in Six Scenes. By
H. A. DRIVER, author of the " Arabs," a Poem. Longmans,
London.

If our opinion as to the moral and intellectual character of Byron, to
•whom this poem relates, differs from that of Mr. Driver, it does not pre-
vent us acknowledging that he displays poetic powers of no mean order :
indeed, there are many passages in the volume of great beauty ; and if
the whole had been a little better sustained, the poem would have ranked
high above most of its cotemporaries.

*' The especial object of the undertaking," says the Author, " has been
to develope what I conceive to be the true character of Byron, and to
dispel, as far as might be within my possibility, that fantastical one which
has shown itself amidst the magnifying haze of popular credulity/' The
object is a noble though a hopeless one ; but it has given Mr. Driver an
opportunity for writing a fine, an original, and a powerful poem. We
can make room only for one extract, and with it we cordially recommend
the work : —

" Bless'd be their rosy smiles
And dimpled cheeks ! Their little urchin tongues
Sound with a sweet recalling silverness,
Like tuneful bells, that chime of other days.
If we in aught bear likeness to our Maker,
Surely 'tis most in infancy ! for innocence
Must be the chief resemblance.

Ethereal hearts !

I love them from the hour they climb the knee —
Their first ambition — happy if the worst !
Theirs is the thrill that I can feel no more,
Knowing too much — the genial spring is theirs,
Whose buds are worth a thousand full-blown joys/'

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 83

Philanthropic Economy ; or, the Philosophy of Happiness, &c.
By Mrs. LOUDON. Churton, London.

" To every human being on whom God has bestowed the gift of reason,
this earnest appeal to reason, to justice, and to honesty, to pure morality
enforced by sacred obligation — to every noblest sympathy of humanity,
is with ardent feelings of good-will to all inscribed by the Author/' Such
is Mrs. London's dedication, and we believe her to be sincere. Again,
we quote the first lines of the preface : " The mottoes of the title-page
have been selected, because, from their consideration, taken connectedly,
the unavoidable inference follows, that if we would obey the command-
ment to 4 love one another/ we must not tax the necessaries of life."
These mottoes, by the bye, are the 34th verse of the 13th chapter of St.
John, and an extract from Adam Smith: the first, "A new command-
ment I give unto you, — that ye love one another/' The second, '* Taxes
upon the necessaries of life have nearly the same effect upon the circum-
stances of the people, as a poor soil and a bad climate/' We shall not
stay to discuss whether Mrs. Loudon has or has not, in thus bringing
St. John and Adam Smith into juxta-position, and making the significa-
tion of one dependent upon that of the other, overstepped the line of
prudence and propriety. She has evidently entered heart and soul into
her subject ; and fearful, we presume, of being placed side by side with
Miss Martineau, — a position from which we are sure she would shrink, —
she discards the words ' political economy/ and calls her labours ' phi-
lanthropic economy.'

It is obvious, however, on the slightest examination, that the Au-
thoress has entered upon a subject far beyond her grasp, and that she is
merely a relator ; and that, like Miss Martineau, she is in a great mea-
sure ignorant of the real condition of society, and of the agencies, whether
moral or political, fitted for its exigences. We say this without the
slightest harshness ; but Mrs. Loudon is not the first lady who has lost
herself in this thorny track ; and we should wish to see the female intel-
lect better employed than in making vain attempts to cope with subjects
which are, from their very nature, beyond female interference. We are
not amongst those who think that mind is the prerogative of man ; on the
contrary, we believe that woman has intellectual capacities fully as ex-
tended as ourselves ; but the bearings of these capacities are decidedly
different, and their proper developement is dependent on the passions
and the affections. Now the inquiries connected with political economy,
provided a work is to be produced on the subject entitled to confidence,
are unapproachable by a woman ; and hence a few bald facts, or specious
details are all that she can trust to ; and on these her imagination
operates till she writes a book. Such a book may be a clever, an
amusing, and even an instructive book : we say it may be so ; but it
cannot be either clever, instructive, or amusing as a book on political
economy. Thus Miss Martineau's Tales would do very well for children,
if their titles were changed, and some of their matter weeded out ; but it
is an absurdity too potent for patience to have them quoted as authorities
or even illustrations. Mrs. London's book, though free from many of
the objections to which Miss Martineau's works are open, and though
written in a much higher and purer tone, cannot be called an addition to
our political literature. Colonel Torrens, the " Spectator," various
Newspaper reports, Adam Smith, and one or two other writers, aided
by copious quotations from Scripture, form the basis of the Work, — a
work honourable to Mrs. Loudoa's intelligence, but which neither ex-
tends our knowledge, nor opens new views of -policy.

84 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

llydrauda. An Historical and Descriptive Account of the Water-
Works of London, &c. &c. By WILLIAM MATTHEWS.
Simpkin and Marshall, London.

A highly interesting and valuable work, and one particularly well-
timed. The outcry which has been raised ahout the Thames water has
had some good effects, and the worthy citizens may drink it with perfect
impunity in the shape in which it comes to them from the water com-
panies. We cannot do more this month than recommend Mr. Mathews's
work, hut we shall have occasion to recur to it once and again.

t

History of England. The Third Volume of the Continuation of
Hume and Smollett. By the Rev. T. S. HUGHES, B. D. And
the 16th Vol. of the History of England. A. J. Valpy, M.A.,
London.

Mr. Hughes continues his important work steadily and equably. It is
with the historian as with the orator, —

" Sapere est principium et fons:"

and every page of this volume aifords sufficient evidence of research.
The progress of the American war, with its collateral troubles, is very
minutely traced in the part of the work before us ; whilst the various
questions of home policy are treated with an impartiality at once rare
and highly honourable: —

" A spirit of disaffection arose in England in 1779, from a cause which
never fails to interest the feelings of a nation in distress — the expenses
of government, and the necessity of economy. Few subjects are more
difficult to handle than this ; for while one party declaims, with apparent
justice, against the expensive trappings of royalty, and the profusion of
ministerial patronage, as unduly extending court influence, and en-
dangering popular rights ; others speciously argue, that a systematic
frugality is inconsistent with the nature of our government, which cannot
be carried on without parliamentary interest ; and that interest cannot
be secured without the expensive appendages of pensions, sinecures, and
lucrative employments. Two methods only, it is said, have as yet been
discovered to rule mankind — force and bribery : if we choose to live
under a free government, where public employments are open to the
honourable ambition of all, and where every man's house is his castle,
into which the foot of tyranny cannot enter, — we must be content to
pay for such privileges ; must bear with minor evils for the sake of higher
advantages.

"Without attempting to controvert these principles, or denying that
to possess a guarantee for good government, the services of the best men
must be secured by liberal remuneration ; we ought not to shut our eyes
against the necessity of checking that lavish expenditure, which, by en-
couraging the bad, corrupting the indifferent, and disgusting the virtuous,
tends to bring on a paralysis of the body politic : for while the reasons
for supporting a system, notwithstanding its expenses, are generally
abstruse and philosophical, the abuses of that system are evident
and glaring ; so that the evils are easily seen by the many, while the
advantages are comprehended only by the few ; and the dangers arising
thence are doubled by a free press. The efforts therefore made by
Mr. Burke, in the cause of economical reform, to bring back the con-
stitution to its first principles, were highly meritorious, The corruptions

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 85

of that aristocratic power, which had so long predominated in the British
government, had begun to bring obloquy on the monarchy itself; and
Mr. Burke wisely endeavoured to combine with the maintenance of an-
vcient institutions and established rights, the correction of real abuses, the
pure administration of public patronage, and a prudent management of
the public expenditure."

The Works of Pope. Vol. IIT. Edited by the Rev. G. CROLY,
LL. D. A. J. Valpy, M.A., London.

The third volume of this very elegant edition of Pope brings us to the
" Dunciad/' a work of singular force, but one exhibiting no slight want of
judgment. The " Wasp of Twickenham/' as Lady Mary Wortley Mon-
tague not unaptly styled Pope, should have had more mercy upon his
irritable temperament, than to have roused about him 'a whole nest of
hornets. Dr. Croly makes the following very pertinent and just intro-
ductory remarks on the " Dunciad." The notes accompanying the
poem are curious and highly interesting.

" The direct origin of this longest and most laboured of Pope's poems
lias been already detailed in the Memoir of his life. The initials appended
to the * Treatise on the Art of Sinking in Poetry ' had excited universal
resentment : the writers, whose works had been held up to public con-
tempt, retorted in a body ; and, if their revenge was not classic, it was at
least keen. Libels, personalities, and threats filled the public ear; and
Pope declares that * for half a year and more, the common newspapers
were filled with the most abusive falsehoods and scurrilities that they
could possibly devise.' * A liberty/ he farther observes, * no way to be
wondered at in those people and in those papers, that, for many years,
during the uncontrolled license of the press, had aspersed almost all the
great characters of the age, and this with impunity, — their own persons
'and names being utterly secret and obscure.'

*' For those reasons which ought to have taught him the hopelessness
of attack, if not the dignity of silence, he resolved by one decisive blow
to extinguish the whole fraternity of the * scribblers/ The habitual failure
of his temperament was irritability, and in this instance it betrayed him
into warfare with a generation, whose obscurity he confesses to have
placed them beyond the reach of assault, if their callousness did not
render them insensible to his weapons. His knowledge of the world
ought also to have warned him, that the eminent are always losers in a
voluntary contest with the contemptible ; and his knowledge of the race
.with whom he had to deal, that the libeller may make up in virulence
what he wants in vigour ; that the public, with all their favouritism for
the man of genius, can laugh at seeing him entangled with the mean ; and,
that when abuse is to decide the battle, the mean are the natural masters
of the field.

" The value of those maxims is proved, by the fact that, from the
commencement of the quarrel, Pope's life seems to have been one of per-
petual vexation : every newspaper that reached his hands teemed with
fresh insult ; he was pursued by ballads, stung by epigrams, burlesqued
by caricatures, and even menaced with those personal attacks, which to
his feebleness of frame, and consequent powerlessness of self-protection,
must have been matters of serious anxiety. The multitude of biting
pamphlets and furious paragraphs written against him perhaps outnumber
those which either party stimulants or popular rage called forth against
the most obnoxious public men of England."

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

Narrative of a Residence in South Africa. By THOMAS PRINGLE.
A new Edition ; with a Biographical Sketch of the Author,
by JOSIAH CONDER. Edward Moxon, London.

We cannot but regret that Mr. Conder has given so bare a sketch
of Pringle's life, inasmuch as his life was one which will well bear
examination, and as his career was more than usually varied and sin-
gular. A more amiable man than the Author of the work before us
never lived, nor one who deserved better of society. His struggles were
the struggles of a generous and enlightened mind, and his treatment at
the Cape must ever reflect discredit upon our Colonial government.

The work itself has been already favourably received by the public,
and not undeservedly. It abounds with information and sound views,
and, as a picture of South Africa, is full of graphic details and curious
and characteristic sketches. It is, perhaps, as interesting a volume as
any in our language, having the charm of personal adventure with the
various denizens of the forests, from the predatory Bushman, to the
Elephant, mingled with domestic details, and the struggles and privations
of new settlers in a remote and not very easily accessible district. The
accounts given of the Dutch boors, the Kaffres, and the Hottentots, are
marked by temper and discrimination, and are at the present moment
highly interesting and valuable. The work is without the poetry
which accompanied it in the first edition : this arrangement is, we think,
judicious, as the poems will in themselves form a very charming volume.

The National Church Vindicated, &c. &c.
Parbury, Allen and Co., London.

A work by a strenuous supporter of our Church Establishments, and
containing a searching analysis of the Glasgow petition to Earl Grey.
Its tone is a little warm, but not more so perhaps than the subject will
bear. It is worthy a very careful perusal, as we think the minds of men
are likely to be led too far, if wholesome checks and preventives are not
placed in their way, on the important question of the permanence of our
national Church.

Modern Antiquity, and other Poems. By the late Rev. C. C.
COLTON, Author of " Lacon." King, London.

Mr. Sherwill, whether led away by reverence for Colton's genius, or
by personal friendship, has widely mistaken the value of these poems.
They will certainly not add to the reputation of the Author of " Lacon."
We are glad to find from some preliminary observations, that Colton
did not die in that abject poverty which the world has been led to
believe. Every thing indeed about this erring "son of clay," to whom
we may apply an observation of Rousseau's — " nous avons chercher le
plaisir et le bonheur, a fin loin de nous," possesses a degree of painful
interest, and this will no doubt make this work be sought after.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 87

Bosworth Field ; an Historical Tale. By the Author of " Arthur
of Brittany." 3 vols. Cochrane and Co., London.

It is a very remarkable fact, that Sir Walter Scott appears to have for
the present utterly broken up Historical Tale writing. Whether it is
that we come to the perusal of works of this nature with a prejudice
resulting from a familiar acquaintance with Scott's works, we do not
know ; but certain it is, that we rise from their perusal little satisfied.

Richard the Third is supposed to have had a son, who was introduced
into his tent on the night before the battle of Bosworth, and then for the
first time made acquainted with his parentage. The evidence of this
youth's existence is by no means satisfactory ; but upon this report the
Author of " Arthur of Brittany" has founded his plot. The ground was
dangerous; it has been hallowed by Shakspeare, and most of the prin-
cipal characters in the Tale have been already immortalised by the great
poet of human nature. There are also some strange historical inac-
curacies : for this the writer may perhaps plead the example of Scott.
The objection even in Sir Walter was a grave one, but it was in a great
measure overlooked in the charm of his racy narrative ; they were not
looked for till the story had been read. In the present instance, however,
they start up in one's path, and serve as stumbling-blocks.

One of the most curious traits about " Bosworth Field" is that the
characters and the scenes are too palpably made for each other ; the
whole is too obviously artificial. Thus Alwyde, the hero, in the course
of a journey, falls in with a thunder-storm : this thunder-storm drives
him into a half- ruinous castle, in which he finds a man dying; in an
upper room he discovers a maniacal woman, and after this he leaves the
neighbourhood ; and some time afterwards he comes upon a party of
rustics swimming a witch, and, in the end, he discovers that this unhappy
creature was his own mother.

The redeeming points about the work are many. It is vigorously
written : occasionally characters and incidents are dashed off boldly and
with great perspicuity ; and the portraitures of the widowed Elizabeth,
her daughter, the future queen of Richmond, and the Lady Anne, are
exceedingly well drawn. The underplot, in which this last-named lady
and Edward Stanley are the hero and heroine, is -a touching story,
having' in it much truth and much nature.

On the whole, 4' Bosworth Field " is a very readable performance,
and superior to the common run of Novels. The Author might un-
doubtedly have made more of his materials, as his invention is abundantly
prolific.

A Voice from the Dormitory. Being a Collection of Sacred Poems,
chiefly selected from Old Authors. Smith, Elder and Co.,
London.

A collection of poems showing a fine discriminative taste, and one
which forms a very acceptable addition to our available sacred literature.

The Poetical Works of SAMUEL ROGERS, Esq. Part IV.
Edward Moxon, London.

It is impossible to imagine any thing more splendid than this work.
The illustrations, which are profusely scattered over its pages, are some of
the most delicious things we have ever seen.

88 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

The Holy Bible ; containing the Old and New Testaments.
Revised from Corrected Texts of the Original Tongues, &c.
With Critical and Explanatory Notes. By B. BOOTHROYD,
D.D. Part I. James Duncan, London.

The commencement of a valuable edition of the Scriptures. Dr. Booth-
royd's critical abilities are well known, and cannot fail to procure his
labours attention. The notes are numerous and important, clearing up
all obscurity in the text, and are written plainly and simply. It is beauti-
fully printed.

Fortitude. By MRS. HOFLAND. A. K. Newman and Co.,

London.

It would be a matter of supererogation at the present day to criticise
the Authoress of this work. She has long had a niche in almost every
family where reading is cultivated. " Fortitude" is a story of domestic
trials firmly borne, and ultimately triumphed over: the character of the
aged domestic is very touching; and the benevolence of Dr. Mead
characteristically displayed. The book is very beautifully got up, and
will make a pretty and desirable present to deserving young people.

A Critical Dictionary of the English Language. By JAMES
KNOWLES. Part VI. De Porquet and Cooper, London.

Mr. Knowles's very important undertaking is now in an advanced state,
and its execution fully bears out the encomiums bestowed on its design.
It is the most complete dictionary of our language extant ; and, being
published at a moderate and well-deserved price, no library should be
without it.

Journal. By FRANCES ANNE BUTLER. John Murray.

*' With all its imperfections on its head/' this work has disappointed
us of OUT pounce. We had not read a single critique on it, but had heard
strangely contradictory reports, we thought from credible authorities : —
first, that " it was published here because no book which did not abuse
the Americans would sell in England;" secondly, that ere its long
announced appearance, quotations from it had graced the papers, in
which the late Miss Kemble had dubbed some members of the Covent
Garden company '* limping/' " wooden," &c. &c., and protested that she
"loathed a newspaper-scribbler as she did a bug;" finally, that some
great man had lauded her book as " sublime." We were " wroth to a
degree," and, ere the volumes reached us, had concocted sundry ad-
mirable severities, which we are " laith to lose ; " but as some of this
lady's censors prove more mendacious even than her parasites, we sup-
press the comments that they, not she, extorted from us. We are the
more resolved to deal fairly, and even mildly, by Mrs. Butler, as we
feel that it would cost us no effort to be rather just than merciful.
The work, associated with such names, is sure of a rapid and ex-
tensive sale. Its authoress is now independent of her country, family,
and genius. A journal, as showing us the writer's real self, chal-
lenges graver comments than those elicited by fictitious characters.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 89

Mrs. Butler cares very little for reviews, and may never read ours.
Besides these excuses for harshness, we have some long-standing tempta-
tions towards it, of which we shall say but enough to show the merit of
our own resistance.

Ev.en the children of celebrated actors are considered public property,
about whom the world will talk. Thanks to the set of spies and in-
"formers by whom their domestic privacy is invaded, ** little Fanny "
had a kind of fame long ere she trod the stage ; it was sworn that she
early determined so to do ; and, though the passion afterwards lay dormant
for awhile, yet it is possible that some one, of unpardonable memory,
ventured to echo Mr. Burchel's emphatic monosyllable, when Miss
Kemble's printed letter (thanking the company for a bracelet, soon after
her triumphant debut) assured them that " their firm adherence to her
father, in his adversity, was the FIRST thing that suggested to her mind
the idea of exerting her own humble talents in their profession," or
words to that effect. It is possible, we say, that some old-fashioned
lover of truth did cite the exclamation of Goldsmith's hero ; but the voice
was drowned in ravings on " the self-sacrifice and filial piety of this
exemplary Euphrasia." Her harshly, coldly clever, performances were
successful, and well paid. She was be-rhymed, he-pictured, and, in a
certain head-tire, called like Mrs. Siddons ; though Mrs. Jamieson, " to
make use of a strong- expression," admits that Miss Kemble has been "ex-
celled in beauty !"

The girl herself is not to be blamed for the extravagances of her par-
tisans. She looked no way ambitions to be praised for any body's sake
but her own. We therefore assert that her appearance, voice, acting,
writing, and manner, far from reminding us of her accidental ties,
curiously contrasted her with both parents and kindred. She was

** Among them, but not of them ; "

and, had she been quite as masculine as, perhaps, she wished, might have
said, with Prince Arthur,

" Is it my fault that I am Geoffry's son ?
No, indeed, it's not! "

We are aware that the almost repulsive, equable lowliness with
which she used to receive homage, rendered it impossible to decide
whether she disdained or accepted it but as her due. It is the duty of
daughters to furnish their papas with dilemmas ! For her did the pacific
Charles Kemble turn thresher, and then concede a sort of apology ; after
which the party least in the wrong is never forgiven. For her did he
produce a drama, against which, had it emanated from any other pen, his
pure taste might have revolted. "Miss Fanny's Tragedy" was an-
nounced still longer than has been Mrs. Butler's Journal. In spite
of gorgeous appointment and good acting, the town brooked but a short
time a play exceptionable in plot as " Bertram" or the "Orphan," yet
unlike them in its grating sounds and hackneyed ideas. It was, however,
an extraordinary effort of maiden fancy, remarkable for finishing just as
well without its last act, as it could have done with; which is more than
any of Shakspeare's would do. Its adulators vaunt that, " though soon
lost to the many, it may still be read by the few," which we translate —

Hurl'd from the stage, the dull pretender's lays
Sink amid Lethe's water — ** Closet plays."

She left us. It was said that, whether married or single, she would
MM.— No. 7. M

JHJ MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

return to act one more season here, for the advantage of her estimable
parents ; but she did no such thing : we trusted that, as she could now
aftbrd to live in dignified retirement, she would cease to write : there
again we were mistaken : it made us angry. We say not this from the
jealousy which some (called) men cherish against popular female talent ;
were we capable of envying any lady, it would not be Mrs. Pierce
Butler ; though, if to astonish has been the aim of her life, she is, as
she hath ever been, unaccountably fortunate. The common cry now
seems, *4 We should wonder at such a book from any young, well-
educated woman, — but from her!" — "And why?" we would ask. Let
us examine this Journal, which merits no such amaze from either friends
or foes.

If it at all surprised us, it was agreeably, as confirming some of our
opinions on its writer's disposition, and much improving others. Mrs.
Butler's notions, mental and moral, are, generally speaking, more liberal
than we expected, though far less original. She has read and heard
many fine things, which she journalises as her own: this at least shows
that she understands and feels them. Her imagination, too, is vivid, and
her verbiage glittering — nay, bordering on the graphic style, which she
disapproves: but her reiterated descriptions tire one rather; and her
de Stael-ish obscurities perplex. She calls the political existence of
America " a momentous experiment." Surely our little Tory must have
sat at the feet of that great Gamaliel, the late Lord Londonderry. She
says too, whatever she may mean, " that actual reality is away from the
purpose of works of art." Also, " Jf truth be truth, to the end of
reckoning, why, that share of her, if any, which I possess, must endure,
when recorded, as long as truth endures!"

This is indeed " to judge the future by the past ; " for the truths Mrs.
Butler puts forth, " if any," as she says, are very venerable ; yet we
should like some of her " rhapsodies," if they did not make her more
familiar language appear so indefensibly vulgar. The barbarisms in
which she indulges are such as no well-bred woman should print ; even
to write them betrays an habitual coarseness of mind — perhaps obtruded
to decrease our awe of her greatness. The " vile phrases" to which we
allude are, like her pet quotations, constantly recurring in her con-
fessedly bad prose. True, she apologises " in very choice Italian," for the
carelessness natural to spontaneous effusions ; but if her pages were not
written for the press, they ought, at least, to have been made fit for it,
not deformed by such expressions as the following: — "fell to — got at —
went and took — bang — like mad — slithering about— bundled ourselves in
— regular row— horrid mess — tydying my room — all up with me — bother
— potter— I spit at it — walloped — snivel — they licked us — beaten hollow

— it rained cats and dogs — we came across Mr. rode to the tune of

so many miles — by that same token — Go it ! — with a vengeance — by all
manner of means — only time to swallow a mouthful — gulped it down —
was done up — glorious little England, from which this bragging, big baby
was born — a small piece of mutiny — I cottoned to him. I acted like a
wretch — blackguard — twaddle — set my foot in the discussion — foul non-
sense— got very sick. The manager's wife and another woman — were in
the box, which was his — a cheating woman — a heathen price — our sur-
roundings— jostle — scramble — break one's neck — lies — a turnippy-look-

ing man — that odious Mr. a man of the name of Hacket — I would

not care if the devil drove a hurricane at our backs — all this blessed day
— stitching for dear life — the plagues of Egypt were a joke to them —
cantankerous — devilish red slashes — he was glued to my side — stuck to
my skirts — humbug ;" — but enough, and more than enough ; we will not
weary our readers quite so much as, we have been wearied — not to be
spiteful and enumerate one halfibe spots that temper the. glory of Mrs.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 91

Butler's sun's light. We wonder why the worthy clergyman persuaded
her to abjure waltzing, obliged as she was, by her calling, to be " clasped
and whirled about." But exercise is salutary; and, on the subject of
health, this young lady furnishes her own sex and ours with three or
four bravely candid notes. We could cry ** Bah !" — but then her love of
learning — of country — regret for her happy, peaceful home ! her "joy in
flowers," — her piety and benevolence ! — we are disarmed. In all these
matters she is sincere : whether it was politic to give her work an air of
display, by permitting it to retain so very much about her German,
Italian, singing, sketching, stitching, dancing, and riding is another
question.

If the trivial diurnal details were compressed, the lines of stars omitted,

the Mr. s either distinguished one from the other, or left out, in toto

the journal would really make one readable tome ; but then it would lose
its vrai-semblance.

As it stands we have all the acts of France*, and some of them purpose-
less as those of her own Francis; yet, from the whole, we gain an edify-
ing insight into a somewhat peculiar character.

Mrs. Jamieson opines that " Woman should plant the olive wherever
she goes;" and Tennyson, who sonnetized the erudite John Kemble,
junior, says * the Poet ' ought to be

" Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, the love of love."

As lady and as bard, then, Mrs. Butler's ' own gods' condemn her, not
we.

We have said that she does not altogether belt/ the Americans ; but she
should (if only to return the civility of Washington Irving) have confessed
that vulgar habits, loud shrill voices, and class-going hoydenism, may be
found in her darling Edinburgh — uncouth accents in her well-beloved
Manchester. We could better tolerate satire from a long-secluded, refined,
morbidly sensitive, disappointed being1, than from a hardy, horse-whip-
ping denizen of green-rooms— the kist of Keppel, the jostled of super-
numaries. Yet Mrs. Butler is full of aversions — " likes every thing
better than men and women" — "finds the society of her nearest con-
nexions a burden" — by her own confession takes this "in dudgeon" —
*' sulks" at that — gave her audiences " cross " and "significant looks" —
" nearly came to a blow-up with \\erfather" — wishes one " at the devil" —
to " knock down " a second, and throw the cup from which she " TEAD,"
at a third — <( dandles about," with sovereign contempt for punctuality —
invades the sick, in their beds, to show them her dresses — hates ap-
plause, and hates to miss it — does a deal of crying and sleeping on the
floor — longs for death — runs fool-hardy risks — and loses all self-command
at the presence of danger — contrives to have her own way on all occa-
sions, and yet is never satisfied.

Strange anomaly, as she would say, of high-flown theories and com-
mon-place practice! Although she does not depreciate the charms of
other women, indeed believes all their hearts like hers — she cannot disguise
her personal vanity — is satisfied with " poor Lawrence's" picture of her,
and with her resemblance to her " aunt Siddons" — frequently says that
she " looked nice or pretty, and acted well " — and, above all, believes it
possible for the musquitoes to injure the appearance of her arms ! Per-
haps she would have hailed Iheir visitation of her " poor dear father —
good easy man!" as an improvement; for she complains against his
44 faintness of colouring in face and eye," (as if rouge and u ig could not
mend it,) " his weak voice, and corresponding intellectual deficiencies."
Was he thus free from affection's prejudices in her case? She calls Mr.
Wallack " very handsome !" On the whole, however, she justly appre-
ciates Charles Kemble's acting — its courtly grace, scholarly reading, and

9*2 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

elaborately finished expression. Of himself she writes with a sort of
underrating patronage. Should her truths endure, another generation
might fancy him as perfect a Falsttiff iti size, as his late brother
Stephen — an " innocent," credulous, sleepy, typsy creature, foolishly
fond of his art, at any compliment to whose person his daughter either
" laughed" or "wondered." She supposes, too, that "unusual want of
occupation" alone could make her fellow-voyagers desirous of looking on
Mrs. Siddons's heir! Most probably Mrs. Butler meant nothing irre-
verent or invidious ; but " I own it has the appearance of it."

Scattered through tins " Puddledock-potter " are several humorous
anecdotes. We know not why the journal ends where it does, and wish
Mrs. Butler would publish a whole, including her commencement of
authorship, acting, &c. &c. up to the period of her marriage. This might
present us with more novel sensations and ideas ; its personal allu-
sions would be more intelligible. Her friends must furnish a key
to the Journal ; when they do, xve may return to it. Meanwhile we
take our leave with thanks : it has forced us to admire and love
Frances Ann Butler more than we were enabled to love Fanny Kemble ;
but, to quote her own Shakspeare,

" That 's not much."

How to Observe.— Geology. By H. T. DE LA BECHE, F.R.S., &e.
With 138 Wood-cuts. C. Knight, London.

It often happens that a book of Science is useless to all except
scientific men ; and it still more frequently happens that a scientific
treatise fails to excite a desire to learn on the part of its readers. We
are anxious to see the pursuit of science stripped of its difficulties, and
we are equally anxious to find its boundaries enlarging. Many people
would become contributors to Science if they knew how to set about it;
and many who are already contributors to it, would be much more
efficient aids were their researches properly directed. Though we have
books in our own and other languages devoted to the elucidation of every
branch of human knowledge, we have very few "guides," if we may so
express ourselves, to lead us to an acquaintance with the phenomena of
nature : we have hitherto wanted books to make us use our eyes, — to
enable us to search for ourselves, — to teach us in fact " How to Observe/'
because, if once taught this, the pleasures and profit resulting from its
exercise will be never-ending stimulants for perpetual examination.
" Thus the listless idler may be changed into an inquiring and useful
observer, and may acquire the power of converting a dull and dreary
road into a district teeming with interest and pleasure. To acquire this
power, it is not necessary that the observer should be profoundly skilled
in all the subjects that come under his observation. He may soon
acquire sufficient knowledge to appreciate what he sees, and to express
what he feels. The charm that such habits of observation bestows upon
the descriptions of the commonest things, is evident in those works in
which the observer expresses what he has seen with his own eyes simply
and correctly/'

The external world around us may, by knowing how to observe, be-
come a vast repertorium of never-ending amusement and profitable in-
struction ; and to aid us in making it so, a series of works, under the
comprehensive title heading Ihese remarks, has been commenced. The
first volume now lying before us relates to Geology — a popular and a
highly useful study. The selection of subject has been judicious, and its
treatment excellent. Mr. De La Beche is already favourably known, and

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 93

the mode in which he lias performed his task is honourable to him.
Clear and well arranged, and simple in its details, it is at once a Manual
of Geology, and a Guide-Book to lead us to become geologists. The
idea was a very happy one, and we trust to see it followed up. The
illustrative wood-cuts are exceedingly graphic and beautiful; and their
number and variety is one strong recommendation to the work, as many
geological details are absolutely incomprehensible to the student, unless
aided by diagrams and plates.

We shall again return to the work ; the late period at which it reached
us, and a pressure by notices, preventing us doing more than calling-
attention to it.

Ernest Campell. By JOHN AINSLIE, Esq., Author of " Aurung-
zebe." 3 vols. Cochrane and Co., London.

This work has a fault which is just now very prevalent amongst novel
and romance writers, — namely, an injudicious choice of time. " Wave'r-
ley"and *' Ernest Campbell" are co-temporaries ; and though "Waverley"
and "Ernest Campbell" are works of totally diverse character — the
mere fact of having; reference to a particular era, and to a particular
train of circumstances connected with the Chevalier Charles Edward's
advance into England, they are unavoidably brought into collision.
Putting aside this evident want of discretion, the production is one of
considerable interest, full of varied scenes and vigorous delineation of
character, mingled here and there with some extravaganzas ; witness
Abimelech Digrium, who, although he affords Mr. Ainslie an excellent
vent for a little vulgarity and a world of nonsense, seems to us something
like an excrescence thrust too prominently forwards ; and if he be occa-
sionally wonderfully amusing, he is oftentimes exceedingly ridiculous.

The hero — Ernest, we find as an orphan, located with a catholic priest
in the north of England : in this condition he is thrown into the society of
the daughter of Squire Berkley, and a regie, they fall in love : this is
discovered, and Ernest very unceremoniously dismissed : the Squire's
heart, however, relents, or, rather, he holds out his daughter as a bait,
and very summarily recruits Ernest for the service of Prince Charles,
then advancing on Manchester. After this, he goes through a somewhat
complicated series of adventures and " hair-breadth 'scapes," the most
stirring being dependent on the atrocious villany of a Mr. Crighton, a
man so utterly dyed in crime, that we loathe in place of analysing his
character, and who eventually turns out to be his uncle.

Mr. Ainslie thus speaks of the Royal Adventurer: " Campbell had
been completely prejudiced against this prince : he had considered him
even in the light of a silly adventurer, who, without any great moral
courage, had still sufficient of animal sensibility of danger to enter upon
hazards, which might stamp a differently constituted mind with the
celebrity of true heroism. He, moreover, held his talents in little esti-
mation, supposing him at least little more than the puppet of those
haughty chiefs and designing favourites by whom he was surrounded.
This unjust opinion, with which many, even in the present day, with
futility attempt to tarnish the hardly-earned honours of a great and
daring mind, was one likely enough to be formed, from the implicit
obedience with which Charles followed the counsels of his friends.
Counsels ! dictates were a happier term, for if ever it was impossible for
a prince to contend, or attempt to oppose measures chalked out for him
by advisers, it was this most unfortunate of all princes. Little allowance,
alas ! have his easy-chaired biographers made for his situation ; — a

94 FINE ARTS.

young, polished, and friendless adventurer, with the slightest resources,
he had thrown himself in the midst of men little better than barbarians,
but who were actuated by the purest and most disinterested feeling of
loyalty, * * »

** Ernest, on being introduced to the unfortunate prince, was so capti-
vated by his condescension, sense, and affability, that his sentiments ran
to another extreme, and he regarded the Chevalier as one of the brightest
and most unexceptionable of characters. His noble and dignified de-
meanour, though often lost on some of his rude leaders, impressed him at
least with profound respect ; his courage in the hour of danger exalted
still higher his admiration, and his patience under hardship and pri-
vation drew from him the deepest commiseralion."

Emily Berkley, the heroine, is a well-drawn female character ; and her
aunt, Miss Tiirnbull, a genuine, match-making " Old Maid/' not of the
most amiable class, certainly figures very conspicuously. Nell Nimmo
is a species of exalted Meg Merrilies, and with a little less colouring
would have been a powerful subject; while Jack Webster, the game-
keeper, as a rough but faithful friend, serves as a good relief to the rest
of the dramatis persona:.

On the whole, " Ernest Campbell" is a vigorous production, and is
entitled to a respectable rank in the current fictitious literature of the
day. Mr. Ainslie can, however, do better — nay, indeed, has done better
than in " Ernest Campbell."

THE FINE ARTS

Stanfield's Coast Scenery. A Series of Views in the British Channel,
and on the coasts of England, Scotland, It eland, France, and
Germany, &c. BY CLARKSON STANFIELD, Esq. R. A. Part I.
Smith, Elder and Co., London.

The name of Stanfield is at once the recommendation and the guarantee
for the excellence of this work. As a delineation of coast scenery, he
stands nearly alone in his excellence, and we may therefore confidently
predict a work of surpassing beauty. The present number contains four
views ; — two of" St. Michael's Mount, Cornwall,'7 " Falmouth," and the
"Botallack Mine, near Land's End." All of them are creditable to the
pencil of Stanfield, and are ably and graphically engraved by artists of
eminence. The chief interest of the work will of course rest here: the
letter-press accompaniment is however good, and not unworthy the
plates. It is an undertaking which cannot fail to be universally pa-
tronised.

North Wales Illustrated ; or Wanderings through Wales. By
THOMAS ROSCOE, Esq. Part III. Tilt, London.

Much as we have been pleased with the preceding numbers of this
very attractive work, none has so much pleased us as the present. Mr.

FINE ARTS. 95

Roscoe handles his pen more freely, and developes his resources more
amply than heretofore. RadclyfiVs burin is very powerful ; and *' Dola-
bern Tower," ** Cader Idris," and " Bolingbroke's homage to the Second
Richard in Flint Castle," are fine specimens of his capabilities. The last
plate is especially good ; the figure of Richard is uncommonly fine.

BYRON BEAUTIES. A Series of ideal Portraits of the principal
Female Characters in Lord Byron's Poems. W. and E. FlNDEN.
Part VII. Charles Tilt, London.

This number contains "Leila," from the "Giaour;" the beautiful
slave is well embodied ; — " Jephtha's Daughter," and "Lady Pinchbeck,"
from " Don Juan," — neither of them perhaps quite equal to our conception
of these characters, but finely and elaborately delineated.

WINKLES' CATHEDRALS. Illustration of the Cathedral Church
of York. No. VI. E. Wilson, London.

Three fine views of the celebrated minster. The first view is parti-
cularly rich. We are delighted to see the work progress so satis-
factorily.

Landscape Illustrations of Moore's Irish Melodies ; with Comments
for the Curious. Part I. Power, London.

This is a well-conceived work, and the comments are good. We cannot
say a word in praise of the plates, except that they are pretty fairly de-
signed— the execution is scratchy and poor.

Cottage Musicians. Charles Tilt, London.

A fine subject ably handled both by painter and engraver. The manage-
ment of the light has given Carlos an excellent opportunity for displaying
the excellence of his mezzotint. The plate is highly creditable, and we
think adds to his already high reputation. It is after Kidd, and forms a
very appropriate companion to the "John Anderson" of the same
artists.

LITERARY NOTICES.

Valpy's History of England, Vol. XVI., being the Third Volume of
the Continuation of Hume and Smollett; by the Rev. T. S. HUGHES,
was published on the first of July.

The Young Travellers in South America. By G. A. Being; a popular
Introduction to the History of that most interesting region of the Globe.
1 vol. duod.

"Old Bachelors; their Varieties, Characters, and Conditions," by
the Author of *' Old Maids," with illustrations, is in the Press, printing
uniformly with " Old Maids/'

A Twelvemonth's Residence in the West Indies, during the Transition
from Slavery to Apprenticeship; with incidental Notices of the State of
Society, Prospects, and Natural Resources of Jamaica and other Islands.
By R. R. MADDEN', author of Travels in the East,' &c.

The Husband's Book, with Observations on Age, Rank, Beauty, and
Hereditary Affections, in reference to Marriage, is preparing by the same
Author.

The Rambler in North America. By C. J. LATROBE. 2 vols.

Plebeians and Patricians, in 3 vols., a novel of original design and
execution, is proceeding through the Press.

The Father's Book, or the Moral, Social, Domestic, and Religious
Duties of Fathers, is preparing, in one vol.

The Third Volume of the Works of Alexander Pope, with a Life,
Notes, and Critical Remarks on each Poem, by the Rev. G. CROLY,
LL.D., was published on the first of July.

The Life of Edmund Kean.

The last Part of the first volume of An Analytical Dictionary of the
English Language, by DAVID BOOTH, will be ready in a few days.

Sir Arthur Wilmot ; an Historical Tale of the Seventeenth Century.

Sketches of Bermuda. By SUSETTE HARRIET LLOYD. With Map
aud Plates.

Miss Patrickson is, we understand, now busily employed on, and has
nearly completed, a translation into English of the most popular works of
Balzac, the celebrated French novelist. The first of the series will
speedily be published, and, from the distinguished merits of Balzac, and
the eminent qualifications of Miss Patrickson as a translator, we can
promise the British public an intellectual treat of no ordinary kind.
Miss Patrickson deserves well of her countrymen for her spirited under-
taking, and we have no doubt that her talents and labours will be duly
appreciated.

A WORD FOR PHILOSOPHY.

UNFORTUNATE Philosophy ! not only to have retained the enmity of
all her old foes, the tyrants and deceivers of mankind ; but to have in-
curred the reproaches of many who in better days were well pleased to
be regarded as her friends and coadjutors ! Perhaps, however, the pre-
judice conceived against her is beginning to subside ; at least, an en-
quiry how far the imputations under which she has laboured have been
merited may at this time hope for a patient hearing.

Philosophy has been " accused" of contributing to the subversion of
every thing sacred and venerable among men, of vilifying authority,
insulting dignities, unsettling established customs and opinions, and
substituting her own crudities and fallacies to the results of long ex-
perience. I have no doubt that her real influence has been greatly
exaggerated, and that the bad passions of mankind have been the true
causes of the deplorable evils which the world has lately witnessed :
but admitting that Philosophy has had her share in the work of de-
struction, let us calmly consider what were the things against which
her batteries were erected.

Politics and religion, the two " master- springs " of human affairs,
have both been touched by Philosophy, and, it must be acknowledged,
with a free hand. She has been guilty, too, of what many seem to
regard as an unpardonable offence — resorting to first principles in
order to justify her attacks upon existing systems, and lay a founda-
tion for proposed improvements. Thus, in the science of politics (to
begin with that department) she has boldly assumed that men come
into the world with rights — that the maintenance of these rights ought
to be the great object of social institutions — that government was in-
tended for the good of the whole, not the emolument of the few —
that legitimate authority can have no other basis than general consent,
for that force can never constitute right — that civil distinctions, origi-
nating from the agreement of society, always remain within the de-
termination of society— and that laws, in order to be just, must bear
equally upon — ALL.

M.M. No. 8. N

98 A WORD FOR PHILOSOPHY.

These principles have doubtless borne a " hostile aspect" towards
the greater part of existing governments, which have supported them-
selves upon maxims so much the reverse ; but has Philosophy urged
the demolition of all such governments ? Certainly not, unless she is
identified with fanaticism. It has been her invariable method first
to recommend to the usurpers of undue authority to repair their
wrongs by gradual concessions ; and, secondly, to the sufferers under
tyranny, to state their grievances in a quiet way, and patiently, though
firmly, to expect redress. This she has done as the decided friend of
peace; for Philosophy (and Philosophy alone) has been incessantly
employed in lifting up her voice against war, that monstrous aggre-
gate of all the evils, natural and moral, that conspire against human
happiness. The works of all the writers, ancient and modern, who
have merited the title of philosophers, may be confidently appealed to
for their strenuous endeavours to correct the false opinions of men with
respect to the glory of warriors and conquerors, and to inculcate the
superior claims to admiration and gratitude arising from the successful
culture of the beneficent arts.

Had, then, the dictates of Philosophy been equally listened to by
the governors and governed, REFORMS might have been effected by
mutual agreement to the advantage of both, and a progress have been
made towards that melioration of the state of mankind which a phi-
lanthropist can never cease to have in view amidst all his disappoint-
ments. That such expectations have failed through the predominance
of the selfish principle, combined with the impetuous and ungovern-
able character of a particular nation, is not the fault of Philosophy.
She held up a torch to point out the safest path to a necessary re-
formation, but incendiaries snatched it from her for the purposes of
mischief. It is acknowledged that some of the evil proceeded from the
fanaticism of her honest but deluded votaries ; but much more from
those who disclaimed all connection with her. The most sanguinary
tyrant of the French revolution was notoriously the foe to all mental
cultivation, and obliterated the precepts of philosophy in the blood of
its professors ! And no one can " suspect" the man who now aims at
uniting all Europe in the fetters of a military despotism, of an incli-
nation to promote liberal discussions on the rights of man and the
foundation of government. In point of fact it appears that the sole
European power that steadily resists the present tendency to a uni-
versal barbarism of civil polity, is that which is most enlightened by

A WORD FOR PHILOSOPHY. 99

free investigation, and in which alone philosophy at this time possesses
a pen and a tongue.*

With respect, therefore, to the political system of the world, Phi-
losophy (I mean, of that kind which was chiefly prevalent in the latter
half of the 18th century) may stand acquitted of any thing inimical
to the true interests of mankind; and whatever improvements took
place in the administration of the continental governments of Europe
during that period may fairly be ascribed to her influence. She pro-
moted the enfranchisement of slaves and vassals, the relief of the
lower orders from arbitrary and burdensome requisitions, the libera-
tion of internal commerce from impolitic restrictions, the encourage-
ment of every species of useful industry, the melioration of laws, the
abolition of cruel punishments and of judicial torture, and, above all,
religious toleration — which leads me to the second point, namely, the
conduct of Philosophy with respect to religion.

Here, again, it is proper to begin with enquiring what it was that
Philosophy actually opposed under the appellation of Religion ; for
nothing can be more unfair than to draw a picture of religion as it has
existed only in a comparatively few philosophical minds, and then to
display it as the object against which Philosophy has aimed her shafts.
A system of faith, the sole essentials of which should be a belief in
the existence of a SUPREME BEING of infinite perfections, the moral
governor and judge of mankind, and of a future state of rewards and
punishments, would, I am persuaded, command the respect of every
genuine philanthropist, who would rejoice in such a powerful support to
morality, and such a consolation under the unavoidable evils of life,
and prize it the more for the sanction of revelation. But where has
national religion appeared under this simple aspect ? Certainly not in
those countries in which philosophers have been its adversaries.

There cannot be a more copious source of error than to confound
under a common name, on account of an agreement in certain parti-
culars, things in their nature essentially different. To instance in the
different sects which bear the general title of Christian — though all

* This is said not with regard to all the acts of its occasional administra-
tions, but to that public voice which, through the medium of a free press,
pronounces upon the principles and conduct, as well of its own government,
as of those of other nations.

100 A WORD FOR PHILOSOPHY.

referring to the same primary authority, it is scarcely possible to con-
ceive of greater variations than subsist among them, both with relation
to each other, and to the doctrines of their common founder. Ac-
curacy, therefore, requires that in speaking of them they should be
specifically denominated, and not be grouped under a generical ap-
pellative. Thus it is right to say, the religion of Rome, the religion of
Luther, the religion of Calvin, and the like ; for the religion of God's
Christ will convey but a very inadequate idea of their several characters
and tenets. Let us then see what that Roman religion was which
peculiarly excited the enmity of what is called the French school of
philosophy.

It was a " system'' which, in the first place, demanded the renun-
ciation of all right of private judgment, ' and subjected the religious
opinions and practices of all the world to the determination of a foreign
mountebank priest — which took from men the direction of their own
consciences, and put it into the hands of a caste, detached in all coun-
tries from their fellow-subjects, and universally connected by peculiar
claims and interests — which uniformly discouraged all enquiries and
discussions tending, however remotely, to invalidate its own authority,
and exacted implicit submission in all points on which it had thought
fit to decide — which taught doctrines the most irreconcileable to reason
and common sense, and enjoined observances the most trifling, de-
grading, and burdensome. It was a system, moreover, radically hostile
to every other, spurning all community or accommodation, annexing
extravagant ideas of merit to proselytism, and therefore, when allied
to power, infallibly leading to persecution : a SYSTEM, the influence of
which was traced in lines of blood through every page of modern
history ! Was it then no just object to the friends of reason and hu-
manity to loosen the hold of such a religion upon the minds of men ?
Was it not a necessary preliminary to every attempt for introducing
substantial improvements in the countries where it prevailed ; and if,
in the contest with a mass of opinion so powerfully supported, some
things were necessarily endangered which were worth preserving, was
not the prize adequate to the hazard ?

A ''consistent Protestant5' cannot certainly dispute these conclu-
sions ; but he may blame philosophers for not fairly examining Chris-
tianity at the source, and adopting it in such a form as shall approve
itself to a rational enquirer. Before he does this, however, he must
be prepared to admit that an enquiry conducted upon such a principle

A WORD FOR PHILOSOPHY. 101

justifies itself, whatever be the system in which it settles. He must
renounce all anathematizing denunciations ; disclaim any preference
due to a particular system because it is that of the state ; and disavow
any right of annexing penalties and privations to non-conformity to a
predominant faith. Unless he agrees to these preliminaries, he is in
effect no more a friend to free enquiry than the Romanist ; and, when
he urges examination, it is only upon the tacit condition that its result
should be conversion to his own opinions. The philosopher who has
thrown off the authority of my grandmother's, grandfather's, god-
mother's, uncle's wife — the pope and his council is not likely to yield
to that of Luther or Calvin, a convocation or a synod.

To conclude — Philosophy, understood in its proper sense of " the
love of wisdom," or of truth (which is tne same thing), is the only
principle to be relied on, not only for meliorating the state of the
world, but for preventing a relapse to barbarism. True it is we now
have your Russells — your Peels — your Stanleys, and so on. If she be
excluded from all guidance of human affairs, in whose hands shall it be
placed ? — in those of Avarice, of Ambition, of Bigotry ? She may
have had her moments of delirium, but she is essentially the votary of
Reason, and possesses within herself the power of correcting her own
errors. Policy, if she be not called in as a counsellor, degenerates
into craft; and Religion, without her direction, into superstition.
They who are afraid of her "SEARCHING SPIRIT" must be conscious
of something that will not bear the light of investigation. They are
foes to the truth because " the truth is not in them."

M. M.

SONNET.— WRITTEN BY THE SEA-SIDE.
By Lady Emmeline Stuart Worthy.

OCEAN ! thy foam-crowned bulwarks round our land,
Thy mountain wall of waves — must they be vain
To shield her from the curse, the scourge, the chain ?
Shall she forget in palmy pride to stand ? —
Shall Ruin spoil her with its red right hand ?
And must thy rolling ramparts, mightiest main,
Prove weak to o'erwhelm her foes or to restrain ?
Out upon those! the abhorred, the unrighteous band.
Alas ! the children of her bosom— they
Who to her heart the envenomed dagger hold,
And to her lips the cup of sore dismay —

By such shall England's golden days be told ?
Ocean ! ere they become the traitors' prey,
Shroud up the Imperial Isles in thy hoar surges old !
1834.

( 102 )

STANZAS— ADDRESSED TO THE MORNING STAR.
By the Author of" The World."

" Postera Phoebea lustrabat lampade terras,

" Humentemque Aurora polo dimoverat umbram."

Virgilii Maronis, Lib fir iv.

MESSENGER supreme, of Phoebus,

Whither hath Aurora fled ?

Whence earnest thou, Phcebean, to us —

From the living or the dead ?
I saw thee rise out of troubled waters
And kiss away Night's starry daughters.

Did'st thou come- from heaven, supernal,

Where the flame of love divine

Erst was dimmed by one infernal

Spirit — neither thine nor mine ?
I saw thee, Phosphor ! with my naked eye
Re-ascend the bright ethereal sky.

Whence earnest thou ? methinks I know :

Thou wast asleep on Ocean's coral bed,

Under the sea-born billows : whence I saw

Thee spring — by laws immortal led !
And when the " drowsy world " thou didst unfold
Uprose the burning Day-god, with his crown of gold.

I looked for thee, once more — with glee :
Above thou wert not to be found ; —
Methought, I traced thee, dancing on the sea,
With magic step, and rain-bow grace, profound.

Athwart the canopy of blue-laid heaven

The vital sun his impulse then had given.

Again I sought — but found thee not

On high ; thy lesser lamp, unseen

Was in eclipse : — so cast thy lot ; —

Thus " human stars " have been

Shut out by MIMIC SUNS, from day-light — Fame's abode ;
Whose god-fired-breasts, else some brilliant zone had trode.

'Tis enough — surviving day-star !

Allied thou art to glory :

And thou dost " charm " the spheres, afar,

With Orion's blessed story :
The silent stars acknowledge thee their lord ;
As doth Horus * — Jehovah's " unextinyuished word"

One of the titles of the Sun.

( 103 )

FELICIA HEMANS.

The fame of Felicia shall fondly be sounded,

The fairest of bards now sleeps cold in the grave :

The hills round St. Asaph, where her lays have resounded,
Frown dark as the ocean — though far from the wave.

For Scotland no more shall her soul-touching finger,
Steal sweet o'er the strings and wild melody pour ;

No more round her cottage the villagers linger,

While strains from her harp warble soft round the shore.

No more her lyre swells, with raptur'd emotion :
Her glad gleams of fancy for ever are fled :

No longer her minstrelsy charms the rude ocean
That rolls near the fresh earth that pillows her head.

Yet vigour and youth with bright visions had fired her,
And rose-buds of health have blown deep in her cheek :

The songs of the old bards of Helen inspired her,
And urged her to wander like laurels to seek.

Yes — oft she has sung of brave England and glory;

Or, sighing, repeated the lover's sweet lay :
And oft she has sung of the bards famed in story,

Whose wild notes of rapture have long passed away.

Her grave shall be screened from the blast and the billow ;
. Around it a fence shall posterity raise :
Erin's children shall wet with their tears her cold pillow :
Britain's daughters lament her and carol her praise.

SEMPER FIDELIS,
New Inn Hall,
Oxford, A.DAS35.

THE SPANISH MOTHER'S FAREWELL TO HER SON.

" Manuel ! I do not shed a tear

Our parting to delay : —
I dare not listen to my fear, —

I dare not bid thee stay !

" The heart may shrink, the spirit fail,
But Spaniards must be free !

And ' pride' and duty shall prevail
O'er all, my son, for thee.

( 104 )

" Then go, and round that gallant head,

Like banners in the airj
Shall float full many a daring hope

And many a tender prayer.

4< Should Freedom perish — at thy death

'Twere madness to repine :
And I a Mother's feeling lose

Except the wish for mine.

4< But — if the destiny of Spain

Be once again to rise ;
O ! grant me, heaven! to read the^tale
In Manuel's joyful eyes."

S. F.
Madrid, 1835.

THE THIEVES AND THE ASS

(Translated from the French.)

Two thieves, who stole an ass, a fighting fell,

Whether to keep the " animal " or sell.

While blows went trotting brisk from pate to pate,

To know who should decide the creature's fate :

Another thief arriv'd, got on his back,

And gallop'd off with "Master Jack."

The ass is sometimes but a spot of ground ;
The thieves are such a prince and such :
Instead of two, I three have found,
As Turkish, German, and the Russian clutch.
Such goods in contest now are common sights :
Yet oft the victors can't their conquest guard :
A fourth thief comes, and sets them all to rights,
And gallops off : the ass for his reward.

Cambridge.

( 105 )

"THE COLTON PAPERS."

No. 1.— THE REVOLUTION OF JULY.

PREVIOUSLY to my entering upon a detail of those prodigies which
have anticipated the march of time, and effected in a week the work of
an age, determined the destiny of a nation, and subverted the dynasty
of a throne, it may be proper to advert to the calm that preceded this
political hurricane, and the causes that might have authorized our con-
fidence in its perpetuity. Up to the fatal moment of these ominous
Ordinances, entire France presented a gratifying scene of external
strength and internal prosperity. The conquest of Algiers, accom-
plished with but little loss, and achieved with so much courage, — the
cordiality that existed between the fleet and the army, proved by their
cheerful co-operation, and cemented by their mutual danger, — the
immensity of the treasure then on its way to the capital, the fruits of
a victory sufficiently flattering to a martial nation, even without the
splendid spoils that accompanied it, — this was one of those brilliant
events that had contributed to increase the general harmony. Neither
was there any just ground to presume that the other cabinets of Europe
looked with an eye of jealousy, far less of hostility, on this chivalric
effort of France ; they rather hailed her triumph as their deliverance
from a common nuisance, which had so long existed, a dread to some,
a disgrace to all, but which France alone had the courage to destroy.
Besides, the result of the elections had been highly favourable to the
cause of the people ; and it is certain that, up to this moment, the
nation either did not fear any violation of their rights, or, if they
entertained such a fear, they consoled themselves by the consideration
that their liberties might be safely confided to the vigilance of those
constitutional guardians whom they had themselves returned. Any
redress from anticipated injury, further than such as the laws and
the charter were deemed strong enough to provide, had not entered
into the imagination, much less actuated the conduct of even the most
strenuous supporters of freedom. The liberty of the press had been
respected even by those who would rather that it had been restrained.
A freedom of discussion, and a boldness, perhaps even a temerity, in
the circulation of their opinions, evinced that the most timid of the
journalists saw no just cause for inquietude or alarm. In the enjoy-
ment of their genial climate, and the anticipation that the late
favourable changes in the atmosphere would ensure the success both
of the harvest and the vintage — these things, aided by their national
buoyancy of spirits, that best of blessings, had put the people in a
situation wherein they had assuredly but little to deplore. France, at
this moment, had no reason to shrink from the comparison, if brought
to measure the sum and substance of her happiness with the most
powerful and prosperous amid the sister states of Europe. Who,
M.M.— No. 8. O

106 THE COLTON PAPERS.

amongst the wisest of the sons of men, could have foreseen that this
beautiful fabric rested on a volcano, and that the explosion was at
hand ? It was, however, at hand, notwithstanding appearances ; and
on the memorable morning of Monday, July 26, the capital was
suddenly thrown into a state of the greatest alarm and confusion, by
the publication of those Royal Ordinances by which, at one blow,
the liberty of the press was suspended, the new chamber dissolved,
arid the franchise of the electors of the smaller colleges annihilated.
For these Ordinances I refer the reader to the Appendix.
These melancholy documents, dated from the Palace of St. Cloud,
July 25, are already consecrated to history. They form the founda-
tion of the most magnificent superstructure ever yet presented to the
contemplation of man.

I shall now proceed to an impartial and unexaggerated detail
of those events by which they have been followed. In doing this,
I am well aware that I shall have to draw so strongly upon the
faith of my readers that, unless fully borne out by the results, I
should fear that even the testimony of eye- witnesses might be adduced
in vain ; for I may safely challenge the most highly-coloured page
of poetry, or romance, to produce any thing equal to the reality of
those scenes that have passed before me. The sternest truth seem
to have allied herself throughout with the strongest improbability,
insomuch that the pen of the soberest narrator cannot but be startled
even at the'description of events, which the writer knows to be facts,
but which the reader will hardly consider but as fictions.

Three miraculous days were sufficient to shake to its centre, and
ultimately to overturn, the most powerful dynasty of Europe; to
throw into a state of dismay, confusion, and rout, an army of twenty
thousand men, composed of the flower of the chivalry of France, —
a force rendered most effective by its discipline, and supported by a
numerous train of artillery, flanked by the choicest squadrons of
cavalry that the power and the treasure of those by whom this terrific
force was wielded could command. All this was effected, in the
short space of three days, by a simultaneous and high-souled impulse
of a people without arms, without leaders, deprived of all con-
sentaneity of system, except that single determination that beat in
every breast, and nerved every arm, pouring out as a torrent the
whole population, and impelled by one unanimous resolution to
conquer or to perish in defence of their liberties and their rights.
Under such circumstances life became a secondary consideration, a
thing valueless and burdensome if tarnished by) defeat. In attempt-
ing to embody these events in my narration, I shall be guided
chiefly by the order of time, in which they have occurred. It would
be an insult to my readers to burden with my encomium those facts
with which all Europe echoes, and which speak sufficiently loud for
themselves — facts which have converted days into eras, and which
have passed before us with such rapidity, that to praise them must
be the task of some idler age. To the silent admiration of congenial
minds, and the future gratitude of an emancipated posterity, I
cheerfully commit them. . Neither can I stop to divert my atten-
tion from the pressing interest of the moment, to record those

THE COLTON PAPERS. 107

instances of private heroism and self-devotion which have reached
me from every side, and from every quarter. Justice will be done
to the actors in a subsequent part of the narrative.

The astounding audacity of the blow seemed, on this first day, to
have thrown the upper and middle ranks of society in Paris into utter
confusion, and even the [feelings of indignation the measures were
calculated to excite seemed to be almost absorbed in those of
astonishment. A large body of the Deputies, who had already
arrived in Paris, however, assembled on this evening, to consult on
the means they should adopt under so extraordinary a violation of
their rights.

Tuesday the 27th may well be termed the day of preparation on
the part of the people. The laws had received their death-blow
from a parricidal hand, even the hand of him who ought to have
protected them. This was the universal sentiment, and Aux Armesl
Aux Armes ! was the universal cry. IXuring the early part of the
day, the spirit of resistance and insubordination was confined pretty
generally to the formation of groups, assembling themselves, in
greater or less numbers, throughout the whole of Paris. These
groups or collections of citizens (whose masses had received an im-
mense 'accession from the working classes thrown upon the town by
the shutting up of the manufactories, printing-offices, &c.), naturally
betook themselves to those public places, squares, walks, or gardens,
most favourable to the purpose for which they were assembled.
This purpose was an exchange of sentiment on their mutual
grievances and common wrongs ; a breathing of defiance, and an
expression of their determination to submit to any sacrifice, even
that of life, rather than allow those fetters to be rivetted, which the
preceding day had informed them were already forged. The mur-
mur of discontent, and the menace of resistance, proceeding from
these assemblies formed a peculiar and portentous din, which, like
the rumbling that precedes an earthquake, was an ominous prelude
to the catastrophe that was at hand. On the other side, it is obvious
that the Government could not continue passive or quiescent spec-
tators of these first indications of discontent and insubordination.
The gendarmes, a species of armed police, forming the constabulary
force of Paris, all of whom were in the most perfect state of equip-
ment, and many of whom were excellently mounted, was the first
species of disciplined force that was brought into immediate contact
with the people ; their efforts were principally directed to the dis-
persing of whatever groups, or assemblies of citizens, their respective
positions brought them into approximation with. Their attempts at
the dispersion of these assemblies were accompanied with more or
less of success or discomfiture. The gardens of the Palais Royal,
and of the Luxembourg, from the space that they allow to any
general meeting, and from their being the favourite resort of pro-
menaders, were completely thronged with anxious enquirers, and
zealous expounders of the events of Monday. Some, exalted on
the chairs which the gardens supplied, read aloud to an attentive
and highly exasperated audience that memorable protest, bearing
the signatures of all the editors of the liberal journals in Paris.

108 THE COLTON PAPERS.

Most vivid bursts of approbation and applause followed the close of
every sentence ; but it was evident, that even in the midst of this
excitement, this great and magnanimous people had decided, as it
were, by simultaneous impulse, on the nature of their struggle, and
the purity of the cause in which they had embarked ; for not one
single cry of Vive la Republique was heard, while the whole of Paris
re-echoed to the constitutional and animating exclamation of Vive
la Charte ! It must be remembered, that although these obnoxious
Ordinances from the Court made their appearance on Monday, the
effect produced by their publication was not generally visible until
Tuesday morning ; for the Moniteur, the only paper in which they
were first promulgated, is very little read in the quarters of Paris
occupied by the laborious and industrious classes of the community ;
although they are constant and very observant readers of those
journals devoted to the defence of the laws and the constitution.
Judge then of their astonishment when the morning of Tuesday was
ushered in by the total disappearance of every liberal journal what-
soever ; when this disappearance of the journals established that
astounding fact, that the liberty of the press was annihilated, and
when the walls of every street in Paris were placarded by an Ordi-
nance of the Police, signed " Mangin," announcing, in most despotic
and unequivocal terms, a forbiddance to all public establishments
whatever either to receive or to circulate any journal not having the
authorisation of Government, as specified in the Ordinance of Mon-
day. This document was conceived in the following terms: —

" WE, THE PREFECT OF POLICE, &c.

" Whereas the Ordinance of the King, bearing date the 25th of
this month, puts in force the Articles 1, 2, and 9, of the Law of the
21st October, 1814, &c. &c.

" ART. 1. — Every person who distributes any printed paper upon
which there does not appear a true description of the name, resi-
dence, and profession of the author, or who shall circulate them for
the purpose of perusal, shall be conducted to the Commissary of
Police of the quarter, and the papers shall be seized.

" ART. 2. — Every person keeping a reading-room, coffee-house,
&c., allowing newspapers, or other printed works, to be read therein,
in contravention of the Ordinance of the King, of the 25th instant,
relative to the press, shall be prosecuted, as culpable of the same
offence committed by such journal, and his establishment be pro-
visionally closed.

" ART. 3. — The present Ordinance shall be printed, published, and
placarded in the public places.

" ART. 4. — The various authorities of the capital are charged with
the execution of this order.

(Signed) " MANGIN, Prefect of Police."

The feeling of astonishment was instantly absorbed in sentiments
of indignation, when an extract from the Moniteur was cried through
the streets, announcing the dissolution of the Chamber of Deputies,

THE COLTON PAPERS. 109

even before it could be said to have existed at all ; and, as a kind of
rider to this awful announcement, an electoral Ordinance followed,
in which a total contempt of all the laborious classes was carried to
such an excess of insolence on the part of the rulers, that it must be
clear that they had calculated on the grossest insensibility on the
part of the people. . Subsequent events will show how lamentably
the framers of these documents were deceived, and their discomfiture
only adds another example to that very trite and hacknied quotation —
*' Quern Deus vult perdere, priusquam dementat" But we now return
to the efforts of the gendarmerie in dispersing the people in their
various points of assemblage, for in such efforts was the principal
part of Tuesday consumed. These struggles between the people
and their oppressors, up to this particular moment, had not yet pro-
duced the loss of life or the shedding of blood ; and, by three o'clock
on the afternoon of Tuesday, it might be said that most, if not all, of
the places of public resort had been cleared, and the various
entrances to them guarded and closed. There was one circumstance
on this day that contributed, more perhaps than any other that
occurred, to exasperate the multitude, and, by the atrocities that
accompanied it, confirmed even the most wavering and timid, as to
the line of conduct it would hereafter be their bounden duty to pur-
sue ; detachments of gendarmes, under the sanction of the police,
presented themselves at the establishments of two of the liberal
journals, Le National and Le Temps, which had appeared on Tues-
day, in defiance alike of the royal Ordinance and the prohibition of
the police, — and immediately proceeded to the greatest violence and
outrage. In these instances the premises were forcibly entered, the
types were scattered about in all directions, the presses broken, and
the whole machinery of the establishments rendered unavailable and
useless; with such a reckless eagerness for destruction did these
instruments of oppression effect the arbitrary designs of their
superiors.

We cannot refrain from giving a circumstantial account of one of
these acts of despotism, as recorded in the glowing language of those
who were its victims. The outrage is thus detailed by the editor of
Le Temps : —

" At half-past eleven this morning a commencement was made,
in the name of the illegal Ordinances, by violating the residence of
a citizen protected by the law. Some men made their appearance
whom we did not know, sallow, pale, and downcast, and looking as
wretched as if they had already committed a burglarious robbery.
One of them, it is true, was decorated with a magisterial scarf.
This Jmust have been an imposition, for no magistrate would have
presented himself, or presumed to act, but in the name of the law.
Other men, dressed in that which is always respectable, the uniform
of a French soldier, were rather present than acting in a business so
entirely new to them. They appeared as afflicted as ourselves.
Having fasted from an early hour in the morning, they suffered less
from their privation than their employment. We offered them some
refreshment. Let us however render them this justice ; they pre-

110 - THE COLTON PAPERS.

served, during their visit, which seemed long to them, a dignity
which their uniform always inspires, but which, upon this occasion,
was a necessity more than a duty. Seven hours were employed by
the agents of violence in trying every means to enter our residence.
Mechanics had learnt from the magistracy the respect due to our
laws. One of them, M. Pein, a master locksmith, listened with his
hat off to the reading of an article of the code, but refused to assist
in breaking in, although ordered by the man in the scarf. A second,
still younger, from Godot's workshop, with the same courage and
simplicity, legally resisted the entreaties of all kinds which for two
hours were put in force to seduce or to intimidate him. After all,
they could not find a mechanic in the quarter who would break open
a house, or become the accomplice in a robbery. They then sent
to demand of that magistrate whose special duty it is to protect pro-
perty, even the Prefect of Police, for instructions how to proceed.
He sent a man to pick our locks — but whom did he send ? The very
person whose duty it is to rivet the fetters of the galley slaves ! Fit
instrument of such a worthy mission ! Just emblem of the treat-
ment which the rebels of the 26th of July had intended for the
citizens ! Observe by what hands the crime has been consummated !
The remaining time was consumed in forms copied during these
judicial operations. We have prepared a list of objects stolen from
us, in order to obtain justice. We have not made any protest
before the pretended commissaries, who have been guilty of burglary.
This would have been to acknowledge those whom we can recognise
in no other character than that of criminals. The details of what
passed during these seven long hours are but of little importance to
our readers. When the reign of order is established, we shall
carry our case before the magistracy ; it is from that body we shall
demand justice ; and if no law is to be found to restrain a functionary
from turning against the law that power which has been confided to
him for the defence of it, we shall at least have fulfilled a duty, in
pointing out the urgent necessity of those laws of responsibility,
which at present we are without. A numerous assemblage of the
citizens during these proceedings supported us by their calm appro-
bation, and their example of forbearance. Our workmen, whose
bread they came to take away, restrained their indignation, and
agreed with us, that that force which opposed the law would be mis-
applied. All who were present observed in silence the progress
of the burglary. They gave their respective addresses with eager-
ness, that they might be summoned before the tribunal as witnesses
of the violation of a residence, and of a burglarious robbery, com-
mitted by those whom, under the reign of the law, we should have
called in to our protection. We, simple citizens, we, the victims,
have been as careful to keep ourselves within the letter and spirit of
the Jaw, as those who were the agents of authority have been to go
beyond and to infringe it. We hope those persons with whose
names we are unacquainted will here accept our expression of grati-
tude. Not that we would be supposed to take upon ourselves any
merit for firmness and devotedness, where we have all France to
support us, and are only fulfilling our duty."

THE COLTON PAPERS. HI

M. Debelleyme, formerly Prefect of the Police, was the first man
who, in his public capacity, as President of the Tribunal of Premiere
Instance, had the courage boldly to designate the Ordinances, which
authorised these proceedings, to be illegal and unconstitutional. His
recorded decision on the action, brought by the Nouveau Journal de
Paris, determining that the printer should continue to fulfil his con-
tract with the proprietor, will go down to future ages as the noblest
act of his most useful life ; this decision will transmit his name to a
grateful posterity, as a citizen " qui libera posset verba animi pro.
ferre — et vitam impendere vero." After this attack upon the printing
establishments by the gendarmerie, exasperation, discontent, and
defiance, were more and more visible amongst the people; they saw
with indignation the bureaux of those journals devoted to the de-
fence of their liberties attacked and destroyed ; they were not slow
in perceiving, that those who ought to be the guardians of the laws
had now become the violators of them ; and this just feeling was
strengthened and confirmed by the memorable protest of the
patriotic journals, now pretty generally known and circulated, in
which the editors called upon their countrymen to resist such pro-
ceedings, to oppose force to force, and to make use of every means
which God and nature had put into their power to carry their deter-
mination into effect. Henceforth it was manifest that some great
explosion of public opinion, embodied and visible in deeds of daring
and of danger, was at hand.

It was at this particular period, about four o'clock on the after-
noon of Tuesday, that these symptoms began to assume a more
serious and sanguinary character. The Palais Royal, that busv
centre of action and population, had been the rendezvous of the first
assemblages. They had been with much struggle and great difficulty
dispersed, by an armed force, and the multitudinous iron gates that
form an entrance into the gardens had been closed. But the crowd,
though driven out of the Palais Royal, had by no means been separated,
but had merely retired, to condense themselves more closely in all
the neighbouring streets. One concern had taken possession of the
hearts of all ; this was how to possess themselves of arms on the
morrow, to revenge the insults that were heaped upon them to-day.
All the streets leading to, or connected with, the Palais Royal, were
completely choked up, and encumbered by citizens of every grade,
and every class. Formidable detachments of gendarmerie, both
horse and foot, violently repulsed and drove in at all points the citi-
zens, who were simply furnished with sticks and with stones. By
degrees, the confluence of the people and the reinforcements of their
antagonists mutually increased, until at length the concourse spread
itself even as far as the quays and the boulevards. The charges of
the cavalry and armed bands became more lively and frequent, and
the resistance of the people more firm and organized.

Between four and six o'clock in the afternoon the first fusillade
was heard in the Rue St. Honore, near the Place du Palais Royal,
and at the lower extremity of the Rue des Bons Enfans, where it
made numerous victims. Such indeed was the blind fury of the
myrmidons of Government, that, among others, their random shots

112 THE COLTON PAPERS.

actually killed two poor women, who were peaceably engaged in
their domestic affairs, one of whom resided on a first floor. This
event, which may he called accidental, it will be hereafter seen, had
a powerful influence upon the subsequent contest.

Notwithstanding this violence, perpetrated upon a multitude com.
pletely unarmed, the populace, dismayed for a moment, speedily
returned, and, notwithstanding the vigilant activity of their antago-
nists, contrived to erect barricades at the end of Rue de Chantre,
Rue St. Louis, and near Rue Traversiere St. Honore. These defences,
formed by an omnibus and hackney coaches, which were acciden-
tally passing, and strengthened by loads of paving stones, that were
seized in a similar manner, proved an efficient obstacle to the passage
of cavalry in these streets, but their principal utility was as an
example, which was afterwards followed with powerful effect.
Towards seven o'clock several companies of the 5th regiment of the
line were marched into Rue St. Honore, towards the Place du Palais
Royal, for the avowed purpose of opposing the people. They were
received with cries of vivat, and every demonstration of kindness
and friendship. The officers perceiving the effect of this reception
upon the soldiers, and perhaps touched themselves with the conduct
of the canaille they had been ordered to destroy, resolved to com-
municate with the General-in-Chief on the subject before proceeding
to extremities. General de Walsh, who was at this time in com-
mand, being at the Place du Palais Royal, close at hand, on hearing
the circumstances, directed the commanding officer to draw off his
men, and leave the field clear for the Garde Royale. The troops
of the line accordingly retired, and a strong detachment of the Royal
Guard shortly advanced along Rue St. Honore, from the side of Rue
St. Denis, followed by a body of lancers, their drums beating, and
trumpets sounding a charge. Before they reached the Palais Royal,
the fatal word was given, and the infantry poured in their fire in
platoons, while the lancers charged the populace, who were falling
in all directions. After discharging a shower of stones, the only
weapons they had yet made use of, the people dispersed, or rather
fled, in great confusion, while their adversaries pursued their bloody
route in triumph along the Rue St. Honore. On their way the lan-
cers, with wanton ferocity, cut down indiscriminately all who fell in
their way ; while the gendarmes and the Royal Guard were scarcely
behind them in cold-blooded atrocity. It was at this period that a
young Englishman, named Foulkes, was shot by one of the former,
in the balcony of Lawson's hotel, Rue St. Honore, where he was an
inoffensive spectator of the extraordinary scene acting beneath.
Some stones, flung from an adjacent house upon the military, were
supposed to have been thrown by this unfortunate gentleman or his
companions.

On the return of the Royal Guard to the Place of the Palais
Royal, in half an hour after their late triumph, they were surprised
to find the people had, on they same spot, resumed their attitude of
defence. This short period had enabled a few of the populace to
provide arms, and the first volley fired by the troops was now
answered, not only by a destructive shower of stones, tiles, and other

THE COLTON PAPERS. H3

missiles, but some discharges of fire-arms. Victory however was
not for a moment doubtful : the odds were too overpowering, and,
after rallying several times with almost super-human bravery, the
people were finally dispersed, and reiterated volleys were with
wanton cruelty fired upon the flying masses.

I have stated above that two women were killed by random shots,
one within the shelter of her own roof, and the other in the open
street. The corpse of the latter, mutilated and trampled on, was after-
wards taken up by one of the populace, who had the appearance of a
baker's workman. This man, whose athletic form, cast in nature's
manliest mould, gave effect to every word and gesture, carried the
body to the foot of the statue of Louis XIV., in the Place des Victoires,
where he addressed the surrounding crowds in a strain of rude, but
overpowering eloquence, which was responded to by every heart, and
'* Vengeance, Vengeance !" burst in thunders from every tongue. The
same man then bore the corpse to the military post at the Bank, and
laying it down at the feet of the soldiers, he exclaimed, " Look ! See
how your comrades treat our wives and sisters ! Will you act in the
same manner ?" " No," replied a soldier, taking his hand, " but
come with arms." This advice was promptly followed. The scene
had an evident effect upon all present ; among the military it spread
still wider the spirit of dissatisfaction at the revolting task before
them, while it impressed the people with additional hatred to the
government, under whose sanction such deeds were perpetrated.
The body of another victim was borne from Rue des Pyramides to
the Place de la Bourse, accompanied by thousands of the populace,
also calling for vengeance on the assassins, and exciting the metro-
polis to arms. Several of the police and military posts in various
parts of the city were afterwards attacked and taken possession of by
the populace, who carried off whatever arms they contained. That
at the Place de la Bourse was burnt to the ground. It was at the
close of this melancholy day that a powerful body of young men
and apprentices were seen rushing up the rues St. Honore and Mont-
martre, and a general breaking and smashing in of all the public
lamps and reverberators which enlightened Paris immediately took
place. The work of demolition proceeded rapidly, and a few hours
sufficed to put the whole of the squares, streets, and boulevards of
the metropolis in a state of darkness. Thus passed the night of the
27th, a night of such activity and preparation, that it left but little
time for reflection, as to the probable consequences of that dreadful
conflict, which it was now apparent to all that nothing could any
longer prevent, and by which it was to be proved whether the
most righteous cause, backed by the most dauntless enthusiasm,
could successfully resist disciplined battalions, supported by cannon
and cavalry, and led on by chiefs of the most approved courage and
experience.

Scarcely had the morning of Wednesday dawned, when all was
life, motion, and activity. Numerous bands of young men and boys
were seen traversing the principal streets and public places, tearing-
down and dragging in the gutter the royal arms which graced the
sign-boards, and defacing- the word " royal" wherever found written

MM.— No. 8. P

114 THE COLTON PAPERS.

up. In this work of obliteration they were zealously assisted by
many individuals of respectability. With respect to the mass of the
citizens, defiance beamed from every eye, and the confident bearing
and cheerfulness of their movements afforded an ominous contrast
to- the gloomy and dejected countenances of the soldiers, who, with
a feeling that did them honour, evinced any thing but alacrity in
commencing that disgusting species of warfare in which they were
about to be engaged. Even the troops of the line were taken by
surprise on this occasion ; they had not given the people credit for
a tithe of the spirit and enterprise they were now exhibiting, and
they felt in these exertions a foretaste of that skill and obstinacy
with which they were about to be attacked. It was soon suggested
to the people, by written placards, that the opera-houses and other
theatres contained stores of arms, that might be rendered available
for the national service. This hint was no sooner given than
adopted and acted upon. The theatres opposed little if any resist-
ance, and an immense quantity of muskets and other arms were
obtained. Bands of citizens immediately surrounded the shops and
houses of the armourers, cutlers, and sword-smiths, where they
without ceremony helped themselves to every species of offensive
weapon which these private depots of arms could supply. The
Museum of Artillery, which is situated near the church of St. Thomas
d'Aquin, and contains specimens of every implement which the in-
genuity of man has invented for the destruction of the species,
many suits of antique armour, two-handed swords, bucklers, lances,
pikes, spontoons, halberds, faulchions, battle-axes, maces, as well as
matchlocks, petronels, and every other species of fire-arms, — all
these were pressed into the common service; and weapons which,
since the battle of Pavia, had remained in inglorious disuse, again
mingled in the bloody affray, to assert that liberty which too often,
it is to be feared, they had assisted in suppressing. Boys of fifteen
might be seen tearing off the buttons of their fencing-foils, and
whetting the points upon the pavement ; and the execution done by
these young noviciates, and the address and courage universally
displayed by them, were worthy of the glorious cause in which they
were embarked.

An important circumstance now occurred that gave additional
strength and confidence to the people, and still more augmented the
signs of hesitation and unwillingness, that at this period an acute
observer might detect in the troops. A short address, evidently
written in the hurry of the moment, but conceived in very animating
terms, appeared upon the walls ; it was an appeal to the Parisians
from the National Guard, which, it announced, would be imme-
diately organized, and that the inhabitants of Rouen were marching
upon Paris to join the glorious cause. The National Guard, that
numerous and formidable phalanx of brave and respectable citizens,
whom the administration of Villele had dismissed and disgraced;
these men, with arms in their hands, and in full military equipment,
could not any longer be passive or inactive spectators of the spirit-
stirring scene before them. They came to this important decision
in the silence of the night. One common feeling had electrified

t

THE COLTON PAPERS. 115

the whole of Paris ; all was agitation, excitement, and hope. Those
therefore who had been members of the National Guard, deter-
mined to be no longer in retard of the general movement. With a
patriotic ebullition of sentiment now become epidemic, they vowed
that they would, by their own act and free will, reconstitute them-
selves, and, on the morrow's dawn, throw their powerful aid into
the scale of those youthful patriots, whose abodes were at this mo-
ment ringing with the din of preparation that chided their delay.
Now it was that the matrons of France might justly rank themselves
by the side of those that adorned the brightest era of Sparta or of
Lacedaemon. It has been said that there can be no virtue where
there is no sacrifice ; at what price then shall we rate the virtue of those
heroines who freely offered up, at the shrine of their country, in its
hour of need, all that made it desirable, in order to purchase all that
made it honourable to live ? At this trying moment they promptly
encouraged their husbands and their sons not to shrink from this
resolve, but to aid, by their number and their discipline, a struggling
people, combating at fearful odds, but a people worthy of their
assistance, and of whom they formed so essential a part. Scenes of
the most touching heroism, and of an enthusiasm as pure as it was
devoted, now took place in the bosoms of their families. The Na-
tional Guard had not forgotten the insolent mode of their former
dismissal, but there was at present a calmness in the demeanour of
all concerned, peculiar to those alone who have a consciousness of
their strength, and a confidence in their cause. Theirs was not the
fanaticism of 1789, inflamed by passion, or inspired by revenge; it
was a love of liberty, founded on reason, and confirmed by reflection.
If it was not without deep deliberation that these men resolved to
pass the Rubicon of forbearance, their subsequent conduct has proved,
that what is determined on with coolness is usually defended with
courage. In pursuance of the above resolution their efforts were
simultaneous and unanimous : it was immediately announced through-
out the whole of Paris, and as soon as it was possible for a junction
to take place, they were, for the most part, assembled in mass and
ready for action.

The pupils of the Polytechnic School, a class of young men de-
scended frohi the most respectable families, and, from the nature of
their education, no strangers to the rudiments of warfare, but, on
the contrary, exercised as part of their studies, in every varied mode
of attack and defence, — rushing in one body from the restraints of
their preceptors and the labours of the academy, determined to seize
so glorious an opportunity of converting theory into practice ; and
these young men, during the whole of the subsequent conflict, formed
one of the most valuable acquisitions that could have possibly been
added to the popular cause. They entered into the contest both
with head and with heart; and their coolness in design, and their
courage in execution, afford a sufficient guarantee to France, that,
while she possesses a nursery of such talent in the rising generation,
she has little to fear from her enemies. These young men, for the
most part, took upon themselves the office of leaders of the different

'

1J6 THE COLTON PAPERS.

bands or companies of the 'people, as the circumstances of the moT
merit might render most advisable ; they were constantly to be seen
leading every movement, and steady in the midst of danger : at one
time, by their example animating those who were backward; at an-
other, checking those whose rash and intemperate hardihood exposed
them to unnecessary destruction.

Nothing at this moment was more remarkable than the sudden
and complete change, both of scenes and of sounds, which this great
city now presented. A total stagnation of all business had taken
place — every shop was shut up and barricaded, houses converted into
fortresses, and windows, like the embrasures of a castle, presented
nothing but armed men and the muzzles of their muskets. Without
having witnessed the scene, it is impossible to convey to the mind
of the reader an idea of the awful impression produced by the
solemn stillness, so unusual at noon day in a large capital — a still-
ness produced by the absence of every kind of wheel-carriage, a
stillness rendered still more appalling by that which alone disturbed it —
discharges of musketry or cannon — the desultory firing of individuals
on the one hand, and the volleying of the fusillades from the dis-
ciplined platoons of the military on the other. In whatever part of
Paris an observer had been placed, it must now have appeared to
him that the war was raging on all sides around him, and that he
himself was the centre of the circle of conflict.

It was about the noon of this day that divers patroles began to
multiply and thicken on the Boulevards St. Antoine. These pa-
troles, in detachments of about one hundred men, occupied and
cleared, for a time, the whole space of these Boulevards ; while the
people took refuge in the adjoining alleys and streets, cheering each
other with repeated cries of Vive la Liberte ! Vive la Charte ! The
population of this quarter were now still more inflamed by the report
of repeated fusillades, appearing to come from the neighbourhood
of the Rue St. Honore. At one o'clock, repeated discharges of
musketry, the roll of the drum, and the confused shouts of the multi-
tude, announced that a desperate struggle had commenced. — Crowds
were seen hastening to this spot, with a speed that indicated their
courage, and with countenances breathing revenge; a tumultuous
mass, in which those who had arms were mingled with those that
had none. In this quarter the fusillade, proceeding both from files
and platoons, and returned by an obstinate but intermitting fire from
the people, had continued about an hour, when from the rush of
numbers hastening from the vicinity of the Place de la Bastille, and
concentrating themselves as they proceeded, it was discovered that
an obstinate combat was going on at the Porte St. Denis and on the
Boulevard St. Martin. Furthermore, it was remarked that at this
particular and interesting moment some of the troops of the line had
begun to waver, and had shown a disposition to disobey the ministe-
rial orders. But the corps of the Garde Royale continued their
work of destruction, perhaps not without remorse, but still without
cessation, firing not only on the masses of the people, but into every
window that was open. Subsequent details, however, have convinced

THE COLTON PAPERS. I 1.7

us, that, even in these tried and faithful adherents to royalty, a
struggle between their duty as soldiers and their feelings as citizens
had commenced.

It was about this period that two thousand troops, principally com-
posed of the infantry and cavalry of the Garde Royale, took up a
formidable position on the Place de la Bastille.

No sooner had they taken their ground than a very brisk dis-
charge of musketry echoed from their ranks, accompanied at in-
tervals of three or four minutes by the report of cannon, which, being
loaded with canister and grape-shot, committed great havoc among
the people. Numbers fell on all sides; for in this particular quarter
the populace were badly armed, and had little but their invincible
courage to support them. They were thus obliged slowly to retire,
until they arrived at the Carrefour de Reuilly. Here the column of
troops from whom they were retreating received an additional rein-
forcement, of one battalion and two pieces of cannon, from the
chateau of Vincennes. The fusillade continued to be very destruc-
tive in the Rue de Charonne : many fell victims at this spot. The
houses forming the corners of the streets opposite the fountain were
drilled with balls, and there was scarcely any glass left whole in the
windows. It was in the vicinity of the fountain that the citizens of
this quarter offered the greatest resistance ; while some fired upon
the military from the streets, others attacked them from the win-
dows, throwing down upon them stones, logs of wood, and even
furniture — every thing, in short, that could be converted into a
missile or a weapon : furor arma ministrat. This column of troops,
thus obstinately and desperately opposed, at length received a check,
and were compelled to retire in some confusion to their former po-
sition on the Place de la Bastille. This took place between two and
three o'clock on the afternoon of Wednesday, and the firing in this
quarter ceased for a time. About five o'clock this same detach ment
again put itself in the order of march, and recommenced its attack
upon the Faubourg St. Antoine. During this second fusillade, which
lasted about three-quarters of an hour, many citizens were killed or
wounded. At six o'clock this column of the troops was again obliged
to retire to the Place de la Bastille : here the soldiers, worn out with
fatigue, and harassed from want of sleep and sustenance, were making
preparations for their bivouac, but at this moment the most pressing
orders were despatched to them, commanding them to repair with all
possible expedition to the quarter of the Greve. This sudden move-
ment produced a sensation of astonishment and delight in the sur-
rounding masses of the people. It clearly explained to them that
their fellow-citizens had obtained some important successes, even in
the centre of Paris.

From this moment (that is to say about eight o'clock on the
evening of Wednesday) all firing, patrolling of troops, and even
skirmishing in the streets or boulevards, had ceased in this quarter
of the city. The theatre of strife was removed however only to be
renewed on a different site, and if possible with greater glory. The
citizens of this quarter, in the ebullition of their triumph, committed
not a single act of revenge or assassination. They even so far re-

1

118 A LOGICAL DISQUISITION ON EXALTED GENIUS.

strained themselves, that, in carrying one of the posts of the troops,
they merely disarmed the soldiers of the line, and sent them about
their business, without maltreating- them, or inflicting the slightest
injury. Their clemency was worthy of their courage, and the events
of the following day clearly showed that such conduct had been
duly appreciated even by their enemies. This post, it is true, was
burnt in the night by a party of workmen on their return from the
centre of the capital ; but these very men took the greatest care that
a little shed attached to it should not suffer from the conflagration.
This shed belonged to a poor woman of the neighbourhood, who, by
the sale of fried potatoes, and similar articles of consumption, con-
trived to gain her subsistence. This little shed, which has now be-
come a monument of national glory, was religiously preserved from
the flames.

A LOGICAL DISQUISITION ON
EXALTED GENIUS.

AFTER having devoted the best part of an active life Ho the cul-
tivation of "polite literature" and the geographical knowledge of
my own, and most of the European countries ; and having in the
meanwhile assisted in the utilitarian enterprise, set on foot by the
great Brougham, of a general NATIONAL EDUCATION; I thought it
incumbent on me to do something that might at once be a " hand-
some" conclusion to my works, and a grateful acknowledgment of
the catholic patronage this patriotic community had shown them,
both which ends I hope are answered in the following essay ; for
as it is my latest, and therefore best performance, I cannot leave the
" generous public" a more valuable legacy ; nor can I ever so hap-
pily conclude my works as by this " paper," which my literary friends
— (for I have consulted them) — assure me is the ne plus ultra of my
vigorous mind, and no mean proof of my capacity. What. I have
hitherto published has been the produce either of my " reading" or
invention ; this is the fruit of my experience. The fame which (absit
vanitas) the world has condescended to allow me was almost, if not
altogether, owing to the mode of life I now, for the first time, re-
commend, and which I now make public, that all who are willing
to follow my example may partake not only of my literary ease and
enjoyment — but of my success therein.

I conceive it to be rather a singular happiness that nearly all my
early life was spent in the open air, and in the continuous study of
not only " men and manners," but variegated and beautiful nature.

A LOGICAL DISQUISITION ON EXALTED GENIUS. 119

I well remember, when a boy, being particularly delighted with
Thomson as a poet ; and charmed even to idolatry with the follow-
ing invocation : —

" Falsely luxurious, will not man awake,

And springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy

The cool, the fragrant and the silent hour

To meditation due, and sacred song ;

For is there ought in sleep can charm the wise ?

Total extinction of the enlightened soul !

Or else to feverish vanities alive."

My " mind" became so suddenly and deeply imbued I remember with
this " solemn admonition*' of the amiable author of the " Seasons,"
(who himself, by the way, was a notorious bed-lier, and as slothful
as WENABLE'S horses of allwork) that ever afterwards I practised
early rising ; I roamed abroad, far and wide, before sunrise ; and
not unfrequently had the supreme felicity of beholding, from the
beetling cliff — or rugged mountain's brow, the fading of Hesperus*
beams before the uprising glory of the illustrious sun of the morning.
'Twas thus, by degrees, I became enamoured of nature, and devoted
my mind betimes to the study of nature and of man. As I grew in
stature I waxed strong, and, having put away childish things, I sought
diligently after " knowledge ;" — not the lore taught with so much
mechanical pomp at your extravagant seminaries ; but a real know-
ledge of what had taken place before I was brought into the world,
in order to arrange my ideas concerning more recent events, as well
as to regulate and stimulate thought upon all other momentous and
conflicting subjects — whether religious, moral, literary or otherwise.
I had travelled also pretty extensively on the continent; which,
together with an intimate knowledge of my own country, afforded
me infinite advantages. But in addition to these I have before
mentioned (according to my own estimate of them, however), I
conceive the circumstance of my means affording me the power
of indulging my inclinations to be of corresponding import ; for I
was born to a great share of ideal grandeur — and no money ; and,
having from first to last, found the " world" a severe schoolmistress,
I determined somewhat early in life to try the quality of my rapier
in the field of battle. So drawing it from the scabbard in the spring
of 1818, and finding it to possess rather a keen edge, I entered on
the arena, sword in hand — and not unworthy of my manhood —
began my combat with the world !

To those of my literary contemporaries who have battled with the
" schoolmistress" — who have gone on to conquer, and are now in
literary competence and retirement — in a garret, if you please : I
am free to confess mine is a palace rather than a garret — but I will
say a " garret" (for the sake of lofty minds, and to keep up the
animus of my tissue paper), I need not say I am deeply concerned
to think, how much mankind in general make distant evils present
by reflection ; and even take pains, before death, to lose all the
comforts this life is capable of affording. But, as I said, having been
born to ideal grandeur and no money, I found the " wide world" a
proper place in which to indulge my pride, and either add to or

120 A LOGICAL DISQUISITION ON EXALTED GENIUS.

diminish my means of existence ; fortunately for me the balance
turned in my favour, after a most conflictive struggle with men
of all kinds and complexions, and even literary ladies of improper
pretensions. But to return to my garret — in which (to keep up the
eclat of my " paper,") I shall now desire the reader to consider me
-and I assure him I am considerably aggrandized therein. Cer-
tain considerations induced me to fix on it, rather against the wishes
of some well meaning people of my acquaintance ; and on further inti-
macy, I find so many advantages in this situation as a man of my
humanity could not be satisfied to enjoy in selfish silence ; for though
I should pass over (which is not my intention) all the advantages it
has, with regard to health, honour, and security, I doubt not but I
shall make it appear, in the course of this essay, that " garrets" are
eminently favourable to study ; calculated for the learned ; and by
them used in all ages, until this, when both learning, and living in a
garret, are fallen into disrepute together. Lord Byron had passed
the '« Rubicon" when he pronounced the present to be the age of
Bronze.

As we are enabled to trace the current of antiquity, the nearer
we approach the fountain head, where nature flows most pure and
nncorrupted, the fonder we find mankind in general, but especially
aspiring and sensible persons, of what is so invidiously denominated
— by the vulgar and insipid bipeds who insult the light of heaven by
their daily diatribes — " garrets." The first learned people we read
of were the Assyrians ; they so disliked the surface of the earth, that
they spared no labour, no cost, to raise themselves a garret as high
as heaven ; arid what is the reason assigned? Why to make them-
selves a name — to gain them an immortal reputation, plainly
intimating that they had held it impossible to arrive at fame by any
other road : moreover, it has been the «« immutable doom" of the
high and lofty spirits of literature ever since, that their pursuits of
glory have generally either begun or ended in a garret.

Our proofs of antiquity by no means rest solely on the Assyrians ;
we might likewise instance the Egyptians for this purpose ; and
historians tell us, that the Persians deposited their " dead" upon the
tops of very high towers. It is natural to conclude, therefore, that
there must be a conformity between men's lives and their deaths ;
this point being granted to me, let me ask how high must that wise
and brave people have lived ? But, now-a-days, every thing is
perverted, and, by a strange and stultifying contradiction, the lowest
place is held the place of honour ! The mere mention of such an
opinion were sufficient to exhibit its insufferable absurdity, though
all the great examples of antiquity did not oppose it. To produce
all that we might render as "evidence" in this matter — worthy as
it undoubtedly is of the shrewd and masculine judgment of that
humanising master-spirit, Brougham — would be almost futile ; yet
not an expenditure of time quite uncalled for : I shall therefore
content myself with adding an instance from later time, even when
the world had become much corrupted, and that from the two best
of the Roman emperors, who ordered their ashes to be deposited on
pillars of an immense height, desiring that when dead, they might

A LOGICAL DISQUISITION ON EXALTED GENIUS. 121

lie in something like a garret, since the tyranny of custom deprived
them of that satisfaction during their lives. The sentiments of such
renowned men are sufficient to balance against a world of envious,
ignorant, and purse-big and proud disputants and saucy cavillers ;
who have succeeded, however, too well and too often in their designs
against literature by the attacks they have made on its ancient and
venerable citadels : so that " garrets" are now (ad referendum)
become the dread of vain fools — from the empty-headed and
tricking publisher, down to the "oldest coxcomb*' of a bookseller,
and the jest of small wits; to all whose sneers (for they deserve not
the name of reasons), besides the examples I have just quoted, I
will oppose this one consideration, that will, beyond dispute, evince
their high and intellectual parentage and dignity to any reasonable
and sensible man : which is, that poets (whom all the world allow
to be an altitudinal generation^ have fixed their residence in them
from time immemorial. In this they only follow the example of
their patronesses the Muses, who are always represented as inha-
biting the highest mountains in Greece : a fact that proves, that if
they should vouchsafe to come under a roof, a " garret " would
undoubtedly be their choice. But to set this point in a still clearer
light, it will be proper to consider, that the ancient writers, the bards
of fame and triumph particularly, often veiled their thoughts in
allegory, especially when the matter was of so dry and unpoetical a
nature, that they despaired of making it shine otherwise. So if
they would describe a poet scratching his head and biting his nails,
for a whole night, in his garret : instead of speaking of it as I now
do, they would suppose him led inspired to the " mountains" of
the Muses,* and there labouring under the influence of GREAT
APOLLO.

-Magnum si pectore possit,

Excussisse Deum

But what will effectually strengthen this opinion (that mountains, in
most authors, must be understood to mean garrets) is. that they are
almost invariably represented as the habitations of the learned.
Apollo had his Cynthus, Orpheus his Hsemus, Endymion the astro-
nomer his Latmos, and Horace represents Pindar as similarly
situated.

" Monte decurrens velut amnis."

These last I do not urge, albeit, as positive proofs, yet I should not
be displeased if my reader had a mind to think them such : and this
f am persuaded he will be inclined to do, if he has read those excel-
lent books that prove, with so much (some will have it) honour to
religion and reason, that Bacchus is not only Moses, but Noah,
— Samson, Hercules,— and, what is as odd, and irreconcilable to
my mind and spirit, that Orpheus is king David ! I know I might,
like the authors of the books named, have raised myself a character
of great erudition, by quoting Greek and Hebrew in abundance, if,
like them, I chose to be admired at the price of not being under-

* Aonas in Montes ut duxerit una sororura.
M.M. —No. 8. Q

A LOGICAL PISQUISITIQN ON EXAI,TEp GICSHJS.

stood. These " high and lofty ones" do not use their learning to
illustrate thejr subject, but their subject to illustrate their learning :
consequently, they continually choose some strange paradox to
make good ; which they so bury in quotations and far-fetched
reasons, that the reader at last knows not what to think of the matter
in question, nor indeed of any thing else : they so confound all ideas
of past and present, wrong and right. But, for my part, I spare my
reader, and had much rather he should suspect my learning than
my sense. The public, if it considered things rightly, could never
sufficiently honour him who has modesty enough to confine his essay
within the limits of sixteen pages, demy octavo, or, in other words, to
the size of a pamphlet, did they know how easy it is for a well-read
and elevated, garretteer to pour an inundation of learning on them
from his library, to mock their ears and surprise their judgments by
great names, and to present them with not only his waking but like-
wise his sleeping thoughts : and, on the other hand, experience the
trouble of confining himself within proper bounds, and cutting off all
crude, all unnecessary, all false thoughts, which to him would be
little less than cutting off a limb ; they would own that if he were
not a good, he was at least a merciful author. But, alas ! it is this
endeavour that ruins my brother authors, and perhaps seriously
injures me : we make no sufficient figure in a library, but are
suffered to lie in the dust, trampled on, and used with the utmost
contempt, till our \eryfragments are at last annihilated. While the
size of larger books is their security, which are protected from ruin
by the strength of the binding, not the strength of the reasoning.
They encumber the land, like some huge Gothic buildings that are
permitted to stand not for their peculiar beauty or venerable appear-
ance, but because it would cost more than they were worth to
destroy them. But I see I have unintentionally digressed, which,
nevertheless, is not only pardonable, but perhaps no fault in an essay.
And now, with all the satisfaction and literary pride conceivable, I
return once again to my garret.

Though I accused the age, in the beginning of this discourse, of
being insensible of the advantages of a garret, yet with gratification
I observe, 'tis a fault they are every day improving upon : several of
our nobility, those famous patrons of arts, who burn with an incre-
dible love to all good letters, have at length discovered the " mistake"
the world has for so long a time lain under. They imagined afore-
time, that learning could not be better encouraged, than by loading
its professors with favours, presents, and pensions, &c. ; and thus
they smothered the fire of genius with too much fuel. But now they
have opened their eyes, and to make amepds for their former error,
take care to keep the learned, like hawks, keen for the " game," by
not overfeeding them. 'Twas not till now, that Hprace's advice to
Augustus, came to be understood, where he recommends his great,
patron

« Vatibus addere Colour."

Which being translated, means to give a spur to poets ; and what
" spur" can, in the corpulent name of capon-lined John Bull, drive

A LOGICAL DISQUISITION ON EXALTED GfcNIUS. 123

a man through thick and thin like a starving belly '? Or when can
a man be supposed to exert himself in writing so " powerfully " as
when he writes for his daily bread ? "Tis to these maxims that we
owe that superior excellence, that distinguishes the writings of these
latter days, and which, when posterity reads, it will read with
wonder and admiration. Already poets (so I am informed by my
brothers of Attica) begin to return to their garrets, stnd their*' genius'5
returns along with them. In concurrence with the designs, and
partly at the request of several of our enlightened patrons, I have
done this essay to render my more nervous contemporaries easy
under the change they must of necessity make. I can assure them,
as an omen of the satisfaction they will enjoy in such apartments as
mine, that constant health will keep their bodies vigorous, and minds
active, for hither the very gross vapours of the town never reach,
and even their very days are longer than theirs who live below,
Solem suum sua sidera norunt. Moreover, temperance the guardian
of long life and all the virtues, always inhabits with the " presiding
spirit" of so lofty an eminence as a — garret, But there is nothing
which more abundantly demonstrates the healthMness of the situa-
tion, than, that they, who live in these sublime apartments, never
want a good appetite ; — a truth sufficiently experimented by their
unsuspecting neighbours, whenever they make a descent on them.

There is also a great advantage from the security of this post, that
ought not to be passed over in silence : for, as liberty is the dearest
blessing to all true Britons, I do not know any place that promises
more security from bailiffs, as their approaches may be discovered
at a good distance ; and the " pass" may be maintained by a smaller
force against great numbers; but this is a " tender" point, of which,
as the captious may take advantage, I shall say no more. I do not
consider it a part of my business to divulge the mysteries of my pro-
fession ; moreover, it is sufficiently well known by learned men that
book-publishers, as well as book-writers, are not overburdened with
real means.

To pursue, therefore, my observations on the salubrity of the
situation. The exercise up and down stairs relieves the breast
wonderfully. It is this that gives the bard breath to swell his high-
bosomed verses, and carry the orator to the end of his elongated
periods; hence proceeds the lofty (and indeed more than human)
sound, of verses produced in a garret, which as much exceeds the
" unhallowed ribaldry" begotten below, as the garret itself is higher
than the inferior and ground-floors. To this advantage in the situa-
tion are to be attributed the light and active bodies (emblems of
their souls) observable in our brethren of the literati ; insomuch that
a lean body may be a sort of criterion of a virtuoso. For my own
part I never behold a fat author, or a stout gentleman of the press,
that I do not consider myself considerably scandalised ; I look upon
all such as deserters from the intellectual banners of the Muses, —
—apostates from the very highest heaven of the good letters : pro-
digies to be expiated by sacrifice ; in fine, wretches who ought to be
driven from the society of the " learned," like unprincipled stationery
aldermen, or like hunted deer ; for such strange phenomena are not

124 A LOGICAL DISQUISITION ON EXALTED GENIUS.

only grossly absurd in themselves, but absolutely contrary to all good
precedent, ancient and modern. Pope was as remarkable for his
leanness as his wit; Salmasius reproaches Milton with the same de-
fect. Homer must have been thin, as it is fair to infer from his
poverty; and, although I cannot aver it as a fact, I would venture to
offer a smart wager that Virgil — that is to say, Publius Virgilius
Maro — had not an ounce of good solid flesh upon his back ! Ovid *
makes express mention of his being wofully meagre in several parts
of his writings, and, if we may trust Warburton (which I am inclined
to do), that learned person asserts, from good and sufficient authority,
that the minor poets might have been bundled together like matches,
or dry stricks : and that the " nine lyrics" did not altogether weigh
so much as Robert Southey, Esq., LL.D., and poet-laureat ! This is
saying a good deal, but the weight of the doctor of learned literature
will, no doubt, bear it very well : for when a man of literature has
arrived at such a pitch of real or even imagined excellence as to ask
and procure £1000 for an expert biography of the amiable and
truly learned poet and patriot, Cowper, it certainly is high time the
world should be made sufficiently acquainted with the preponderance
of the " negative merits" of such a laureat, —

" Parvum parva decent."

It may not appear uncandid, in this place, to repeat Lord Byron's
" estimate" of Doctor Robert Southey, LL.D., and Poet Laureat,
&c., so wonderfully famous for " hexameters" of a murderous
growth : his lordship says, " It is remarkable that I should at this
moment number among my 'correspondents' those whom I most
made the subjects of satire in ' English Bards.' I never retracted
my opinions of their works, nor have I a desire now to do so : nor
should I wish to blot out the lines —

" O Southey, Southey, cease thy varied song,
An ass may bray too often, and too long!"

— I never sought their acquaintance ; but there are, among them,
some " noble spirits," — men who can forgive and forget. The re-
doubtable author of WAT TYLER, the Bristol ultra radical, is not one
of that disposition, and exults over the anticipated " death-bed re-
pentance" of the objects of his hatred. Finding that his denuncia-
tions or panegyrics are of little or no avail here, he indulges himself
in a pleasant vision as to what will be their fate hereafter. The third
heaven is hardly good enough for a king, and Dante's worst berth
in the * Inferno' hardly bad enough for me. My kindness to his
brother-in-law might have taught him to be more charitable. I said
in a note to ' The two Foscari,' in answer to his vain boasting, that I
had done more real good in one year than Mr. Southey in the whole
course of his shifting and turn-coat existence, on which he seems to
reflect with so much complacency. I did not mean to pride myself
on the act to which I have just referred, and should not mention it

* Vid. Ov. de Art. Amand. et de Fonto.

A LOGICAL DISQUISITION ON EXALTED GENIUS. 125

to you, but that its self-sufficiency calls for the explanation. When
Coleridge was in great distress, I borrowed £100 to give him."

These are interesting facts, which should be so placed before the
" public eye" as to insure immediate attention. It is this same
Bristol radical — this same author of Wat Tyler — this same little
king of Keswick — this same LL.D., the very identical Tory poet-
laureat, who pompously ushers his radical name to the (as the LL.D.
imagines) listening world — as the only worthy biographer of the
amiable, RELIGIOUS, and inspired poet, Cowper! Sure I am the
" public" will see through this £1000 piece of business : and, more-
over, we think the life of Cowper, from the pen of the sensible and
talented editor of the Dumfries' Courier, Mr. M'Diarmid [which,
together with the works of Cowper, may be obtained for the small
cost of 5s. or 7s.] infinitely preferable — as a matter of fact — and of
economy — to the edition which is on the eve of being, as the radical
author of Wat Tyler would say, " cast upon the waters," — to be cast
away, no doubt.

We do hope our brother Garretteers, as well as the " gentlemen"
of the PRESS, will look at the matter in this light, and, from their
several " lofty abodes," scout the prodigal insult about to be offered
to the reading, and, perhaps too, unsuspecting public.

But to return. There is one poet, albeit, for whom as I have a
great esteem, I regret I cannot add to the number I have enumerated
elsewhere : for it is not quite clear that he was either very poor, very
lean, or lived in a garret — 'tis Horace. I once indeed conjectured that
the many passages in his works in praise of poverty proved that he,
too, must have experienced it ; but Warburton (whom I conceive
to be pretty safe authority, and a sound critic into the bargain)
thinks it quite clear, from his having praised it, that he knew nothing
of the matter. In cases of this " amount" we ought never to deter-
mine rashly; much less should we take things, at best doubtful, for
granted, only because agreeable to our system : for the detection
of false reasoning on one point will render us suspected in all the
rest. And that "fame" promises to be of no good duration which
is to last no longer than till we meet an intelligent reader. To
make then this concernment as easy as possible, it may not be im-
proper to consider Horace's life in two distinct periods. The former
before he had gained the favour of Augustus ; and then, as I loftily
(for I am writing in my garret) opine, he endured the illuminating
influence of the midnight oil in his peculiar eminence : for many
parts of his works favour that lucid conjecture. Moreover, after
Horace had been introduced to Augustus, at which period, I freely
admit, he held lower apartments; but then he was so sensible of the
indecorum of his conduct, that he never afterwards considered him-
self as a poet.

" Primum me illorum dederim quibus esse Poetas
Excerpam numero.
Nos turba sumus (numero)," and so on.

Nay, if I do not greatly err, he went so far as to call himself a

126 A LOGICAL DISQUISITION ON EXALTED GENIUS.

hog-,* a knave, and other equally opprobrious names, + as nothing,
in my estimation, but the acute sense of so capital an error (fault, if
you prefer the term) as that which he committed could justify : but
there are (as I just now said) some passages in his Odes that show-
he had formerly practised better, nor need we go further than the
first for presumptive proof: —

" Sublimi feriam sidera vertice."

Now this is so extraordinary a " rant," lhat it is impossible to take
it literally, and can mean no more, according to our former method
of taking down the flights of poets, than that, " if Maecenas should
place him among the lyric poets, he would strike his head against
the roof of his garret for joy." This, I take it, is a very natural ex-
plication, and any other would be wild and absurd. But the next
instance I bring is much more forcible, as it is extracted from an
ode entirely designed to describe his— poverty !

" Non meo renidet in domo LACUNAR."

The idea of what they call a " rafter v could only be suggested by
a garret ; and as for any difficulty arising from the word domo, any
needy and petty publisher could instantly and easily solve it. But
the verses I am just now going to quote will put the matter beyond
dispute : —

" Mutor in alitem,

Superne; nascunturque leves
Per digitos, humerosque pluma?."

The plain English of which is, " I am changed into a bird (not a
bard), and my feathers are growing on my shoulders and hands."
Here then is a plain avowal of his poverty ; for every one knows
that it is commonly said of a man in rags, " that he looks as if he were
going to fly." This shows, albeit, what an excellent courtier Horace
must have been; for he permits his great friend to see — " not
through the wan, pale glimpses of the moon," his necessities, without
seeming to blame him for them ; and I am not a long way off the
golden copula of St. Paul's (the grandest and most aerial garret in
town), if all antiquity can produce so polite and gentlemanlike an
address ; or so " handsome " a method of letting a patron know his
wants.

Nevertheless, whatever might have been the sentiments or prac-
tice of this great critic and poet, we certainly have enough of
" authority" to support our opinion. What age, what nation has not
acknowledged its garrets filled with its best spirits ? When did the
uninterrupted succession fail? Or when was " Learning" itself so
famous, that garrets were not so too ? For my part J never enter
upon mine that I do not find myself inspired by the situation, and
fancy myself in the very midst of the " Heroes of Literature" it has
either received or formed. What prodigies of genius have we not
known in our own time! politicians, how sublime! poets, how

* Epicuri de grege porcuiw. f Nebulones.

A LOGICAL DISQUISITION ON EXALTED GENIUS. 127

profound ! wits, how solid ! philosophers, how subtle ! how
often has " the Government" been relieved, in the very greatest
emergencies, by the invigorating and healthy schemes sent in from
garrets ? Sir Robert Peel can speak to this last proposition ; and
with deep humility and unfeigned regret I mention it, if they had
been invariably attended to, the " monstrous debt" could not have
so long remained unpaid. Here, those who had scarcely genius
enough for a conundrum, conceive one for poetry, or even make a
shift to write very well without one. Here, too, the renowned arts
of chemistry and alchemy, as they were primitively developed, are
most improved. From the sacred garret, is received not only the
earliest intelligence of foreign affairs, but even before they are sub-
stantially transacted. Here bachelors hypothetic ally lament the
corruption of mannets, which cannot fail of inspiring starving bards
to write sonnets of love ; ruined merchants to deal in pastorals; but
in none, I can assure my readers, is it more fertile than excellent
satirists.

Notwithstanding appearances it must be evident to the initiated
that a garret affords, I do not really know any more conspicuous, or
of greater moment than its solitude ; it is the very "nurse" of study;
and a man maybe sure to have it here, uninterruptedly; for when a
" garretteer" retires to his " tip-top apartment," he is sure never to
be troubled with the importunate and officious visits of his FRIENDS :
he may pursue likewise his *' meditations among the stars" without
the least disturbance ; nor will he ever expect a visit from the " great
bear" or any of the smaller lobes of light, although he may be said
to have raised himself to an eminence so as to deserve their callincr
on him ; and, indeed, may consider himself as effectually forgotten
as if he had really quitted terra firma.

But next to the want of solitude there is nothing more prejudicial
to writers than flattery, as it obviously prevents them from seeing,
and consequently from amending, their faults : and I can candidly
assure them, whatever may hurt their writings, they are in no way
likely to meet with " flattery" upstairs. I may not pretend to be
ignorant that some have appeared to have discovered these " lofty"
advantages in a cellar, which they seem to recommend as calculated
for an habitation for authors. I am not quite sure whether these under-
ground advocates, ignorant as they doubtless all are of the " lofty
pretensions" of literary men, do not mistake our " spirits of real emi-
nence" for authors of all-work, which, I need not intimate to my
contemporaries, are a very different race of human beings, and are
so well known to the minister of the home department, that I shall
not farther regard either their " grade" or their ignorance of the
heaven-ward pretensions of a legitimate garretteer. But, to coun-
tenance this absurd opinion of theirs, these down-stair animals have
the dark assurance to allege that Demosthenes studied under-ground!
But these destitute and savage people should be carefully avoided,
sirs ; they are, confessedly, the most dangerous innovators in the
republic of letters; they would even reduce the sagacious editor
of the Times (through their underground stoutness); authors,
to the attenuated condition of moles, who with truth and reason,

128 A LOGICAL DISQUISITION ON EXALTED GENIUS.

ought to soar like eagles ! and although my indignation is the
greatest imaginable against them, I can wish the advocates of so
wicked and unfathomable a proposition of this heterodox opinion no
worse punishment than that of being made themselves to suffer
what they so typically recommend to others.

I would not have you think, gentlemen contemporaries, that in
this "paper" I address you like an overgrown SENECA, preaching
poverty from his rich alcove : certainly not — / advise you to nothing
but what I practise myself; for I wield my " rapier-pen " (the scabbard
lies on my sofa) with all the sober seriousness of the dear old author of
Rasselas — without a ninety-ninth particle of his unequalled strength
of mind, and in the absence of the slightest approach to his intel-
lectual acumen; to mention any of the modern tribe, in just and
patriotic preference to Johnson, would be like looking for Wat
Tyler's Dr. Southey in his boat on the vast Atlantic Ocean, instead
of on the smooth unruffled surface of his lake at Keswick ; and I
venture to assert, too, that a high-minded man may soon discover,
that as some doctors' writings smell of the " library," mine smell of
the lamp.

Whether my present endeavours may be crowned with success, or
otherwise, I shall not fling away my ** rapier," for it was one of the
family gifts of a long line of ancestry ; which, without the slightest
difficulty (indeed it would afford me infinite pleasure to inform the
first minister of state of my legitimate right and indisputable title
to possess and use it, ad libitum, during pleasure ; provided always,
nevertheless, &c.), I can trace as far back as the year Anno Dom.
1657, my near relationship to Richard Cromwell, the son of Oliver,
the lofty and high minded Oliver. I have every reason for believing,
that the identical "rapier" which I now wield at discretion, aloft,
in midway atmosphere, was the same which the renowned Oliver wore
at his side, when he made Durham a university, which occurred
on the 15th of May, 1657; on the Restoration, however, this grant
was abolished. I have only to add, brothers of Attica ! that my
name has undergone some corruption during its existence through
the dark ages ; and that although I am not one of those who think
there can be the real worth of £1000 sterling lore in a name,
yet if his majesty would graciously permit of it, I would, in justice to
my RAPIER, resume the primitive cognomen of my ancestors.
Gentlemen of the lofty habitations! my "rapier" is at your especial
service ; and I am Yours to command,

COGNOMINIS CROMWELL.

N. B. Much care should be taken in order to prevent those vul-
gar innovators from knowing that there is a river in Macedon as
well as a river in Wales ; for who knows how low a use they may
make of the " waters of inspiration" in their dark system of adul-
teration ? O lepidum diem !

( 129 )

SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES.

A TALE OF ANCIENT GREECE.

IT was during my sojourn in the enchanting neighbourhood of
Clisson, the birth place of Abelard and Eloise, in Lavorden, in the
summer of 1833, that I dreamed a dream, the substance of which I
shall endeavour to set down on paper for your perusal, Medora. It
was as follows : —

In one of the most interesting and romantic districts of Greece is
situated the charming city of Eurycone. On the one side it is open
to the sea; the other is bathed by rivers shaded with trees, pre-
senting to the ravished sight all the charms that nature displays in
her beautiful simplicity. Sheltered from the fury of the wind, ships
find within her harbour, which is spacious, an assured safety.
Attracted by its reputation for honest dealing in mercantile affairs,
all nations flock thither. The manners of its inhabitants are mild
and cheerful ; they are the pattern of all the Greeks. More
religious even than the Athenians themselves, their piety renders
them an unexceptionable people. The service of the altar, the
choice of the oblations designed for the gods, are, for the most part,
their occupations. They appoint the holy feasts ; their ceremonies
are brilliant. Jupiter (according to their estimation of the mythi)
protects them ; and they are moreover very dear to all the gods
besides. Agreeable to their most ancient custom — which cannot be
dispensed with — they annually assemble the young men of the place,
as yet insensible of love, in the temple of Jove. Chance decides
which of them shall go and declare to the neighbouring cities the
festival of the father of the gods. They must be proof against all
impressions from the fair, and return as free and unengaged as they
were the day of their departure. If any of them were to break
that essential duty of their charge, a severe chastisement would
attend the offender on his return. I was one among the selected
youths, and my destination was for Aulycone. When I came out of
the temple crowned with laurels, and clothed with the garments of
my office, the people expressed their applause by the sound of the
trumpet, and mixed with their acclamations the tenderest and most
earnest vows. One congratulated me upon my fortunate lot ; gods
themselves, said he, have directed it. Another, with tears in his
eyes, because his son had not met with the same success, nevertheless
pressed me to his bosom ; a third, void of concern for himself, wished
and foretold me a happy journey ; and another, to show me his
regard, indulged all the suggestions of his zeal : their joy was
unanimous. It seemed as if the same heart, the same mind, had
simultaneously expressed the transports of them all. I pass over the
events of my journey. I arrived at Aulycone ; I was received there
as a messenger from the gods, or rather as a god himself. A crowd
of people surrounded me ; curiosity got the better of respect ; I was
overwhelmed. The streets were strewed with myrtle ; the air was

M.M.— No. 8. R

130 SOPIIENE AND SOPHOCLES.

filled with the most exquisite perfumes; both boys and girls crowned
with roses, decked with beautiful flowers, hardly gave way to the
most illustrious citizens, who assembled round me from every
quarter. Such was Socrates amidst his disciples! Who among us,
said they, shall be happy enough to welcome him to his home ?
Whom will he prefer ? All their vows were centred in me. It
seemed that it was for my own sake, and that the ambassador was
indebted for nothing to the dignity of his mission. Dangerous
honours ! How many tears, what bitterness, did you leave behind
you ! Sosthenes prevailed over his rivals, and I ascended his'car. I
entered a magnificent palace, of which I became, as it were, the
owner, and ran through all the apartments of it. I walked into a
garden, the magnificent abode of wonders and delights. The fruits
there vie with the flowers in colour ; the purple of the violet yields
to that of the grape ; the vine bending under its own weight blends
them together. They are scarcely to be distinguished : here, the
myrtle-tree, interwoven with the cypress, forms so thick a bower
that the sun-beams cannot penetrate it ; there, I behold the rose
half blown, while others appear in full beauty of bloom. The
wanton zephyr flutters around, and seems to embellish them by his
sighs. Moreover the hyacinth, the lily, the amaranth imitate the
variety and liveliness of the colours that deck the messenger of the
gods, when she is sent to reveal their will to mankind. Here, one
finds in abundance every thing that industry and the assiduous
labour of a judicious gardener can produce ; there, benevolent
nature confounds all the seasons, and there, adorned- with every
charm, Flora and Pomona reign in all their glory.

Astonished and enchanted, I thought myself in the gardens of
Alcinous, and no longer attribute to imaginary dreams what the
poets sing of the Elysian fields. Insensibly I drew near a fountain ;
to admire it was not difficult ; but how am I to describe it ?

In a rustic grotto, where art does not dare to bestow any thing on
nature, springs a pellucid water, the liquid crystal of which runs
down a canal covered with pebbles, and, flowing through a flowery
green into another more spacious basin, proceeds and swells, a river
which, spreading on both sides as far as the sight can reach, termi-
nates the prospect of that charming place. The top of this grotto
is shaded with evergreen shrubs which no hand has profaned. Both
channels are bordered with bushy trees, which preserve a perpetual
coolness. Secret meditation, sleep still sweeter, inhabit this retreat.
A venerable old man, the Nestor of his age, with a serene look, and
eyes still sparkling, was musing there on the vanity of human things,
and on the omnipotence of the gods. Awed by his presence, I
slopped lest I should interrupt him. I worshipped the divinity of
that peaceful place. " Beautiful naiad," said I, " may your waters,
ever pure, ever delicious, give pleasure to those who come to visit
them, and quench the thirst of whoever tastes them ! May I myself
learn on your banks, that the most blooming youth flows away as
swift as your waves I"

Sosthenes now informed me that it was time for me to pull off my
garments of ceremony, and to take my seat at table. Though
unwillingly, I followed him. Panthia his wife, and his daughter

SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES. 131

Sophene, approached me. After having paid to each other the
duties required by hospitality, we stepped into the hall of entertain-
ment, which corresponded with the magnificence of the master. I
was compelled to take the first place : the second was for Im-
lacca, who had accompanied me — Imlacca, the best of my
friends, or rather my other self. Next us sat a priest of Jupiter,
Sosthenes, and Panthia. As for Sophene, she stood up. Her father
had given her the charge of filling out the wine. Such in heaven is
Hebe filling the nectar for the gods. At first the turn of the con-
versation was serious. My hosts praised and extolled me : I replied
modestly ; but there was something uneasy in me. Imlacca took
notice of it; he pitied my trouble, and changed the discourse. In-
nocent gaiety was diffused throughout the company. Sophene, — a
golden cup in her hand, drew near, and presented me with it ; I
blushed, looked down, and durst not take it. Imlacca said to me,
" You are to begin." Ashamed, young as I was, to receive so many
marks of distinction, I obeyed. I drank to the name of Jupiter ;
every one did the same after me.

Hardly had I yet looked upon Sophene. Grave minister of the
gods, I was busied only in acting up to my dignity. A glance from
my eyes met hers, a " sweet surprise" mixed with admiration over-
spread my face with a modest blush ; I fixed my sight upon her, and
could not take it off. However, it was but a pure or rather an
involuntary homage I paid to her beauty. My heart had no share
in it ; it was yet unmoved. But a second time Sophene presented
me with wine, my hand touched hers ; by an irresistible transport I
pressed it. , It was long before I received the cup ; but, methinks,
she was longer yet in giving it to me. What became of us in that
moment I do not know. How can one express what one does not
know *? We were remarked. Panthia cast upon her a severe look ;
she trembled at it. By a severer look Sosthenes completed her
trouble. I was so bewildered that I did not perceive it. Imlacca
brought me to my senses. On a sudden, like a man who awakes
on the brink of a precipice, I became conscious of my imprudence,
but I could not repent it. We were for a while silent. Imlacca
trembled for me, I for Sophene, and she for herself. At last, a little
recovered, Sosthenes applied to me. Why in a day consecrated to
merriment do we yield to sorrow? Is it thus we honour Jupiter?
Is it thus that we prepare ourselves to solemnize his feast? Show
us that you share in the pleasure you afford us. At these words all
trouble vanished. Serenity returned upon Sophene's face, and my
tranquillity was restored to me. She tendered me the cup many
times; I took it calmly, and gave it back with the circumspection of
a man who suspects his actions are scrutinized. After some cheerful
discourse, I took up a lyre, and sang Minerva's birth, the defeat of
the Titans, the punishment of Lycaon, and the reward of Philemon.
I described the sovereign of the gods seated on his throne amidst
the Immortals, making heaven and earth tremble with a frown, and
with a softened look confirming the universe upon its basis — a dream.

Applauses interrupted me ; it was late ; the company broke up.
As I was led into the apartment designed for me, I saw Sophene •
entering. Three slaves attended her. Their beauty could only be

132 SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES.

eclipsed by that of their mistress. One bore on her head a golden
vase full of fragrant water, another carried a large basin of the
same metal carved by the divine Alcimedon, whereon napkins art-
fully folded up were laid. The third, in an alabaster vessel, brought
the most exquisite Arabian perfumes. I was obliged to submit to an
honour due to my employment. They washed my feet ; religion
justifies whatever it enjoins. Sophene herself wiped them. Let not
the gods be offended at it ; then indeed, methought, I was Apollo in
his bath amidst the hours. That ceremony performed, Sophene said
to me with a charming smile, Messenger of Jupiter, may that bene-
volent god afford you sweet repose ! I wished to answer her, but
she was gone. I went to bed. Morpheus was not long before he shed
his poppies on my heavy eyelids. A light and gentle sleep brought
again before me the events of the day. I saw them succeed in order,
or indeed I only saw Sophene ; her einbarassrnent, her blushes, her
graces made a deeper impression on my fancy than when she was
before my eyes. It was not a dream; it was a reality. I spoke, I
listened to her with a pleasure and an interest that surprised and
flattered me ; I questioned myself about the reason of it, but could
not find it. I abandoned all researches, and, without knowing precisely
to what I gave myself up, I indulged the " seducing sensations"
which my heart embraced, and which became natural and necessary
to it.

Meanwhile night ended her career. Aurora dispelling her shades
announced to nature the return of the god who vivifies her. Imlacca
entering my chamber waked me ; "Friend," said I to him, u why do
you come and disturb the sweetest moments of my life '£" *' Can
you," answered he, "opening my windows, and showing me it was
broad day, can you, Sophocles, sleep on still ? does sloth befit an en-
voy from the gods '?" " They will excuse it," replied I in a trans-
port. " They do not impute as crimes the favours they bestow on
us." Then I laid open to him what Sophene had done for me, but I
spoke it in an indifferent manner, and without showing any gratitude
for it. He thought my coolness was mere affectation and upbraided
me with it; however I was the dupe of my own heart, and did not
dissemble with him. My friendship was his surety for it. Surprised
to find in me so much simplicity, he smiled and thus explained the
meaning of his smile : — " Sophene,'' continued he, "loves you — Im-
perfect happiness ! I find you do not love her." " What is it to
love ?" replied I with an ingenuous look. " You will know it one
day, and perhaps that day is not far off." "Who will teach it me'?"
" He that teaches it to the wide creation, the most powerful of the
gods, Love, their lord and yours." " And who will make me know
that god *" " Yourself and Sophene."

Her father came in seasonably to interrupt a conversation that
began to be embarrassing to me. I was ashamed of his visit being
more early than mine ; it was short, and he carried Imlacca along
with him to give me time to dress myself.

I called for my slaves, and was in a little time able to mix with
the company, which was numerous. I had many compliments to
answer, and as all allowed, acquitted myself gracefully of the task.
Sophene was not there. I longed to see her; nevertheless her absence

SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES. 133

left my mind in an easier state than it would have been had she
been present.

That day had nothing- remarkable in it; it passed away as the pre-
ceding one. The visits being over, we went to see the upper part
of the garden that we had not yet seen ; the beauties there were of a
different kind, and what they borrowed from art, only contributed to
render them more pleasant to the eye. We mounted a spacious
terrace on the right hand ; raised upon pedestals of white marble
appeared eight brazen groups, the work of Vulcan or of his most
favoured scholars ; on the left hand ran a balustrade of Parian marble.
The eyes wandered over fertile plains and distant hills; there Ceres,
overpaying the vows of the greedy husbandman, unfolded all her trea-
sures ; the golden ears fell beneath the sickle, and the ground was
covered with them. Astonished at his own riches, the possessor of
so much plenty poured out his thanks to the goddess for them. A
swarm of necessitous poor find in what he gives up to them where-
withal to relieve their misery. There sun-burnt slaves quickly
erected mountains of heaped up sheaves, while the oxen groaned
under the weight of those they dragged away with slow step.

While I was taken up with that scene, Imlacca admired the sta-
tues. I had given them only a slight glance ; I was then unexpe-
rienced, and only moved by the objects that from my eyes passed
rapidly, of their own accord, to my heart. But he who had traversed
over all Greece, who had formed his taste amidst the wonders of
Athens, Delphos, and Egypt, could not refrain from speaking loudly
in their praise. " Sophocles," said he, " do you see that Hercules
yonder? what strength, what expression, what truth in his attitude!
How calm he is! how firm his gait! his arm alone can bear that
enormous club wherewith he seems to play. The lion with a fiery
look and bristling mane falls upon him ; his mouth is full of gore ; his
bloody claws make it spout from all the parts of the hero's body.
Son of Alcmena, redouble your efforts ; 'tis after victory only that you
will be acknowledged the son of Jupiter. A dreadful blow has
made an end of that fight ; the fierce animal, his head crushed, is
lying at your feet; you are victorious. There is, continued he, a
more smiling piece. Venus receives the apple from the hands of
Paris. Do you think it possible to contemplate Venus, and yet dare
to dispute with her the palm of beauty? joy sparkles in her eyes ;
it does not increase her charms, but it sets them off to the best ad-
vantage. There Cupids sport with her zone.

They applaud her triumph, and laugh at the confusion of her
rivals. Paris, less sensible of the happiness that must attend him,
than dazzled by all he sees, seemed to thank the goddess for the
present he gave her. Who is that other deity? her majestic and
stern look at once impresses respect and awe, it is Minerva who
punishes Arachne's pride. She is no more that audacious mortal
who durst defy her ; she is a timorous girl ; her look is the true pic-
ture of terror, and she struggles in vain to escape from the revenge-
ful hand that strikes her to the ground.

Examine her robe, which she embroidered herself. What elegance
in the design of it ! What fineness in the performance ! Would not one

134 SOPH EN fi AND SOPHOCLES.

say it flutters in the breeze ? I do not condemn the anger of the
goddess; but I mourn the fate of her rival.

That god declares of himself who he is ; lame, deformed, with
his short hair, his thick beard, he urges on the Cyclops who forge
the thunderbolt ; the hammers unequally lifted up fall in cadence
upon the anvil. What does he look at with an earnestness mixed
with pleasure ? They are the ingenious nets designed to enwrap
Venus and Mars and to expose them thus in toils to the assembled
gods. These nets escape the sight ; it is easier for one to touch than
to see them.

Here the goddess is lying in a still more sorrowful position. A
hideous wild boar has just torn Adonis to pieces — Adonis the plea-
sure of her eyes, the darling of her heart, all over bloody, disfigured,
with his head reclined upon her knees. She receives his last breath.
Her grief can neither be livelier, nor more naturally expressed.
Are you not sensible of it, unhappy goddess? Thou canst not die
with him, nor canst thou restore him to life again.

Thus Imlacca familiarised me with the master-pieces of art. He
was going to explain the others to me, when, unable to withstand
the impulse of my curiosity, I hastily rushed into a hall before me.
The style of it had inspired me with those impressions which every
thing that is truly great is apt to make upon the mind. The rarest
and most finished ornaments were placed in such order that they
embellished each other. Four large windows opened a prospect
towards the four parts of the world. The ceiling of it, representing
the sky, was so perfectly well painted that I thought it was the azure
vault itself. The birds flv ; the air fluctuates; some clouds spreading
here and there as by chance, are enlightened by the beams of the
sun that precipitates his course, and is in the middle of his career.

Four pictures fill the space between the windows. In the frame
of the first is written the name of Apelles ; the second has that of
Zeuxis, and the third is Protogenes. Whether the painter durst
not subscribe his own, or whether he wished to leave to the skilful
in his art the merit of guessing it, the fourth contained no name. I
surveyed it carefully. I looked at it. I pried into the mysterious
meaning of the emblems which are the subject of it. Motionless,
buried in the deepest meditation, my ideas suddenly cleared up, and
as suddenly became obscure again. What I thought I saw was not
what I really beheld. Thus a man in the full darkness of night
perceives from a-far a faint light that guides him for a moment ; it
vanishes, obscurty redoubles, and he knows no longer where he is.

Do you know, said Imlacca to me, pulling me by the arm, do you
know that these pictures are not fit for youV They might endanger
the " indifference" that seems to be so dear to you. I will not look
at them, answered I, going out in a hurry. Meanwhile I had seen
too much of them to entertain any doubt of their being dedicated to
the god of love. Flames, quivers, arrows, chains, and all his other at-
tributes ; slaves either young or old of all characters whatever, from
every nation, crowned with roses, were represented looking passion-
ately upon young women loosely dressed who fly from them, and
nevertheless are willing to be seen before they hide them-

SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES. 135

selves. O Venus ! how worthy of your son are those dangerous
objects ! Here, every thing- breathes luxury, and promotes it. The
verdure and the trees contribute to render his triumph still more
complete. Happy birds, you may safely abandon yourselves to his
influence : pleasure is the reward of it. But, as for us, it lulls us
asleep, and we give up in return for it our quiet and our reason.
And where do we find that bliss that fills the measure of your en-
joyment ?

Then Imlacca, who penetrated into my heart, better than I did
myself, said to me, That god whom you oppose in vain laughs at
your resistance, or rather you can resist no longer. Your defeat is
unavoidable. But, do you know what will happen to you *? You
will experience his power without knowing his pleasures. He contri-
butes to our happiness ; but only in proportion to what we do for
him. In the name of the gods, replied I, in that of Jupiter, under
whose guidance we came hither, forbear a discourse that affects
me too deeply. I will, said he. Let us speak of something else.

You are like those sick bodies whom an inward fever devours.
They grow pale ; they tremble ; every one is sensible of the danger
they are in. They alone think they lessen or dissipate it, by dis-
guising it to themselves. I would not avow that picture to be mine ;
but it was drawn to the life. Thus far you have had my dream.

We gave our conversation another turn. What we had just seen
supplied us with ample materials for it. Is it possible, said I, for a
man to shift so quickly from the greatest simplicity to the most im-
moderate luxury ? Can one place alone include so many opposite
things "? Such are men, answered he. Extremes are contiguous in
their hearts. They are astonished at their agreeing not together ;
and they do not observe that they are not consistent with themselves.
Moved, carried away by present objects, they always pitch upon the
last as being the best, or at least it determines their actions. Has it
any relation to that which came before or not '? The examination
would be too painful ; they avoid it, and so are never out of conceit
with themselves. They do not perceive any variety in their own
behaviour ; nay, they think that others are not sensible of it. With-
out that idea, without that hint from self-love, they would either be
always reasonable, or always conscious of their own folly. But what
avails this reasoning ? Let us not look for the means of curing them
of an error that makes them happy. Truth would render them
ridiculous.

Thanks to the gods, said I, such considerations do not concern us.
You are a wise man ; and I wish to become so. Your example —
your advice will help me to it. O dear Imlacca, how precious, how
necessary for me is your friendship ! Without it, error would be my
portion ; and it could not fail of being conspicuous in the high office
which has been conferred upon me. Henceforth, I shall be no more
an obscure man ; my countrymen will have a watchful eye upon my
conduct. If it does not answer their expectation, if it does not even
reach beyond it, they will despise me the more, the more they
have distinguished rne. All the ways to fortune will be shut against
me ; grown the disgrace of an illustrious family, I must either

136 SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES.

banish myself, or become to it an everlasting object of humiliation.
Holy friendship, thou wilt preserve me from so fatal a condition ;
thou wilt increase in my heart the bias thou hast implanted in it
towards virtue. It is thy faithful associate ; it befriends such as
thou delightest in.

Ah, Imlacca, heaven grant that I may make you sensible of all
I feel. Propitious deity, enlighten my mind, and then I will pay
thee a tribute worthy of thyself.

What is that " unknown ardour" which lends me new expressions?
It inspires me. Mortals, hearken to me. Daughter of heaven, thou
art the most comforting present which, in their love, the gods have
blessed mankind with. Thy officious kindness anticipates our wishes.
Thou givest thyself up unsolicited to the hearts prepared to
receive thee. The profane do not know thee.

The bonds that tie them to one another have nothing pure or
innocent in them. The want they are in of each other is the basis
of their union. The most earnest offers, the tenderest protestations,
only relate to selfish ends, and they receive only through cupidity.
The apparent gratitude which a kindness excites in them is nothing
but a covetous sentiment, that only continues as long as it is support-
ed by hope. They are not moved by the favours granted, but by
those they expect. Do these fail ? They fly off — they disappear.
They complain of the ingratitude of their friends ; but did ever the
ungrateful know what it is to love ? How much we differ from
them ! The same inclinations — the same desires — the same will ; all
is in common between us. You are happy in me only. I breathe,
I am happy, only in you. Your soul is mine, and mine yours.
Charming intercourse ! delicious raptures ! Wholly foreign to the
reasonings of the mind, you are the lot of the heart ; it alone is pos-
sessed of you, and by its effusions alone are you revealed.

Imlacca interrupted me with a smile. Perhaps you expect thanks
from him unto whom you have just said so "many endearing things.
No, dear Sophocles, I will not thank you for them. Sophene would
be jealous of it. What you fancy you feel for me, you feel for her.
You deceive yourself. You thought that you had painted and de-
scribed friendship, when you did but describe and commend love.
He that is insensible of it does not express it so well. My predic-
tion is accomplished ; lay aside all dissembling ; you burn. How
so ? said I, to him with a sigh. Will you banter me into despair ?
I do not, I will not love. Far from supplying that cruel god with
arms against me, you should shield me against him. I, replied he,
shall I oppose the gods '? They would punish me for it. You
yourself would take it unkindly of me.

Jupiter, exclaimed I, protect him whom every one forsakes.
Come on ; let us go to the temple, in order to fulfill the duties of
my office. If, nothing but an escape can save me from so me-
nacing a danger, I am ready to return to Eurycone. If you think
that the charms of Sophene can fix rne here, prevent my seeing her
again. If, in spite of myself, I refuse to follow you, make use of
violence, and drag me back along with you. So speaking, 1 em-
braced him, — I bathed his face with tears,— I drew sighs, — I groaned ;

SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES. 137

my heart was ready to break ; I could scarce breathe ; and, to
complete my anguish, I was obliged to dissemble in so violent a
crisis. Sosthenes was looking for us ; but Imlacca held him in dis-
course, to give me time to compose myself, at least apparently, as
well as I could. Whether Sosthenes was taken up with other things,
or whether I acted my part well, it seemed he had not noticed my
emotion. The repast was served up. I came in with a fixed reso-
lution of not casting even a glance at Sophene. Some god surely
fave me strength, and I was calm. I applauded myself for it ; nay,
know not in my false security, if I went not so far as to defy Love.
The supper was yet more sumptuous than the first. It was easy for
me to see from the delicacy and excellency of the entertainment,
that Sosthenes had been taken unawares the night before. I had
leisure to examine the arrangement of it. Sophene was absent ; I
did not long so much to see her, but accustomed myself to that
privation. I was easy : at least, I believed I was. Jupiter, said I
to myself, I give thee thanks ; thou hast wrought within me a sud-
den, a happy change. Alas ! Jupiter himself made a joke of my
weakness. Such was the character of my dream.

Two hours had passed away, and I had shown no sensible emo-
tion or disquietude. Already I hoped the danger was over. The
entertainment drew towards an end ; we were ready to rise froir
table. Fatal moment ! behold, Sophene, at the head of the most
beautiful maidens of Aulycone, entered with a modest countenance.
Her artless hand had tied her fair tresses, part of which were rolled
on her head in ringlets ; part waved on her shoulders, which were
more white than new-fallen snow. Every one burst into acclama-
tions. Their eyes wander in doubt amidst so many ravishing ob-
jects. Mine were fixed, with my whole soul in them: they were
bent upon Sophene. At the harmonious sound of her lyre, her
companions instantly formed an elegant dance ; broke off; resumed
their measure ; and, directed and actuated by her, executed all that
the art of dancing, and genuine graces are capable of attaining.

In the mean time, Sosthenes bade his daughter sing — all was
silent — gods ! what melody, what sweetness, what extent, what
taste, what " soul" in her voice ! Is it Philomela, or the Syrens who
sing ? No, it is Sophene. My senses were ravished. Imlacca
remarked it but too much ; and, with a low voice, said to me, Shall
we still go back to Eurycone ? Scarce did I hear him. Ah ! se-
ducing pleasures, how dear I have paid for you I Every one now
retired ; the sky was serene ; a dead calm reigned throughout
nature. I alone was agitated. In vain I called for rest ; my trouble
increased with my endeavours to remove it ; it rose to the highest
pitch ; it could increase no more : and, though oppressed by it, I
felt it no less sensibly. Fool that I was, I yet strove to hide from
myself the cause of it. I arose, walked with great strides ; stopt,
went to bed again ; and again leaped out of it as from a burning pile.
Thus a roebuck, that one of Diana's nymphs has wounded in the
woods of Cynthia, strives in vain to force out the arrow that galls
him ; he fills the air with his screams ; he rambles about as his
pain leads him ; it attends him every where, and nothing allays it.

M.M.— No. 8. S

138 SOPHENK AND SOPHOCLES.

I was in that unhappy condition, when towards the middle of the
night a glittering light struck my eyes ; I heard a dismal noise like
that of thunder. Placed upon a magnificent car, Love appeared
before me in all his majesty. His numerous train attended him, and
cried, " Sophocles, confess the sovereign of nature; prostrate thyself
and worship him." I fell down at his feet without knowing what I
did. Love, a bow in his hand, with a threatening look and a face
inflamed with wrath, rejected my involuntary homage. "Here is the
audacious mortal who opposes my authority. Thou alone hast a
mind to escape from me : that god whose minister thou entitlest thy-
self, that god himself cannot withstand me. Die, inconsiderate
wretch! I now reject a heart that rejected me — I will have thy
blood." Like a victim that a priest is going to slay, I waited for the
mortal blow ; the arm was lifted up, the bow was bent, and the fatal
arrow was ready to fly ; his revenge was at the point of being sa-
tisfied, when on a sudden a thousand confused voices of admiration
arose'from every part; Love stopped, and wondered at the occasion
of it. A respectful silence seized his retinue; I also looked and
saw Sophene with a crown of roses upon her brow, and a wreath of
flowers in her hand. She came on with a timid aspect, though her
motions were regulated by the graces; she cast herself at the feet of
the god, and embraced his knees; she bedewed them with tears, but
durst not, could not speak. Love understood the meaning of that
" eloquent silence." " How, Sophene," said he, raising her from the
ground, " you have a concern, you shed tears for an ingrate who
braves both rny power and your charms. Let me punish him ; your
glory and mine require it." «< Forbear, sovereign of the gods!" said
she, with a soft and modest accent; " Sophocles is no more a rebel ;
he is your slave, your votary ; he sighs, he loves. O Sophocles !
you read in my heart."

Surprised with my adventure, I could not say whether to complain
or rejoice at it. Freed from incertitude with regard to my situation,
I now knew my passion and the object of it. I gave way to pleasant
prospects. My fancy hurried me ; it soared on the wings of hope.
Flattering chimeras! why did you disappear? why did you leave me
to myself? The most impetuous agitations tossed my mind. I burned
with a fire that consumed me. My desires broke loose. " Sophene,"
cried I, " come and share in my transports ; yield to my impatience ;
you love me, then? yes, you do ; I see my happiness in your eyes.
What can stop you ? But who are those monsters that bar my way
to you ? their cold poison chills me. Cruel vicissitude ! I can no
longer bear you."

Awakened by my cries and my sobs, Imlacca came into my
chamber. " Friend," said I with a sigh, " Love has accomplished
his revenge ; he has just now exhausted upon my heart all the arrows
in his quiver, all the fires of his torch — I love; but what avails that
acknowledgment? You knew it before, and had you not known it
my trouble would have told you. I love," said I, with a faltering
accent. "O Jupiter! O Venus! O Sophene !"

Imlacca answered my complaints with a long fit of laughter. " I
feared your complaint was of a different nature," said he. " Compose

SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES. 139

yourself, and endeavour to rest." So saying, he would have quitted
me ; but I held him. I laid before him an exact account of the wrath
of Love, of his threats, and of his triumph. " Sophene," continued I,
" has preserved my life ; how much ought I to be bound to her for it !
Sophene has rendered me tender and sensible, and she will ever be
the object of my affection. Love has no arrows left ; he can no more
wound me for any other;'' "at least," replied Imlacca, " you are
where I wished you to be; you love and your passion is dear to
you ; it engrosses your whole mind ; you speak of nothing else.
Sleep is now heavy upon my eyes — farewell." He went away; I
found myself alone again, and again I sunk into my fantastical con-
ceits. Insensibly a calm succeeded to my agitation ; a sweet tempe-
rature glided through my senses — I fell asleep. Love ! sleep re-
spects thy power; obedient dreams put on all the forms thou art
pleased to give them; they turn them into reality in the fancy of such
as thou sendest them to. Fair Sophene ! you look down, you are
silent; what do I see? Methinks you shun me; stay — I am no
longer that stubborn lover unable to appreciate the value of your
kindness, who durst not look at you, who avoided your charms. I
am in earnest — nay a passionate lover; enjoy a change that you
alone coukUeffectuate. What are you afraid of? My constancy shall
justify the ardour of my desires. I took her hand; I kissed it a
thousand times; I pressed it in mine. All the " fire" in my heart
came up to my lips ; they burned, and I imprinted them on hers ;
she resisted, and strove to make her escape ; Love held her; he re-
moved her fears, and increased my temerity. Our sighs mingled.
Her eyes were filled with a seducing languor; she was troubled; her
mind wavered. A set of officious loves with their arrows frightened
away timid Modesty, who fled with downcast looks. Love ! why do
you lay your hand before my mouth? Fear not, I am discreet.
Sophene, you weep ; your spirits revive, your anger alarms me.
Can my transports offend her who has caused, and who seems to
authorise them ? " Dear Sophocles, temper their eagerness," said
she ; " spare my weakness. We ought to respect what we love.
If you love me, my tears should restrain you ; if you do riot, you are
too cruel to urge me so far." I was afraid of displeasing her, and
ashamed to submit; yet I did not dare snatch a victory I had so
eagerly pursued: but my eyes grow dim — I look for Sophene — I find
her not ! both my voice and strength forsake me. Unknown emo-
tions work within me. My heart pants ; I wake shivering. Ye gods !
if a dream has such " powerful charms," what then must be the
ecstacy of real pleasures ? Come again, delicious illusions ! I call
for youSn vain ; Morpheus is gone away — I can neither leave my
couch, nor fall asleep again. I now sunk into an ocean of confused
ideas, which I am unwilling to unravel ; and I called to my mind all
the particulars of my dream.

To remember an imaginary felicity is to exchange one chimera
for another.

( 140 )

THE PLAYS OF SHAKSPEARE.

No. L— HAMLET.

" THERE is a wide difference between knowledge and languages,"
says a profound critic — nor does it signify, if a man has knowledge,
through what medium it has been conveyed to him. Shakspeare
appears to have been gifted with what Cicero calls the animus bene
a natura informatus , with a facility of conception through which
flowed the rich materials of his scenes and characters, and with a
natural promptitude of execution and universality of expression
which enabled him to clothe his inventions with the most striking
and natural apparel.

The character which will form the subject of a portion of this
lecture is a powerful elucidation of these observations — different
from any thing we are acquainted with in other dramatic works : our
author varies the tone and feelings of Hamlet as rapidly and with as
close an adherence to nature as we could expect from reality itself;
hence the magnificent individuality of this character, and the evident
impracticability of placing it in any known category of dramatic
being. The thoughts and actions are ever as varied and original as
the vivid and ingeniously devised incidents that give them birth —
the glowing and reflective qualities of the mind of the noble youth
render back every the most trivial impression with accumulated
richness; and the endless productiveness of the poet is no where
seen to a greater extent than in the development of this personage,
in which we simultaneously recognise the fervid elasticity of a youth-
ful sensibility and playfulness, with the deep-toned and imposing
solemnity of a sublime and dignified philosophy.

Every expression, every word that Hamlet utters, is full of point
and replete with meaning and pathos : he speaks from the heart, and
conviction goes to the soul of the hearer ; when his mother re-
proaches him with forgetting who she is, his retort carries con-
demnation and punishment within itself, —

" No, by the rood, not so ;

You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;
And — 'would it were not so ! — you are my mother !"

It is nevertheless true that there are moments when the unstrung
sympathies of his nature are wrested from the guidance of reason —
when the grosser parts of humanity abandon the " inner man," and
lay open the soul in all the spirituality of intellectual abstraction,
when we

" * * see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangling, out of tune and harsh,"

THE PLAYS OF SHAKSPEARE. HAMLET. 141

The astounding calamities of a father's unnatural death and a mo-
ther's accumulated guilt, root out of his bosom the very germ of
every attachment : — .

* * " I have of late (but wherefore I know not) lost all my mirth,
foregone all custom of exercise ; and, indeed, it goes so heavily with
my disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a
sterile promontory ; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you,
this brave o'er-hanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with
golden fire, — why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and
pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is man !
How noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving,
how express and admirable ! in action, how like an angel ! in appre-
hension, how like a god ! the beauty of the world ! the paragon of
animals! and yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man
delights not me:"

The stream of his affections had been dried up ; " all bond and pri-
vilege of nature broken ;" and the stern " get thee to a nunnery" falls
like a death-note on the affrighted ear of the pretty Ophelia.

The essence of the character, however, always remains entire ;
" Lord Hamlet" is always " a prince :" he never derogates from
himself, whatever be the nature of the scene in which he is placed.

The variety of phases in this character is beyond all praise ; the
numerous forms in which it appears, the frequency of contrast that
occurs from the opening to the close of the piece, gives a peculiarity
and strength to the colouring, sustains the interest, and enlivens the
attention of the spectator, while each particular feature appears with
additional lustre from the very effect of comparison. In the open-
ing of the piece, for instance, when the recent marriage had cast off
the " nighted colour" of all the other personages, Hamlet is dis-
covered in his mourning garb; the same maybe remarked of differ-
ent scenes wherein he appears with the king, the queen, Polonius,
Osrick, the grave-digger, and others.

Shakspeare seems to have pictured to himself the beau ideal of
dramatic effect in his conception of Hamlet. His design is borne out
by nature and by fact; the man is here the creature of circumstance,
weak, irresolute, and sometimes even inconsistent ; and, if we wish to
discover the prototype of this character, we must look for it among
men as they are, upon the great stage of the world. There we shall
perceive that the genius of our poet was nurtured by an attention
to those invariable principles of nature which are the only infallible
guides in dramatic composition.

Hamlet is, however, always emphatic, always to the life, whether
at "his breathing time of day" he caricature the beard of his old
friend the actor " whose face is valenced ;" or " wring the heart of
the guilty queen" in the following finely-wrought and highly classic
effusion : —

" Look here upon this picture, and on this ;
The counterpart presentment of two brothers.
See what a grace was seated on this brow ! —
Hyperion's curls ; the front of Jove himself;

142 TO A STREAMLET.

An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ;

A station like the herald Mercury,

New lighted on a heaven-kissing- hill ;

A combination and a form, indeed,

Where every god did seem to set his seal,

To give the world assurance of a man.

This was your husband. — Look you now, what follows :

Here is your husband ; like a mildew'd ear*

Blasting his wholesome brother."

In the brief sketch of the several characters of the author, to which
we are necessarily confined in the progress of these "papers" we are
prevented from embracing all the points of this personage : sufficient
has, perhaps, been said to wrest it in some respects from the mis-
representations of erroneous criticism, and to point the way to those
who may wish to prosecute the enquiry.

Hence those points of character which are by many adduced as
contradictions, will be found to be genuine and natural traits, exam-
ples of which we are every hour presented with in the varied and
complicated maze of human existence; and far from allowing
Hamlet to be that mass of discordant materials to which some would
persuade us, a due reflection upon the whole construction of the
character, in its multiplied relations with the other parts of the
tragedy, discovers to us the "corner-stone" of a superb edifice,
whose elegant proportions remain engraven upon our minds in all
the beautiful exactitude of intellectual sublimity, conveying a deep
moral impression which the imagination, retraces with pleasure, and
to which the mind loves to recur again and again.

T.

TO A STREAMLET.

ONWARD, onward, limpid rill,
Thou art ever flowing :

Music making at thy will,
Balmy life bestowing.

Beautifier of the vale —
Adorner of the plain ;

Never wert thou known to fail
In thy flow or strain.

Centuries have passed away
Since thy course began ;

Still thou knowest not decay
Like ennobled man.

* The figure of the mildew'd ear is evidently borrowed from the Bible
Gen. xliv. 6, 7.

A VISION OF JUDGMENT. 143

Ever welcome to the vale,

Comer from the hill ;
Welcome is thy joyous tale,

Music-making- rill.

H.

A VISION OF JUDGMENT.

ACROSS the everlasting sea

There came, in silent soldier- wroth,
The brave in arms and chivalry, —

The spirit of the mighty Goth !
And o'er his brows a mark was set
Which told his race unconquer'd yet !

O'er the Hesperian wave he came

With mad revenge in either eye :
Who gloried in his deathless name —
A name that was not given to die !
And wore a Greek and rich tiar',
That spoke a lineage from afar.

But 'twas not so ; he was, of old,

Or, when his youth was in its spring.
The chieftain of a nation bold,

That led to war and conquering.
The terrors of the Goth he flung
Where Catherine's vile race upsprung.

Yet, when her* sun had darkly set

In glory's immemorial gloom ;
While round her bosom linger'd yet

The fragments of her death and doom :
And all her patriot bosoms yearn'd —
Austria ! against Poland turn'd

Her coward bands of slavish herds,

With cruel irony and shame ;
Then with base, perfidious words

Now bad her yield to fire and flame !
To fire, and flame, and flood they yield,
Alone that own'd SoBiESKY'sf shield.

Thus Austria 'gainst brave Poland turn'd —

" Ingratitude's" the crime of lords.
What freeman's bosom hath not burn'd

To turn 'gainst her their bloody swords ?
Hath eagle's eye e'er seen that light
Which shall expire with Poland's blight ?

Poland's sun. t John Sobiesky.

144 A VISION OF JUDGMENT,

The lion has not claw'd such prey

As Alexander basely won ;
In his unimperial day ;

And Nicholas hath trode upon !
Have burning suns that watch on high
Melted Siberian Majesty ?

Hail, mighty chief ! and thou art he

That like the lion-king of yore ;
Or him of old Thermopylae,

The Spartan danger braved and bore
For glory's, and for freedom's crown,
For Grecia's, and for man's renown.

Sublimely gray with time and truth —

Those hoary attributes of age —
Thou canst recal the powers of youth,
Thy deeds of war and pilgrimage : —
Thou canst look down with holy glee,
On Poland's new Thermopylae !

Oh, basely injur'd Poland ! thine,

Thine is a cause in which all bleed
Who freely breathe life's breath, divine, —

The Frank— the Turk ;— yes, ev'ry creed !
Save that alone by which thy gem (

Was stolen for Russia's diadem !

England ! whose fame is like the sun's,

Hath not yet answer'd thy quick pains ;
The birth-place of your Wellingtons
Responded not to Poland's chains !
Awake, awake, old Sparta's blood !
Arise, arise, both fire and flood !

Shade of the mighty chief of old —
Thou unsubstantial lobe of light,
That tell'st of Roderick's startled mould.

And Marathon's most sacred fight —
Return to heaven's gates on high —
Pray God respond to Poland's cry ! .

And I, as one of my sire's line,

Though now an unimportant one,
Will tune my harp to words divine —

The age of chivalry is gone !
Delphi's temple, in the grave !
The Emperor Paul hath ceas'd to rave !

And all that was and is to be

Tend only to demonstrate God ;
Who wisely made man to be free —

Free as the freest soil he trod !
The " cry" of Poland has gone forth, •
Woe to BELSHAZZAR of the north !

A.D. 1835. HOMO SUM.

( 145 )

ON THE STUDY OF ITALIAN.

IT is the well-known eulogy of the Emperor Charles V. on the
Italian language, that it is the proper language in which to address
a lady, and it has been said by one in later days, who was quite as
well able to form an opinion as the Spanish monarch, that the lari-

fuage sounds as if it should be written on satin, and that its " sylla-
les breathe of the sweet South." All this is very right and true,
but it merely expresses the sweetness of the language, and leaves
out of the consideration its strength and versatility, in which qualities
it yields to no language in Europe. Its powers and its beauty are
not the only inducements to study it : it contains mines of literary
wealth. Its historians rank the first among the modern historians ;
and its poets — who that loves poetry does not exult and delight irr
the poets of Italy ?

In strongly recommending the study of Italian, my intention is
not to write a regular treatise, mentioning what grammar and dic-
tionary are to be studied, or what plans are to be pursued. Leaving
these elementary points to those whom they may concern, I would
throw together a few remarks on the Italian authors which generally
are put into the hands of young ladies, and mention such books as
are adapted to them, and to other students of Italian.

After going through the elementary parts of the language, it
is usual to begin Metastasio. The Abbe Metastasio, as it is ge-
nerally known, has written certain little Dramas, consisting of
three acts, in which he has to arrange the various incidents form-
ing the plot, develope characters, mark the variety of passions, and
accomplish different and difficult things, for which other poets
calling themselves dramatic require full five acts, and find those
five acts scarcely sufficient. The consequence is obvious ; there is
not "ample room and verge enough" to trace what ought to be
traced. This is an original fault in the nature of the compositions
to which Metastasio devoted his versifying powers. But this is
not all : there is a sameness in his productions ; read one and you
have read all ; they have been called, with perhaps quite as much
truth as severity, " tissues of love and nonsense." The lovers are
all alike — the ladies are alike — the plots are alike — the denotements
are alike ; and it is only to be marvelled at, that such productions
have been so be-praised. Add to this, that every one, after
strutting his appointed minutes on the stage, whether in the lan-
guishing of love, or the raging of anger, vents his excited feelings
in a song, and little more need be said in support of the writer's
private opinion, that whosoever puts Metastasio into the hands of a
pupil, be that pupil man, woman, or child (except for the express
purpose of making the book a stepping-stone to poetry worthy to be
read), commits an offence against good taste, and at the same time
M.M.-No.8. T

146 ON THE STUDY OF ITALIAN.

insults the understanding of his pupil. But enough has been said :
good night to Metastasio, and sound sleep (no harm if they sleep
over his works) to his readers.

Hard and harsh and strange is it thus to write of a gentle bard,
beloved by gentle nyrnphs. The next work perused by Italian
students is in general Tasso's Jerusalem ; and we must alter our
speech and change our style, to discourse of one who was proverbially
Called "He of the pen and sword." Romance, chivalry, and poetry
all cast their beams on the person, the character, and the writings of
Tasso. Born with that deep and exquisite sensibility of feeling
which generally attends true poetical powers, and which, if it doubles
every joy, too truly doubles every woe, he became in early life
the victim of an unfortunate attachment. Every one knows the
story of the Princess Leonora; every one knows too how her en-
raged brother caused the young poetial aspirer to be immured in an
asylum for the insane. The touching lines which he there wrote —
short, sweet, and melancholy, still sound in our ears, and vibrate on
our innermost feelings,

" Tu che ne vai in Pindo
Dove pende la mia cetra ad un capresso,
Salutala in mio nome, e dille poi,
Ch'io son dagli anni e dalla fortuna oppresso."

And when the cruel falsehood of his enemies produced the alien-
ation of mind which they had previously fabled, when his high-
strung feelings sunk beneath irritation and disappointment, who has
read without sympathy, and compassion, and regret, the history of
Jerusalem's minstrel's holding high converse with the phantoms of
his own creation, and forgetting the cruelty of his prince and the
neglect of his lady love, in the lofty excursions of his disordered but
still fine imagination ?

I cannot write as I would of Tasso. " Thoughts that breathe and
words that burn" should be summoned up to express the feelings which
his poem awakens, but I cannot leave the subject without noticing a
slander affixed to his name by one who probably never read his
work. I allude to Boileau — Boileau, whose taste is so just as to
have won for him the title of the prince of taste, whose strictures on
the ancients mark both reading and good sense, contrasts in his
" Art of Poetry," " le clinquant du Tasse" and " 1'or de Virgile."
From him it has been the fashion to talk of the tinsel of Tasso, and
to rank one of the most exquisite poets of modern times as a mere
superficial rhymester. The Italian language is now more generally
read, and studied ; and those who judge of Tasso in his own native
majesty (for, like Virgil, many of his beauties, as they depend on
harmony and phraseology, cannot be translated), will indignantly
repel all lowering insinuations, and warmly concur in this feeble but
sincere tribute to Jerusalem's bard.

I am transgressing the limits to which I had meant originally to
confine myself. I cannot, however, pass by one, who —

" Sovra gli altri, come aquila, vola."

ON THE STUDY OF ITALIAN. 147

One however, for whom this, his own brief expression, is a striking and
sufficient eulogium. Our "northern grunting guttural" cannot ade-
quately express the praise of Dante. Strong and nervous descriptions
—wonderful imagination — deep feeling and pathos — close observation
of nature — high patriotism, with indignant satire against those who
oppressed and insulted the country which he so dearly loved — if
these, expressed in language firm, mighty, energetic, are to be
admired, are to be received into the memory and the affections,
then is the laurel wreath that circles the stern, thoughtful, melan-
choly brow of the Florentine poet, rightly gained and rightly worn.

It is not by mere extracts of Dante — the Nyolino, Capaneo, Fran-
cesca di Rimini, &c. &c., that an idea can be formed of his powers.
Dr. Johnson said that a critic seeking to recommend Shakspeare by
mere citations, would be like a man who should endeavour to let his
house by carrying a few bricks in his pocket, as a specimen of it.
The Divina Commedia is a magnificent whole, and has been styled
by a modern noble critic " the most original poem in the world." < '

It may be allowable to remark that Villani's " Storia di Ferenze"
and Sismondi's " Histoire des Republiques Italiennes" throw much
light on the historical difficulties of Dante.

But it is time to bring these desultory remarks to a close. Time
would indeed fail to tell of Ariosto with his interweaving episodes,
Alfieri, the Lord Byron of Italy, a noble mind misapplied, Monti,
renowned by his Aristodemo, and Sylvio Pellico by his genius and
misfortunes. As it is my wish to be useful to those who may be en-
gaged in the study of a language to which I have devoted some
attention, I add a list of Italian books suited to beginners : —

Lettere su Roma e Napoli.

Ricordi d'un Viaggio Pittorico.

II Campagno nel Passeggio Campestre.

Racconti Istorici.

Lettere Discrittive di Celebri Italiani da Gamba,

Novelle di Polidori.

Scelta di Lettere da Nardino.

Scelta di Lettere da Gasparo Gozzi.

To this is subjoined a list of Italian books in a good style, but
rather works of amusement than of serious study, under the impres-
sion that this is the most usual and natural means for reading a lan-
guage with fluency : —

Le mie Prigioni, da Silvio Pellico.
Dei Dovin degli Domini da. do.
Mauri — Caterina Medici.
Manzoni — I promissi Sposi.
Goldoni — Le Cojnmedie.
Uberto Visconti.
Battaglia di Benevento.
Sacchi — Zeodote.

Varieta Litteraria.

Varesi — Fidanzata Ligure.

148 ON THE STUDY OF ITALIAN.

Varesi Sibilla Odateta.

Folchetta Malaspina.

Lettere di Ganganelli.
Lettere di Annibal Caro.
Naufraga di Malamocco.
La Pittrice ed il Forestiere.

Other works might be added, but enough has been said. The
writer will conclude by remarking that the translation of Ossian by
Cesarotti, so well known as a favourite book of Napoleon's, is consi-
dered one of the most beautiful specimens of the Tuscan language.
The translation of Virgil by Annibal Caro is more close to the
original than our language will permit.

M. A. S.

BALLAD.

HERE'S A HEALTH TO THE MINSTREL !
By Mrs. Cornwell Baron Wilson.

HERE'S a health to the minstrel ! wherever he wanders,
May his path-way through life be unclouded by care ;

May the memories be sweet upon which his soul ponders,
And the charms of his fancy be soothing and fair.

And if never more by the green-smiling valleys,
And white cliffs of Albion he's destined to roam,

When the breath of sweet song, with his dulcet lute dallies,
'Mid the tears and the raptures that welcome him home :

May he never forget, in that bosom of pleasure,
The hearts that have melted or warm'd at his lay ;

And when mem'ry speaks through some exquisite measure,
Let it bring back the friends and the scenes far away !

For what in the bosom of sensitive feelingl I
Can waken resemblance like music's soft strain ?

As o'er the heart's chords it is tenderly stealing,
To open the flood-gates of passion again ?

A flower — nay a leaf, can again bring before us
Past objects of love, to which tenderness clings ; —

But music alone holds the master- spell o'er us,

To ope " the sealed fountains,'' whence MEMORY springs !

Here's a health to the minstrel ! wherever he wanders,
May his pathway through life, be exempted from care ;

May the visions be bright, upon which his soul ponders,
And the skies that shine o'er him be cloudless and fair !

149

SOCRATES AND XANTIPPE.

STRANGE and unaccountable is it that these two names, each in
itself a proverb, each an antithesis to the other, should, after a lapse
of more than two thousand years, have come down to the present
time under auspices as different as were the characters of the in-
dividuals whom they once served to designate ! How comes it that
Socrates should still be held forth as an example to men, of virtue, to
husbands, of forbearance, while his unfortunate lady serves but as a
current bye-word for every thing violent in women, usurping and
domineering in wives ? May not a suspicion be entertained, that too
easy a credence has been given alike to the virtues of the philoso-
pher, and the failings of his consort? To remove the prejudice which
time has strengthened in favour of the one and in disparagement of
the other, appears a hopeless attempt. But some advantages may
be derived from contemplating the life of this extraordinary couple,
from whose history we learn, that rash and impolitic marriages were
not unknown before the Christian era ; as an abstract matrimonial
speculation, and from its antiquity we may consider it such, this
question of respective merit and demerit between Socrates and
Xantippe may prove of considerable importance.

History has not left us in doubt as to the philosopher's personal
appearance. He was an ugly little man, with a Calmuck nose,
twinkling gray eyes, and a bad expression of countenance. Of his
own deformities he was aware, and, in his professional capacity of
philosopher, affected to derive considerable amusement from his want
of external beauty.

Nothing we believe is recorded of Xantippe on this score ; but
there can be little doubt that if a painter, even one whose name
delights in the affix of R. A., were desired to sketch a fancy portrait
of her, he would invest her with about as many charms as would
barely suffice to redeem a Gorgon from her native loathsomeness ;
nor is it highly improbable that the critics who frequent the picture
galleries would declare his performance to be, to the best of their
judgment, a faithful and accurate likeness of the illustrious proto-
type. And yet how widely would both he and they wander from
the truth ! Before her marriage, there can be no donbt that Xan-
tippe's face and person were eminently lovely : in the absence of all
proof to the contrary, we may even conclude that she was, if not the
belle, at least one of the leading belles of Athens ; for her husband
yielded to no man in ugliness, and when do we see men of his phy-
siognomical stamp marry any but the prettiest women ? Her tem-
per was warm and generous, her disposition lively, andjier manners
gay and playful. In raillery she was an adept, a thorough mistress

150 SOCRATES AND XANTIPPB.

of repartee, and brilliantly successful in her sallies of polished irony
and delicate sarcasm. Such was the woman whom her unkind des-
tiny united to an ugly philosopher of a rectified temper.

Socrates despised the world's opinion and derided its fashions ;
Xantippe, true to the genius of her sex, was fully impressed with
the importance of both. Therefore the husband dressed and behaved
like a sloven, while the wife exerted all her energies, and plied all
her arts, to subject him to the wholesome and beautifying dominion
of the graces. Reasoning from the present to the past, and taking
for granted the immutability of female characteristics, we are fully
justified in saying that this was the mode of conduct which the well-
meaning Xantippe adopted. How are we to suppose that the phi-
losopher received his wife's coaxings and admonitions? After
listening to her observations, he would argue with her upon the
ground of her complaints in that cross-examination style of his which
the Socratic Boswells record as having been peculiarly grateful to
the spirit of the ci-devant statuary, and which was certainly enough
to drive any but a marble lady into strong hysterics. Perhaps how-
ever he was not even so ambiguously courteous as this, but merely
laughed at her importunity, and went about the town as untidy a
figure as ever. Is it to be thought that a woman of refined taste
and high spirit, such as was Xantippe, could tamely submit to this
contemptuous and philosophic treatment ?

We are informed that Socrates did not receive a single penny
with his bride. The graces of her mind and body formed the sum
total of her marriage-portion. How much light is thrown upon the
history of her single state by this little circumstance ! Her beauty
and accomplishments, added to her wit and vivacity, must, without
doubt, have captivated many admirers. Among them there was
probably a favoured one, with whom she exchanged vows of endless
love and fidelity. But Athenian lovers then were no better than
their modern representatives in all civilised countries. Xantippe's
swain we may imagine to have been a mercenary dog, whom Plutus
seduced from his allegiance to Cupid under the disguise of an heiress.
In a moment of pique and disappointment, the hasty young lady, our
heroine, gave an affirmative answer to the most important question
which could possibly have been put to her by an ugly little philo-
sopher, with a Calmuck nose, and twinkling gray eyes.

It may be objected that all this is a mere hypothesis, but it is one
which derives all but certainty from its evident probability. Let us
however suppose that the match originated, on the lady's side, in a
laudable desire of obtaining an establishment of her own, on the gen-
tleman's in an involuntary submission to charms against whose influ-
ence philosophy was unable to defend him. If such were the case,
sad indeed was our heroine's lot. The philosopher was troubled with
a moral weakness which as a single man he might have humoured
ad libitum, without inflicting injury upon any one but himself. He
despised money. Having however once married, he was not likely
to conciliate his wife's affections by the advocacy of short commons,
nor to preserve them through the medium of a meagre and ill-
appointed household. Xantippe was a shrewd woman, and saw very

LETTER FROM AN" OXFORD STUDENT TO HIS MAMMA. 151

clearly that, with all his philosophy, her husband was a great fool.
He had talents, she knew, capable of providing the golden source
and means of respectability. Why then not exert them for this wise
and legitimate purpose ? Of what use was his ^Daemon, unless it
would pay his butcher's and his baker's bills ? Most eloquently and
most forcibly would she remonstrate with him, upon the folly of his
wasting his instructive breath without receiving a quid pro quo, and
of giving gratis lectures to all the young boobies of Athens. But
Socrates was a perfect philosopher, and cared little how domestic
matters prospered, provided he were left at liberty to lounge with
his idle companions through the groves of Academus, or to rigma-
role upon abstract questions in the Lyceum.

Unhappy Xantippe ! How often did she curse the day when her
husband resigned the employment of a statuary, and commenced the
profession of a philosopher. In the bitterness of her matronly dis-
satisfaction, can we be surprised that she should at times assail her
husband in terms of keen invective, not unfrequently of undisguised
abuse? And when her partner, the man of a rectified temper,
listened to her patiently, and answered her with nothing but the
irritating smile of resignation, was it an unpardonable offence if she
seized the first domestic utensil, which came to hand, and did her
best to break the little philosopher's head with it? Not a word is
said, not a suspicion murmured against the purity of Xantippe's virtue,
and yet has her memory been outraged byj more abuse than would
have sufficed for the most incorrect lady among her contem-
poraries. And all this has happened merely because she had the
bad fortune to marry a philosopher who would not allow her even
the luxury of contradiction. With any other man less wise than to
neglect worldly comforts, and despise the adventitious charms of
wealth, more human too than to preserve a constant mastery over his
-temper, she might, and would probably, have enjoyed a tolerable
share of happiness. At any rate she would, as far as we can conjec-
ture, have escaped the unmerited notoriety to which she has been
condemned by prejudiced biographers and an undiscerning posterity.

Oxford, 1835.

LETTER FROM AN OXFORD STUDENT TO HIS MAMMA.

Brazen-Nose Coll. 1832.
Dear Mamma,

Your anger to soften,
At last I sit down to indite ;
'Tis clear I am wrong very often,
Since 'tis true I so seldom do write !

But now I'll be silent no longer,

Pro and con all my deeds I'll disclose,

All the pro's in my verse I'll make stronger,
And hide all my con's in my pro's.

152 LETTER FROM AN OXFORD STUDENT TO HIS MAMMA.

You told me on coming to college

To dip into books and excel ;
Why the tradesmen themselves must acknowledge
% I've dipt into books pretty well.

The advice you took pleasure in giving

To direct me is sure to succeed,

And I think you'll confess Tarn living

With very great credit indeed.

I wait on the Reverend Doctors,

Whose friendship you told me to seek,
And as for the two learned proctors,

They've called for me twice in a week.

*
Indeed we've got intimate lately,

And I seldom can pass down the street
But their kindness surprises me greatly,

For they stop me whenever we meet.

My classics, with all their old stories,

I now very closely pursue,
And ne'er read the " Remedia Amoris"

Without thinking, dear mother, of you.

Of Virgil I've more than a smatter,
And Horace I've nearly by heart,
But though fam'd for his smartness and satire,
He's not quite so easy as Smart.

English bards I admire every tittle,

And dote upon practical lore,
And, though yet I have studied but Little ,

I hope to be master of Moore.

You'll see from the nonsense I've written,
That my Devils are none of the Blues,

That I'm playful and gay as a kitten,
And nearly as fond of the Muse.

Bright puns (oh how crossly you'll bear 'em)

I scatter, while logic I cram,
For Euclid and puns asinorum,

We leave to the Johnians of Cam.

My pony, in spite of my chidings,

Is as skittish and shy as can be,
Not Yorkshire, with all her three ridings,

Is half such a shier as he.

I wish he was stronger and larger,
For in truth I must certainly own

He is far the most moderate charger,

In this land of high chargers I've known.

( 153 )

My doubts of profession are vanish'd,

I'll tell you the cause when we meet,
Church, Army, and Bar, I have banish'd,

And now only look to the Fleet.
Come down then, when summer is gilding

Our gardens, our trees, and our founts,
I'll give you accounts of each building —

How you'll wonder at all my accounts !

Come down when the soft winds are sighing,
Come down — Oh ! you shall and you must,

Come down when the dust clouds are flying,
Dear mamma ! COME DOWN WITH THE DUST.

SWEETEST— DEAREST !

When the fairy queen sleeps in her blue bell bow'rs

On a couch of roses and fresh night flow'rs ;

When the lover is. dreaming of joys now flown,

And the dreary heart feels chill and lone ; —

When the infant is hush'd at its mother's breast,

And its soft eyes are closing in innocent rest ; —

When the lulPd wind breathes a sigh to thee —

Then sweetest— dearest, come to me !

By the moonlight's smile on the bright river's foam,

By the star that guides the wand'rer home,

By the wild flow'r that blushes so like thy cheek,

By the language thy dark eyes alone can speak,

By all the hours that together we've blest,

By the kindness that lives in thy peaceful breast,

By the vows so often sworn to thee,

Oh ! sweetest — dearest, come to me !

Mrs. Charles Greville.

SONNET.

I had a thought at midnight, which oppress'd

My mind most deeply, and whene'er I strove
To cast it off, that I might take my rest,

It clung unto me like a thought we love ;
And recollection could not soothe my grief,

But aided it ; to nature then I turn'd,
Yet e'en from her I could not gain relief, —

I look'd, I saw, I felt, and yet I mourn'd.
The starry sky, the mountain's foaming brook,

The silv'ry flowers, awakening from their sleep,
The trees with all their music, while they shook

Down the bright dew-drops, only made me weep ; —
In our own souls we often find a " void,"

Which would be filled, yet cannot be supplied. F.

M. M.—No. 8. U

( 154 )

ANECDOTES OF FEUDAL TIMES IN ENGLAND.

A SUSPICION is pretty generally attached to our early historians,
who were for the most part connected with religious establishments,
that they have greatly exaggerated the vices of the periods which
they describe. Frequently suffering from the rapacity of the mo-
narch, or the proximate nobility, they certainly may, in many cases,
have employed the language of exasperation, and, magnifying the
evils inflicted upon their order, have depicted with a highly-coloured
pencil the characters of their oppressors. On the other hand, as
many of the marauding barons were founders of monasteries and
augmented the possessions of the church, some with the hope of
expiating crimes already perpetrated, and more to obtain preter-
natural assistance in future expeditions, the religious historians may,
from motives of gratitude and policy, have exalted their characters
as splendid examples for imitation.

With these or similar limitations to implicit reliance on the au-
thority of their predecessors, modern historians have received their
accounts, and generalised their facts. The recent publications of
the Record Commissioners have confirmed, in innumerable instances,
the minute accuracy with which the fathers of English history re-
corded events. If we find them thus corroborated in some circum-
stances, shall we, because the official record has not yet been dis-
covered, or has long since ceased to exist, refuse them credence in
others? I am for enlarging the sphere of their influence upon our faith,
and would deem them equally credible in many matters which, at
present, rest solely upon their own authority. If the character of the
times be not absolutely repugnant to the occurrence of a particular
event, shall we, because it may sound strangely to a modern ear,
regard it as a monkish fable, invented in irritation, and narrated in
animosity ?

The general history of a country is like the picture of an exten-
sive landscape, in which only the more prominent features of the
scene can be perceived. To acquire a perfect acquaintance with
the individual objects, the place must be visited and its parts exa-
mined. I propose to offer a few of those anecdotes, which would
have encumbered the lucubrations of a Hume, but which are essen-
tial to the acquisition of a correct knowledge of manners, which in-
terest us by the very fact that they are dissimilar to our own. I do
not intend to burden this, or, if the subject should be more extensive
than it at present appears, any other paper with dry antiquarian de-
tails, and shall omit the results of a careful collation of some of our
ancient historians with the records which frequently substantiate
their statements. Of these I select the most remarkable, with a
view to the amusement of readers, who would deem their time ill
spent in consulting the sources which supply them.

ANECDOTES OF FEUDAL TIMES IN ENGLAND. 155

In stating1 that the manners of our ancestors were greatly different
from those which prevail among the same classes in the present age,
perhaps I may not be altogether correct. Though differing in form,
they will probably on consideration be found agreeing in essentia.
If the gentleman of the present day do not recruit his finances by a
foray upon a neighbour, or by a forcible entry into the treasury of
a monastery, or half roasting a miscreant Jew, he has until lately
effected the same object by trading in boroughs ; if he can no longer
levy contributions upon hi? vassals in the form of reliefs, heriots,
wardships, and the other apparatus of the feudal laws, he can turn
his tenants out of their farms and do what he pleases with his own,
when they vote in opposition to his supposed interests. The loss of
the exquisite pleasure which attended the exercise of capital juris-
diction is inadequately compensated by the amusement which the
military gentleman finds in ordering and superintending the inflic-
tion of torture by the lash. Though the temper and opinions of the
times unhappily prohibit a gentleman from appearing, after the
fashion of his ancestors, in the capacity of a robber on the highway,
nothing precludes him from the safer course of purloining public
property, and revelling in the plunder of the exchequer, as a sine-
curist and pensioner.

The passion for the chase might be supposed to have existed more
vigorously among the gentry of ancient than of modern times. To
the former the objects of pursuit, originally essential to the very
existence of the barbarian hunter, were partly necessary for the
support of the household, and for the recreations of those who, de-
spising the acquirements of the schools, were unable to fill up the
hours of vacancy with mental pleasures. Hence the extreme jea-
lousy which watched over the warren and the forest, the dreadful
severity of the Forest Laws, and the horrid enormities which re-
sulted from their operation.* The anxiety for the retention of the
privileges of warren and chase, which is every where manifested in
the pleadings on quo warranto in the reign of the first Edward, is
assignable to a rational motive. But for the existence of the mo-
dern game-laws, which have descended in an unbroken line from
the first code of Canute, through the edicts of Norman princes,
to the enactments of the statute book, what reason can be offered,
admissible by common sense, or satisfactory to common humanity 1
While the population of towns and cities are gradually discarding
the rude and boisterous diversions which delighted their semi-
barbarous ancestors, and substituting the pleasures of the under-
standing for those of the body, the higher classes, the senator and
the magistrate, neglect important duties, and periodically suspend
the business of a nation, that they may enjoy the sports of the field,
which the game-laws are claimed to protect. Of all the disgusting
legacies of ages of brutal ignorance, these alone remain almost in
their pristine vigour, a damning testimony of the low grade on the
scale of intellect occupied by that portion of the gentry who require

* Vide Job. Sarisbur. Polycrat.

156 ANECDOTES OF FEUDAL TIMES IN ENGLAND.

these enactments. The philosopher, however, sees that even these
persons are not doomed to perpetual darkness ; that they must even-
tually be stimulated by the rapid advances of the ** lower orders"
in the arts and embellishments of civilization ; and that, in time, the
discovery will be made, that providing for the cook and the poulterer,
or superseding the rat-catcher, are employments unworthy of a man
of sense whose necessary avocation they do not constitute.

Among many points of resemblance between ancient and modern
times, a case is recorded on a roll of pleadings, exhibiting an offen-
sive fact, which would be incredible on other authority, of one baron
transferring his wife to another by a formal deed of conveyance,
for considerations duly had and delivered.* In the provincial news-
papers we often read of the sale of wives among the very dregs of
society ; and it is currently said that some such thing as an exchange
has been made between two men in the highest rank of the modern
peerage. It is to be hoped that this is as solitary an instance of de-
pravity as the conveyance.

In policy the aristocracy, to maintain a selfish independence/have
ever vacillated between the two extremes of the state ; at one mo-
ment courting the people when the regal power was to be di-
minished ; at another, in close and natural alliance with the crown,
when a spark of public liberty was to be extinguished. All but
themselves can foretel the inevitable consequences. Their efforts
to preserve the odious powers conferred by the feudal system
exalted the monarch and more effectually depressed themselves :
their mean subservience to the crown, of which the necessity is in-
duced upon them by the principle of primogeniture, and their lavish
expenditure of public treasure to secure a monopoly in the mer-
chandise of boroughs, gave birth to the Reform Bill. The result of
the present contest between the people and the higher orders will
as assuredly terminate in the discomfiture of the latter, as if it were
to be decided by the arms to which their supporters madly recom-
mend an appeal. Do they form an exception to the rule, that fools
may learn wisdom by experience ?

In fine, the more closely we observe the coincidences of ancient
and modern times in this light, the stronger will appear the propriety
of an emendation, formerly made by a correspondent of the Monthly
Magazine, in the classical line, which must now be read —

" Tempora mutantur, non mutamur in illis."

" Pytte and Gallowes" To many baronies, both spiritual and
temporal, as well as to some corporations, was formerly annexed the
right of hanging male and drowning female delinquents. The ex-
tensive privileges claimed and exercised by the great feudatories,
within their respective jurisdictions, justify Spelman's description,
that every superior lord was a petty king over his dependents.*
The Regia Majestas of Scotland mentions certain criminal pleas be-
longing to some baronies, and particularly to such as had and held

* Rotuli Parliament*, torn. i. p. 140. t Gloss, in v. Parliamentum.

ANECDOTES OF FEUDAL TIMES IN ENGLAND. 157

their own court with soc and sac, gallows and pit, toill and theme,
infangtheife, and outfangtheife ; all of which, except the power over
life and death, were enjoyed by the same class of persons, the thanes
and bishops, in the time of Edward the Confessor. Capital punish-
ments within these miniature sovereignties seem to have been intro-
duced with the improvements made by the Normans upon the feudal
institutions of the Saxons; perhaps in the reign of Henry I., who is
said to have been the first monarch that punished theft by the gal-
lows.* Unquestionably the law of the Confessor which defines the
powers of those bishops and thanes [barones, in the Latin translation],
who had their own courts and customs, t is silent on the subject of
capital punishments, and we know that they were interdicted by
William the Conqueror ;J yet we find among the pleas of the
county of Suffolk, in the first year of king John's reign, a claim of
the bishop of Ely, in opposition to Sampson, abbot of St. Edmund's
Bury, to the privilege of hanging within the liberties of his church,
in virtue of a charter which was granted by king Edgar, and con-
firmed by Edward the Confessor, by William the Conqueror, Henry
II., and other monarchs.§

In this case, the abbot of Bury complains against Sir Osbert de
Wechesam, a knight of the bishop of Ely, that he unjustly erected
a gallows and made executions in the manor of Hecham, within the
liberty of St. Edmund, in violation of the franchise, which, the court
roll states, appertained to the house from the time of Edward the
Conqueror. || Another complaint to the same effect is preferred
against Heinfrid de Criketott, who pleads that he holds as of the
honour of Boulogne ; and that, as from the conquest, he is entitled
in his land to raise the gallows, and do judgment upon thieves ; for
his father caused a thief to be hanged, first calling in the bailiff of
the abbot, who had the right of being present at the judgment.
Heinfridus further pleads that during his own minority, Osbert de
Glanville, having the wardship of the land, caused a thief to be hung
as in right of the appendant franchise ; and that he himself had
done the same thing after requiring the abbot's bailiff to attend the
execution. The place of execution is called in these pleadings
qualm -stowe,H and Sir Francis Palgrave regards it as a proof of the
tenacity with which the people still adhered to the ancient language
of the country.**

The origin of the punishment by drowning may, perhaps, be
traced to a custom of the ancient Germans, by whom, according to

* Roger de Hoveden, p. 471.

•f" Cap. 2l, de baronibus, qui suas habent curias, &c.

J LI. Will. I. cap. 7- This clemency was extended to cases of high treason.
William, Count d'Eu, having, by judicial combat, been convicted of a con-
spiracy against the king, was punished by deprivation of sight.— Chron.
Saxon, ad An. 1096.

§ Placitorum Abbreviatio, 1 Joh. Suffolk, p. 22.

Rotuli Curiae Regis, vol. ii. Introd. p. x. p. 6 and 10. Placit. Abr. ubi cit.

IT Cwealm stowe, patibuli locus. Somner.

** Rot. Cur. Introd. p. xi. With submission to the learned commissioner,

158 ANECDOTES OF FEUDAL TIMES IN ENGLAND.

Tacitus, the idle, the cowardly, and the deformed,* were destroyed
by submersion. By the laws of the ancient Burgundians, women
who eloped from their husbands were smothered in mud.f Of
drowning1 as a punishment, Sir Henry Spelman adduces, from the
archives of Rochester, an instance which occurred in England in
the year 1200. Two women came into the town of Suffliete in the
county of Kent, who had stolen many cloths in the town of Groin-
done ; and the men of the same town of Croindone, whose cloths
were feloniously carried away, followed the women to the town of
Suffliete, and there they were taken and imprisoned, and had their
judgment in the court of Suffliete to carry hot iron ; one of them
was acquitted, and the other condemned, whereupon, she was
drowned in the Beckpool. All this happened, the record continues,
in the time of Gilbert, Lord Bishop of Rochester; and at that judg-
ment were present the coroners of our lord the king : Paul de
Stanes was then cacherel (steward) of the hundred of Acstane. And
at that time Robert de Heshame, a monk, was keeper of the manor
of Suffliete. And in judging the women there were Sir Henry de
Cobham, and many other eminent men of the country.^

The ordeal, or trial by hot iron, to which these women were
subjected, continued in operation until 1219, when Henry III. and
his council issued a circular missive to the justices, prohibiting this
supposed appeal to the judgment of God.§ The punishment of
gibbeting seems to have been introduced in this reign, and is men-
tioned by the historian, Matthew Paris. A gibbet was erected in
London in the year 1236, on which one man was hanged after he
was dead, and another while living, and suffered to perish. Pre-
vious to this exhibition, the king issued an order to the sheriff' of
Middlesex to cause to be made without delay in the place where
the gaols were formerly erected, that is to say at the Elms, two
good gibbets of strong and excellent timber for hanging robbers,
and other malefactors. The cost incurred was to be defrayed at the
exchequer, and the instrument is dated 22nd May, 4 Henry III.||

The following explanation of the privilege of a corporation at
this period is contained in the return of the jurors of Wallingford,
in Berkshire, 1261. The jurors say upon their oaths, that no per-
son in this borough, for any fact by him committed, ought to be
hanged ; for, according to the custom of this borough, he ought to

more decisive proofs of the vitality of the Saxon language than the remote
existence of a few terms, which were even then becoming obsolete, may be
derived from the ballad which commences

" It was in the merry month of May

When the little birds were singing on each spray," &c.

With two exceptions, and with slight changes in the orthography, all the
words are Saxon.

* " Corpore infames." De Morib. cap. 28.

t Barrington, Obs. on Ancient Statutes.

J Gloss, art. Furca et Fossa. Pytte and Gallows.

I Rymer, Foedera, Tom. I. p. 154.— New Edit.

(I Rot. Liter. Clausar. p. 419-

ANECDOTES OF FEUDAL TIMES IN ENGLAND. 159

be deprived of his eyes, arid other parts ; and that such privilege has
been used time out of mind.*

The vellum register of the manor of Spalding, in Lincolnshire, to
which Gough refers, records the execution of eighty felons, from
41 Henry III. to 16 Henry VIII. ;t an interval, however, of above
two centuries and a half, which furnishes an average of three exe-
cutions in a year, with an excess of seventeen,

It may easily be conceived that these numerous jurisdictions in
capital felonies were detrimental to public justice. Persons were
often adjudged to death for offences which more competent tribu-
nals than the courts of baro/iies and manors would have dismissed
with slighter punishment. A man sometimes committed a felony,
which ought to have been tried before the king's officers, but was
seized in his flight through the territory of some petty sovereign,
for a real or supposed offence, distinct from the first, and executed
by a judgment in the baronial or manorial court, as the case
might be. Certainly the judges could have done no more than put
an end to the felon's career ; but, as in the instance of the men at
Derby, who committed one offence, for which they deserved hang-
ing, and were hanged for another which they had no means of
committing, the justice of the country was outraged. A ridiculous
case of this kind occurred in the reign of Edward I. The presump-
tion and subsequent obstinacy of the haughty baron are not more
remarkable than the absurdity of the means seriously adopted to
revive the lustre of the monarch's tarnished crown, and to heal the
wound sustained by his dignity.

At the michaelmas parliamentary pleadings at Clypston, in 1290,
Bogo de Knowil, the king's bailiff of Montgomery, complains that
a person in that county, whose name he knows not, having slain a.
servant of the bishop of Hereford, fled to the land of Edmund de
Mortimer, of Wiggemor, where he was seized and thrown into
prison. Edmund de Mortimer, though frequently required by
Bogo to surrender the felon into the king's prison of Mortimer,
absolutely refused to part with him ; and afterwards by a judgment
obtained in his own court at Wiggemor, at the suit of the deceased's
relations, hanged the felon, in violation of the liberties of the king's
castle of Montgomery, and against his crown and dignity. On the
baron's admission of the fact, and submission to the king's will,
judgment was formally pronounced, that as he could not deny having
adjudged the felon in his court of Wiggemor in violation, &c., he
had entirely forfeited his liberty of Wiggemor ; but, by the king's
especial favour, it was granted that Edmund de Mortimer should
not lose the liberty on this account, but be amerced one hundred
marks for his offence ; and, in token of restitution of the king's
liberty, he should render to Bogo de Knowil, the king's bailiff, a
mannikin or puppet (" quandam formam hominis") in place of the
executed felon. At the same time, the bailiff was solemnly enjoined

* Blount, Tenures, p. 150. f Camden, vol. II. p. 345.

160 ANECDOTES OF FEUDAL TIMES IN ENGLAND.

to receive the puppet, and hang it instead of the felon. Whether
Mortimer deemed himself too powerful to be affected by this
sentence, or regarded the ridiculous condition with which it was
invested, as a mere form of words, he did not condescend to honour
it with his compliance ; and in January the next year he was him-
self a suitor to the king at Asserugh, complaining that, in the interval,
the royal bailiff, Bogo, had seized into the king's hands the liberty
of Wiggemor. The bailiff, in reply, alleged the non-performance
of the delivery of a puppet or doll ; on which the king and council
granted that the liberty should be replevied to him until the puppet
in question should be rendered for execution to the king's bailiff at
the castle of Montgomery.*

During the preceding reign, in 1240, an accident, says Manning,
happened in the Abbey of Waverley, which made a considerable
noise at the time, and furnishes us with a striking picture of the
times, as well as of the resolution and authority of an abbot. A
young man, it seems, about Easter, was received into the house in
the capacity of shoemaker to the convent, where he exercised his
craft without molestation till about the beginning of August, when a
party was sent by the king's orders to secure him on a charge of
murder. They accordingly came, and like good men and true,
notwithstanding the remonstrances and menaces of this holy body,
executed the commission they were sent upon, and carried the
young man away with them to prison. Astonished at this impious
outrage on their privileges, and foreseeing, as their annalist very
justly observes, that if things should go on at this rate there would
soon be an end of all distinction between religious and seculars, the
monks, having first agreed to suspend divine service in the house
until satisfaction should be made, dismissed their abbot to the legate,
cardinal Otho, or Ottobon, at that time in England, with a proper
representation of their case. The legate heard what they had to
say, but stirred not in the matter. The abbot hereupon laid it before
the king, requiring in pretty high terms, that God and Holy Church
should be avenged of those irreverent officers, by an immediate res-
titution of their charge. The king seemed well enough inclined to
gratify him ; but, the lords and great men of the council interfering,
all he could obtain was a promise to be heard upon his petition, on
condition of taking off the interdict under which he had laid his
convent. Accordingly, at the time appointed, the charters, muni-
ments, and privileges of the order were laid before the king and
council, who commented upon them as they thought fit, and not
much to the advantage or satisfaction of the complainants. At length,
however, the friends of Holy Church prevailed ; and it appearing
upon the face of the charters, &c. « That the precincts of abbeys and
their estates were, by apostolical authority, exempted from the en-
croachments of all wicked and profane persons, f . e. from all lay
visitations whatsoever, and inviolable as the altars of churches ; and
that all manner of persons committing violence thereupon, stood ipso

* Rotuli Parliament}, torn. I. p. 45.

ANECDOTES OF FEUDAL TIMES IN ENGLAND. 161

facto excommunicate ;' the king granted the abbot's petition in its
full extent, and the shoemaker was immediately sent back, to the
great joy and edification of all the good people of England. Mean-
while the sergeant and his party, who had done no other than their
duty, in executing the lawful orders of the government, came off
but poorly, being condemned to ask pardon of God and the monks
at the gate of the convent, and afterwards to be publicly whipped,
which sentence having been fully executed upon them by the dean
of the house and the vicar of Farnham, they were absolved in form,
and, having a sufficient penance enjoined them besides, they were
dismissed.*

The numerous obstructions which the privileges possessed by the
barons, and other feudal proprietaries, opposed to the course of
justice in the due administration of the laws, at length became a
national grievance; and as early as 1277 a parliament, held at
Gloucester, passed, it is supposed, the statute of Quo Warranto, by
which all who held any liberties, or franchises, were required to
produce their charters, or otherwise forfeit these liberties to the crown.
This statute was most extensively put in force in the twentieth year
of Edward I., 1291, and the proceedings, published by the Record
Commissioners, exhibit a vast mass of curious particulars relating
to the state of England in the thirteenth century. The result seems
to have been rather unsatisfactory at the time ; for, says the com-
piler of the Annals of Waverley, all the bishops, barons, and other
free tenants of the crown were grievously oppressed with various
expenses and vexations ; though the king did not derive much emo-
lument from the measure. A remarkable case of the exercise of
capital jurisdiction by a corporation was developed by the proceed-
ings against Master Adam de Walton, parson of Wiggan, and ex-
officio mayor of the borough. Among the privileges claimed by
the corporators was that of infangthef, in those pleadings called
infangenthef, or the liberty of trying a thief within the manor,
barony, or borough to which it was annexed, f It appears that
Roger de Assheton, finding William le Procurateur, or Proctor, with
the mainour, or stolen goods in his possession, caused him to be
attached by the bailiffs of the mayor of Wiggan, for goods, which
he alleged Proctor had stolen near Hasphulle, in the wapentake of
Salfordes ; and therefore completely out of the jurisdiction of that
mayor, so far as the privilege of infangthef was concerned. A de-
claration of the felony having been filed against William le Proctor,
he thereupon called to his warranty, Henry Crowe, who came to
the court next following, and warranted for him, saying that he
would have good warranty at the next court. On this, the bur-
gesses, and other persons, who constituted the court, adjudged
Proctor to be discharged sine die ; and detained Henry Crowe in

* Hist. Surrey, vol. III. p. 150. Dugd. Monast Anglic. Tom. V. p. 239.
Ann. WaverL p. 201. On verifying this citation, I find that the annalist
styles the " sergeant" a knight.

t LI. Edw. Conf. cap. 26. The term is compounded of infangen, to take
or catch, and theof, a thief.

M.M.—No. 8. X

162 ANECDOTES OF FEUDAL TIMES IN ENGLAND.

prison for three weeks, until the sitting of the next court. Then,
says the record, the aforesaid Henry came and acknowledged the
robbery, and he was hanged by the judgment of the court in the
absence of the coroner. And the aforesaid William (the criminal)
is still living.* One would naturally suppose that the principal
charge against the mayor or corporation, in this case, was the exe-
cution of the wrong person, of the innocent bail, instead of the
thief; but, on the contrary, the mayor was required to account for
having exercised the liberty of utfangthef, without possessing any
charter which conferred that privilege upon the borough. If the
former charge had been made against the mayor, probably his
defence would have been Crowe's singular and unexpected confes-
sion, which is so obscurely stated, that it does not appear whether
he declared himself to be the felon, or merely admitted that a
robbery had taken place. In either case, the anecdote does not
redound very greatly to the credit of Master Adam, the mayor, or
the king's attorney, by whom he was prosecuted.

Daniel Defoe has left an extremely interesting account of the
" Halifax Gibbet Law," but its great length forbids extraction, and
as to the law itself, or rather custom, it is well known by the cele-
brity which the Halifax instrument of punishment has acquired as
the model of the Maiden, introduced into Scotland by the Regent
Morton, who was the first to fall under its axe. An anecdote from
Defoe must conclude these notices of our ancient criminal adminis-
tration in reference to the ultimum supplidum : —

" They tell us of a custom which prevailed here, in the case of a
criminal being to be executed, viz. that if after his head was laid
down, and the signal given to pull out the pin, he could be so
nimble as to snatch out his head between the pulling out the pin and
the falling down of the axe, and could get upon his feet, jump off
the scaffold, run down a hill that lies just before it, and get through
the river before the executioner could overtake him, and seize upon
him, he was to escape ; and, though the executioner did overtake
him on the other side of the river, he was not to bring him back, at
least he was not to be executed.

" But as they showed me the form of the scaffold, and the weight
of the axe, it was, in my opinion, next to impossible any man should
be so quick-eyed as to see the pulling out the pin, and so quick with
his head as to snatch it out. Yet they tell a story of one fellow
that did it, and was so bold after he had jumped off the scaffold, and
was running down the hill, with the executioner at his heels, to turn
about and to call to the people to give him his hat ; that having
afterwards jumpt into the river, which is but a little one, and not
deep, he stopped, intending to drown the executioner, if he had come
up to him ; at which the poor fellow stopped too, and was afraid to
go into the water to seize him. But this story is said to be too

J " Et tune venit prsedictus Henricus, et cognovit latrocinium, et fuit
suspensus per judicium in absentia coronatoris," &c. Placita de Quo War-
janto, 20 Edw. I. p. 372.

ANECDOTES OF FEUDAL TIMES IN ENGLAND. 163

long ago to have any vouchers, though the people indeed all receive
it for truth."

From another story, which he relates, Defoe infers that execu-
tions were so frequent here, that " it was not thought a sight worth
the people's running to see."

Ancient Slave-Trade. — Spelman, in a brief notice of Magna
Charta, styles it that sacred diploma which confirms the liberties
of England recovered by a most destructive war, and at a vast ex-
pense of blood. From this eulogium one would almost suppose,
that Sir Henry had never carefully perused the charter, which, it
has been observed, " conferred freedom on those only who were free
before," and which classes in the same clause Englishmen not only
with the oxen and swine, but with the inanimate herbage of their
owner's estates, considering them like those things a species of property
too valuable to be wasted or destroyed. By this charter, the guardian
of a heir is prohibited from taking from his land more than the
reasonable issues without destruction and waste of men and things.*
The men alluded to in this chapter were of that class upon a manor
whom feudal lawyers define to be villani glebce adscriptiti, serfs or
natives, wretches born on the soil, who passed along with the estate
from one owner to another, without the power of voluntarily remov-
ing themselves. Their condition and duties were those of other
slaves ; they were occupied in low and dirty work ; they could
neither marry nor give their children in marriage, without the
approbation of their owner, for which they paid a fine called the
marchet ; nor could they, without the same permission, educate their
sons for the church ; because, on becoming monks, the lord would
lose all his right and title in his slaves.

Froissart says there is a usage in England, and also in several
countries, that the nobles have great franchises over their men, and
hold them in servage. Not only did they subject their bondmen to
services of the most degrading nature, but they obliged them, as
appears from a passage quoted by Harrington, from Struvius, to
perform disgusting and indecent actions in public. t

These miserable creatures, constituting no small portion of the
population, were often transferred at the will of the owner ; some-
times in a fit of piety, in pure and perpetual alms, to a religious
house, and sometimes they were bartered and sold like the Africans. J
The clergy as well as the gentry were slave-dealers, in the modern
acceptation of the term. From the couchir-book of the abbey of
Whalley, Dr. Whitaker has transcribed a deed of the sale of a slave
and his family, which is apparently without date, but which is pro-
bably anterior to the year 1309, as the abbot by whom it was exe-
cuted died in that year. This instrument may be translated in the
following terms : —

* Sine destructione et vasto hominum et rerum. cap. IV.
f Obs. on Anc. Statutes, p. 306.
} Harl. MS. 3764, fol. 1.

164 ANECDOTES OF FEUDAL TIMES IN ENGLAND.

" To all, &c., Gregory, abbot, and the convent of Whalley, greet-
ing1. Know ye, that we for ourselves, and each of our successors,
have given, granted, and delivered to our beloved in Christ, John
G. and his assignees, R., the son of Adam, our native, together with
the whole of his family and all his effects, to have, and to hold for
one hundred shillings, delivered and paid to us by the aforesaid
John ; so that the aforesaid R., with all his family and all his effects,
as aforesaid, be discharged, and quit of all challenge, &c., and so
that neither we nor our successors can in future claim any thing of
right in the aforesaid, in respect of his state as our native,"* &c.

The clergy, however, and especially several of the popes, en-
forced the manumission of slaves as a duty upon laymen, and in-
veighed against the scandal of keeping Christians in bondage ; but
they were not, it is said, equally ready in performing their own
parts ; the villeins upon church-lands were among the last who were
emancipated, f In the twelfth year of Edward III. a general com-
mission was issued to manumit the slaves. J The greater part of the
peasants in some countries of Germany had acquired their liberty
before the end of the 13th century ; in other parts, as well as in all
the northern and eastern regions of Europe, they remained much
longer in a state of vassalage. Particular instruments for the manu-
mission of slaves in England are extant of the age of Henry VIII. ; §
and instances of predial servitude have been discovered so late as the
time of Elizabeth ; and perhaps they might be traced still lower.

Insurrection of Slaves. The oppressions to which this unhappy
race were victims in some manors, frequently urged them to adopt
violent measures with a view to obtain amelioration. Of the servile
wars which sometimes arose, no case occurs in which the slaves
were eminently successful, but, on the contrary, their chains were
more firmly rivetted by their struggles for liberty.

Dr. Ormerod, the historian of Cheshire, has collected from the
MS. leger-book of Vale Royal Abbey some curious particulars re-
lating to the hostility which the natives of Dernhall manor for a long
time displayed toward their monastic proprietors early in the 14th
century. It appears that the hatred of their dependents began to
manifest itself in a violent manner in the year 1321, "when," says
Dr. Ormerod, " the monks, who ventured to pass their consecrated
limits, were pursued by the Winningtons, Leightons, and Bulkeleys,
and saved their lives only by flight ; and, in the same year, the leger-
book records a still more atrocious instance, by which it appears
that the Ollingtons murdered John Boddeworth, a monk of the
abbey, and played at foot-ball with the head after the perpetration
of the deed.

In 1329, the year before the completion of the abbey, the quarrels
between Vale Royal, and the natives of Dernhall, were not settled

* Hist. Whalley, p. 134. See also Pennant's Tour in North Wales, and
Catherall's Hist. N. Wales, vol. ii., Anglesea.
t Hallam's Middle Ages, vol. i. p. 221.
t Ryraer, Foider. torn. ii. P. 4. p. 20.
§ Harrington, p. 2/4.

ANECDOTES OF FEUDAL TIMES IN ENGLAND. 165

without an appeal to arms, which ended in the submission of the
latter with halters round their necks, and a severe amercement.

The year 1336 brought the disturbances to their head, and pro-
duced an exhibition of firmness on the part of the poor villeins
scarcely credible, when the state of that race of men at the period is
considered. The insurrection originated in the oppressive customs
of the manor of Dernhall. At this time a crowd of the natives of
Dernhall and Over fled to Hugh le Ferrars, justice of Chester, who
was travelling by Harebache Cross, in the neighbourhood of the
abbey, asserted themselves to be free tenants and not vassals of the
soil, and laid their complaints before him respecting the oppressions
of the abbot. These proceedings terminated in the imprisonment
of the ringleaders by their lord until a proper submission had been
made. The spirit of the natives, however, was not lessened by the
confinement; and, under the pretence of a pilgrimage to the shrine
of St. Thomas, at Hereford, they set out on an expedition to see the
king in person ; but this second attempt terminated likewise in im-
prisonment in the jail of Nottingham for some excesses committed
by the way.

A third attempt was more successful ; and Adam Hychekyn, Henry
Pymeson, John Christian, and Agnes his wife, succeeded in laying
their grievances before the king in parliament in London, and ob-
tained a command to Henry de Ferrars, justice of Chester, to enquire
into the nature of their grievances, and see justice done to them.
The abbot's charters were produced, and his claims substantiated,
and he received instructions to inflict such chastisement on his na-
tives as might prevent any further trouble being given to the king
in the business.

The justice of Chester had now become an object of their hatred,
and the rustics succeeded in laying an information before their sove-
reign at Windsor, that the justice was 'corrupted by one hundred
pounds, which the abbot had raised by defrauding them, and a new
precept was issued to prince Edward, duke of Cornwall, and earl of
Chester, to render his assistance in any possible way to men labour-
ing under such seemingly unjust oppressions. Under this strong
protection thirty of the natives attended at Chester, and prevailed
on the lawyers to prefer their claims against the abbot, who likewise
attended in person. Their success was the same as usual, and, on
losing their cause, they fled with their families and goods, and
threw themselves on the protection of queen Philippa, as the tenants
of her son, the duke of Cornwall. This application had the desired
effect. The queen entered .into their cause as a personal insult to
her son, and addressed a letter to the abbot conceived in terms which
compelled him to take an immediate opportunity of making his
peace at the royal court, by the exhibition of the charters of his
foundation, arid the decisions of the justices of Chester.

The abbot was returning home through Rutlandshire, in the neigh-
bourhood of Exton, when he perceived his way blocked up by his
determined and exasperated tenantry, arranged under the command
of Sir William Venables of Bradwall, who had a personal quarrel
with the abbot on account of his brother, the baron of Kinderton.

166 THE THAMES.

A skirmish immediately commenced, in which the attendant on the
abbot's palfrey, William Fynche, was shot dead with an arrow, and
the rustics maintained the contest with considerable success, until
the rest of the abbot's attendants, under the direction of William
"V^allensis, and John Colon, rode up to his rescue, and effected it
temporarily, but not without considerable bloodshed ; the country,
however, " bestiales illi Rutlandise homines," was up in arms, and
the abbot was dragged " ignominiose satis," before the king, who
was then at Richmond.

The decision against the natives was here confirmed for the last time,
and John Waryng, with nine others, including Christian and his wife,
were indicted for the murder of William Fynche, before Geoffrey le
Scrope, but were liberated with the forfeiture of all their goods to the
abbot. The matter was here brought to its termination ; the greater
part submitted, and the rest were taken by Sir John Don, forester of
Delamere, at Hockenhull; all of them expiated their insurrection in
the stocks and Weverham prison; and Henry Pym, the prime mover
of the sedition, incurred the forfeiture of all his lands in Dernhall,
and was sentenced to offer up a wax-taper for the remainder of his
life in the church of Vale Royal, on the festival of the assumption.

H. T. R.

THE THAMES.

" I love, O Thames ! to wander on thy banks

When the sun's parting rays have softly shed

Their rainbow colours on thy bosom broad;

And when the weary angler homeward hies,

And all is still ;

Save the shrill whistle of the boatswain's pipe

From some far distant bark, which hither sails

Laden with Indian perfumes, or rich stores

From Persia's spicy marts. I love to trace

The distant hamlet, and the village spire,

The ruin'd abbey 'midst the tufted trees,

With all those scenes which to the mind recal

Such 'moving tales' -of England's happiness.

Thus would 1 wander till departed day,

Then homeward turn ; and when the gentle breeze

Around me plays, and ruffles every wave,

I think of those who on the billows ride,

Brave the rough winds, and struggle with the storm."

* * *

(167)

PAUL PETROWITSCH I. EMPEROR OF RUSSIA.

To the Editor of the good old " Monthly ."

SIR,

IN recording the unfavourable features which doubtlessly
held the predominance in the character of the unfortunate Paul, it is
to be deplored that most of his biographers should appear to have lost
sight of those amiable qualities which shone forth in the earlier part
of his hapless career. This, however, cannot excite surprise in the
breasts of those to whom it has been an object of lamentable obser«
vation that the mass of mankind is, unhappily, prone to pass over in
silence the modest virtues of contemporary merit, and to dwell with
a kind of inhuman sportiveness on the vices and failings into which
the weakness of human nature, or the impulse of human passions, may
have betrayed the object (I had almost said) of their relentless perse-
cution. It is this ignoble spirit and effervescence of " back-wounding
calumny " which our immortal dramatist so happily stigmatizes, when
he makes Cromwell to exclaim,

" Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues
We write in water.''

Animated, therefore, by a desire to rescue the more amiable linea-
ments in the Russian sovereign's character from oblivion, and to
render an act of posthumous justice to his memory, I hasten to com-
municate a cursory sketch, which personal investigation, and a resi-
dence in Russia during the greater part of his reign, have enabled
the writer to trace, with a full conviction of the authenticity of the
details on which it is founded.

Paul, more especially before his accession, took a peculiar delight
in exercising the rights of hospitality, and giving a hearty welcome
to his guests in the Russian mode. His table, supplied with lavish
profusion, was constantly beset with officers. That fettering restraint
which generally attends on royalty was there an utter stranger; every
one acted according to the free suggestions of his choice, and the em-
peror was never more pleased than to see his guests eat with a good
appetite. Instead of waiting upon him, he might rather be said to
have waited upon them,; for it was an invariable rule with him never
to rise till all had finished their meal. He exerted his utmost to pre-
vent them from feeling any effects of the ill-humour to which he might
have given way in the morning, and he carefully abstained from sar-
casm. This, however, cannot exactly be asserted of his latter days.
He drank but temperately; at dinner-time partaking only of a little
claret. Coffee and chocolate were his favourite beverages, and with
the latter, indeed, he usually regaled himself on parade. Neither
cold nor fatigue appalled him ; but he was singularly averse from chilly
hands, so much so, that to prevent his own from becoming cold, his

168 PAUL PETKOWITSCIf I. EMPEROR OF RUSSIA.

heiducke always kept several pairs of gloves warm within his bosom,
that he might change them at frequent intervals. He never wore a
fur cloak, but an undress uniform coat, which was lined on the inside
with black fox-skin, and to the fashion of which he latterly paid more
scrupulous attention than in the early part of his life. He always ad-
dressed his officers as equals, nor ever allowed himself, even in an
angry moment, the use of that degrading epithet " thou" which is
an idiom of the Russian language, and the customary distinction ob-
served by one speaking to his inferiors. When he chastised any one
he frequently observed, " I feed you to no purpose."

On one occasion he said, " I was in monstrous good humour to-
day ; my powder magazine (meaning his fits of passion) never blew
up." It was impossible for any one who was intimately acquainted
with Paul not to be struck with his understanding, knowledge, and
sound judgment. He was quite at home in all matters relating to
cavalry tactics.

A long series of mortifications at length inspired him with animo-
sity against his own subjects and the human race, and consequently
added to the natural impetuosity of his temper. Eager to realize his
plan of reformation he determined to remove or punish all who op-
posed it : he betrayed on every occasion an inveterate hatred towards
those who seemed attached to the old form of things; and an over-
acuteness of sensibility, first leading him to regard whatever fell con-
trary to his wishes as personal insult or ingratitude, at last rooted the
seeds of distrust so deeply in his mind, as to engender an incessant
dread of revolutions.

There were moments when Paul would indulge in thought and be-
wail his errors with bitter tears; there were others when a sense of
his own weakness would aggravate his spleen. The consciousness of
failing frequently goaded him on to the commission of fresh offence,
and reduced him ultimately to such a wretched state of misanthropy,
that he held every one to be his enemy, and the amiable features of
his character were irrevocably lost. Sensual enjoyments, to which he
was once far from being addicted, now became his sole resource
against the poignancy of reflection. But, towards the last period of
his wretched existence, he seemed to be again alive to pleasure, and
declared that he felt himself younger by twenty years.

Although Paul has been the means of rendering thousands happy,
scarcely one is to be found who will acknowledge him as his benefac-
tor— scarcely one seems disposed to pass that judgment on him which
makes allowance for the universal weakness of human nature. Many
of those who owe their all of happiness to him, remember only the
insults he may have offered them in an unguarded hour ; though it
must indeed be acknowledged, that the man who was one day fos-
tered by his kindness was perhaps the next subjected to the humilia-
tion of his caprice.

What an awful lesson does not Paul's unfortunate career, and its
melancholy termination, offer for the contemplation of those to whom
Providence has entrusted the earthly welfare of mankind !

Cambridge University, 1835. D.

( 169 )

THE GEORGIAN

- IF it be peculiar to genius to exalt its country's fame — to strengthen
the untiring ardour of co -existent ambition — to form an immortal
epoch in the annals of unwithering time, and leave a solemn and
scented halo around the "undying magnificence" of a name ; no
writers of the present, and scarcely of the past ages (Shakspeare ex-
cepted), present such indisputable claims to the first places in the
ranks of original genius, as Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron.

The age in which these illustrious spirits were permitted to irradiate
by their sublime talents, not only our own, but every other nation,
has been called, the " golden age." Such a one the impartial spirit
of history has never recorded, in the volume of the book ; and the
nearest resemblance to its mental brilliance appears to be that of Eliza-
beth ; when Lord Bacon, Sir Walter Raleigh, Sir Philip Sidney,
Shakspeare, Beaumont and Fletcher, Ben Jonson, and other great
dramatists, all nourished during the first golden age of literature.

In the Georgian ^Era, however, the numerical strength of the
" intellectual illustrissimi " was far greater than that of the first.

Literary. — Sir Walter Scott, Lord Byron, Wordsworth, Shelley,
Coleridge, Wilson, Campbell, Thomas Moore, Rogers, Lord Mahon,
Southey, Beckford, Napier, Lord F. Egerton, Lord Mulgrave, Sir
Egerton Brydges, Colton, Crabbe, Bowles, Professor Milman, Pollok,
Croly, Leigh Hunt, A. Cunningham, Keats, Gait, Tennyson, Sheridan
Knowles, Bulwer, Hogg, Inglis, James Montgomery, T. K. Hervey,
A. A. Watts, Godwin, Pringle, Mackenzie, Laman Blanchard, Elliot,
Author of Corn Law Rhymes, Charles Lamb, Charles Lloyd, De Quincy,
the opium eater,lRev. Sydney Smith, Maturin, Jeffery, Lockhardt,
Gifford, Heber, Robert Hall, Edward Irving, Rev. Thomas Dale, W. P.
Scargill, Hazlitt, W. Savage Landor, Dr. Bowring, Gillies, William
Taylor, Heraud, Maginn, the Smiths, Horace and James, Praed, Theo-
dore Hook, Rev. Mr. Fox, Charles, Charles Whitehead, &c. &c.

Eloquent.- — Lord Brougham, Canning, Mr. Huskisson, Lord John
Russell, Sir Robert Peel, Lord Lyndhurst, Lord Plunkett, Lord Grey,
Mr. Tierney, Sir James Mackintosh, Lord Durham, Romilly, Macaulay,
Lord Stanley, Spring Rice, Sir J. C. Hobhouse, D. O'Connell, Shiel,
Charles Grant, D. W. Harvey, Abercromby, &c. &c. &c.

Women. — Miss Edgeworth, Mrs. Opie, Mrs. Barbauld, Mrs.
Hemans, Mrs. Cornwell Baron Wilson, Mrs. Johnstone, Mrs.
Jameson, Mrs. Watts, Mrs. Abdy, Mrs. Rolfe, Lady Morgan, Mrs.
C. Gore, Hon. Mrs. Norton, Mrs. Trollope, MisslLandon, Miss
Jewsbury, Miss Stoddart, Mrs. Perkins, Miss M. A. Browne, Mary
Howitt, Miss E. Snowden, Joanna Baillie, Miss Montague, Mrs.
Somerville, Mrs. Austin, Miss Bowles, Miss Godwin, Lady Blesslngton,
Mrs. Perring, Mrs. Hofland, &c. &c. &c.— Ed.

M.M.— No. 8. Y

( 170 )

SPANISH LOANS.

THE first-fruits of the grand conspiracy hatched at Madrid, be*-
tween certain veteran schemers of the French capital and a Spanish
minister of finance renowned for eloquence, not less also for the
honesty which is said to have its price, a taste most exquisite in
Danseuses of the Opera, have some time since saluted the expectant
vision in the shape of number one of a series of Loans, by which
Spain proposes to exchange certain pieces of paper of her own
manufacture against the gold, silver, and precious stones encumber-
ing the redundant money markets of other parts of Europe. Not
satisfied with the domestic consumption of the papel sellado, from
which so important a portion of her revenue is derived, the Conde
Toreno patriotically proposes the illimitable extension of this in-
teresting branch of national industry, by nominal and prodigal
bounties of fifty or sixty per cent, upon dealings in it ; by the potent
spell of which the splendid fictions of the El Dorado, in whose fruit-
less search the daring conquerors of Quito and Couzco traversed the
cloud-enveloped Andes and navigated the seas and savage solitudes
of the Amazones, should without care or toil be realized, and Spain
at once indemnified a hundred fold for the Cerros of the Valenciana
and Potosi — for the exhaustless minerals of Mexico and South
America. The conception is grand if notjoriginal ; at once it flashed
across the mind of law ; it presided over the ephemeral glories of
the South Sea bubble ; it flitted before the troubled vision of Angel
Vallejo, and inspired the Cortes loans of 1820 to 1823 ; it "flared
up" in the contagious golden fever of 1825 ; and we are now on the
eve of solving the grand problem, whether it be given to the Spa-
nish minister to clutch the phantom, which has mocked the grasp of
other adventurers not more scrupulous nor less sanguine. He occu-
pies a position more felicitous than many who have trodden the same
career — he possesses the imaginary spot for which Archimedes
sighed, whereon to plant his lever and control the globe — he wields
the name, the credit, the resources of the federal monarchy of
Spain, wherewith to dazzle and astound the Stock Exchange of
London, Amsterdam, and Paris. The age of miracles is past;
even he may fail to rival the magic of Midas, and transmute the
limpid gurgling stream of the Manzanares into the golden flood
of Pactolus ; but whatever the peril, whatever the ultimate ruin,
whatever the stain to the honour and the interests of Castille, no one
doubts that the honest Ardoin will again become a millionaire, and
the Mayorasgo de Toreno shoot out from a petty'Aldea its far-
spreading branches over a whole province. We may yet see, and
see shortly, the patriot Secretario del Despacho de Hacienda (now
prime minister), elevated into a Grandee of the first class, entitled

SPANISH LOANS. 171

io sit covered before the king, and contesting with the Duque de
Medina Cell himself the relative numbers of cities, towns, and
villages which owe him fealty and call him lord.*

That such will be the only prosperous results of the financial
enterprises of Spain under their present management may be safely
predicated, if for a key to the future we appeal to the past. In-
dependently of the long-suffering of the people of England, hereto-
fore through undoubting faith in the Chateaux en Espagnewiih which
they were deluded, a beacon has been recently lighted which cannot,
or ought not to fail in arousing their vigilance, now that the in-
sidious foe is once more amidst the preserves of honest industry.
The beacon is fired, we say'; nor the less should the signal be heeded
because fired by a confederate in opposing schemes. Let the people
read, learn, digest, and afterwards shut their ears and draw close
their purse-strings. Let them not give ear to the charmer though
he charm ever so cunningly — though he charm in most Hebraic
melody of cent, per cent. We recommend the disciples of Tomas
Tonto, if any such yet remain, to the perusal of a pamphlet now
some months old, entitled "An Historical Analysis of the Loans con-
tracted by Spain, from 1820 to 1834. ByX. T., formerly employed
in the management of the Spanish Royal Sinking Fund, Trans-
lated from the French." Effingham Wilson, London.

Before we enter more directly into the specific matters upon
which the pamphlet before us professes to treat, it may be advan-
tageous to take a rapid glance at the progress of knowledge in the
art of political economy, and at the actual financial aspect of Spain,
when the Cortes, first born of the revolution of the Isle de Leon,
commenced the sweeping work of regeneration.

Slow as was the advancement of the Peninsula in the social science
compared with that of the great European community of which it is
a member, there yet are not wanting in her historical traditions
enlightened sovereigns and illustrious statesmen, who had more than
glimmerings of the light and zealously laboured to dispel the Cim-
merian darkness which reigned around and about them. Occasion-
ally, indeed, but in the earlier ages, Spain may be found in the very
vanguard of fiscal and economical legislation and civilization. In
the statutes given to Valencia by Don Jayme I., the unity of weights,
measures, and money, was enacted as a fundamental law of the
kingdom — a law which might worthily excite the emulation of the
modern Castilian legislators, now occupied in the discussion of puerile
theories; for at the present day each province of Spain differs in
those respects not less from the capital than from its neighbour,
causing an interminable confusion, and an action of exchanges as

* The following anecdote, current in court gossip at Madrid, is amusing.
Carlos IV. in friendly conversation one day asked the Duke of Medina Celi
of how many cities, towns, and villages he was the owner. Nine hundred
ninety and nine, Sire, was the reply of the grandee. And why not, rejoined
his majesty, purchase one more to make it up the even thousand? — Because,
rejoined the lordly vassal, the expression of nine hundred and ninety-nine U
so much more vast than that of one thousand.

172 SPANISH LOANS.

constant and variable between Cadiz, Bilboa, Barcelona and Ma-
drid—between each other or with the metropolis — as exist between
Paris and London, or Hamburg and Amsterdan, The Privilegis de
Morcaderes in the thirteenth century exhibits a system of custom-
house law remarkable for its liberality. The Navigation Act, justly
regarded as the foundation of our maritime renown and commercial
superiority, far from being, us commonly assumed, a master dis-
covery of the political and economical wisdom of Great Britain, had
long (from the thirteenth century) been known and acted upon in
principle in Catalonia ; had been adopted into the public code of the
Peninsula 100 years before it became nationalized here. Even the
theory of value on which paper-money is based was early known
among the Spaniards, for in the commencement of the seventeenth
century we find Don Juan Judice Fiesco proposing to the Cortes, in
order to remedy the evil of a deficient currency, that the escrituras
de juros — State Annuity Deeds — should be converted into notes pay-
able to bearer, in convenient amounts, and bearing interest, which
might circulate in commerce as money — a species of paper security
almost exactly resembling and performing the functions of our ex-
chequer bills. From this time forward until the extinction of the
Austrian dynasty Spain did nothing but retrograde. Upon the acces-
sion of the house of Bourbon a certain impulse was however again
communicated to the march of national improvement, but the useful
sciences, which'are as the breath of its nostrils, are not the growth of
a day, and made no very sensible progress until the accession of
Carlos III. In that reign the people were numbered twice, the last
census giving a population of 10,342,550 inhabitants, or little less
than the number now assigned to Spain ; so that in population as in
the arts and sciences the Peninsula has remained nearly stationary
during the last fifty years. Under this enlightened monarch the bank
of San Carlos was founded, an institution of high national 'utility
During the provident administration of Don Miguel de Muzquiz,
public faith was vindicated by the first extinction of vales, and the
public creditor for the first time reinstated in the capital advanced
in moments of emergency to the government. This was indeed an
epoch without parallel in the national history. Galvez directed a
mortal blow at the monopoly of Cadiz and its galeones, so famous in
the records of our nautical exploits, by throwing open at once to trade
twenty-two ports in the Peninsula, and the ultramarine dependencies
of America. Public roads, splendid works for those days, were
opened in the interior, and canals made and projected. The esta-
blishment of patriotic and economical societies, carefully fostered in
most of the great cities by this paternal government, under the title of
amigos del pais, had, by spreading knowledge and exciting emula-
tion, greatly contributed to these providential results ; public spirit
and public confidence knew no bounds. The direct consequences,
in a financial and national point of view, were, that the revenues of
the Indies ascended from 100,000,000 reales vellon to 240,000,000 ;
that in the space of eight years the Colonial trade was trebled in
amount; the net disposable revenues of the state advanced from

SPANISH LOANS. 173

272,600,000 reales in the reign of his predecessor, to 630,217,000,
reflecting like a faithful barometer the beneficial changes of the
times; whilst the navy, which in 1751 counted no more than eighteen
ships of the line and fifteen smaller vessels, in 1785 mustered
seventy-four of the line besides 200 frigates and inferior craft, and
the army exhibited was in a proportionate increase.
D (But these flattering prospects — this grand amelioration of the body
politic and industrial — were stayed in their rapid course by the
advent of Carlos IV. to the throne upon the eve of the first French
revolution. The disastrous war which he undertook against that
many-headed hydra ; the subsequent exactions imposed by the
freebooters who successively figured at the head of the republic,
and submitted to, for the sake of a humiliating peace ; the more sys-
tematized and gigantic impositions of Buonaparte ; finally, the wars
with England into which he dragged the unhappy and half idiotic
monarch ; these co-operating with an administration like that of
Godoy, which realized in modern times all the curruption, turpitude,
and pusillanimity, nationally and individually, of the Roman empire
in the worst age of its decline and depravity, dammed up the cur-
rent of social progress.

The revenue dwindled to nearly one-third, whilst the public debt,
to which Carlos III. notwithstanding all his wars had added but
804,000,000 of reales, was saddled with the onerous addition of five
milliards and a half, or three-fourths of the then total incumbrance
of Spain. Such was the rapacity of the queen, and the queen's
minion — such moreover the exigencies of the royal household —
that all employments from high to low, from a vice-royalty of
Mexico to a regidorship in a Cabildo, were put up to public auction,
and disposed of to the best bidder ; excepting where compensation
was taken in other than metallic kind ; where a temporary auxiliary
lover of the profligate Isabel was to be recompensed, or a Conde de
Jaruco regaled by the all-powerful Principe de la Paz, in barter for
a handsome wife, with an intendencia, or a governor generalship, an
office which in the case of Jaruco, to his honour be it said, however
revolting the mode by which acquired, he fulfilled with credit to
himself, and signal advantage to the people so capriciously consigned
to his charge. The meritorious race of public men educated under
the previous reign was not however altogether extinct. A gleam
of mind and patriotism now and then burst athwart the gloom, as if
to make darkness more visible. The final expulsion of the Moriscos
and Jews in the sixteenth century had well nigh banished the
mechanical arts from Spain, as well as dependent trading and com-
mercial enterprise ; their utter destruction was almost consummated
at a later period by the Ordenanzas de los Gremios, the establish-
ment of a class of chartered corporations, by which it was ruled that
the precise qualification indispensable for the exercise of artizanship
or trades should be — not education, apprenticeship, or the possession
of mechanical genius, but — the profession of the most holy catholic,
apostolic and Roman faith ; in order to exercise the honourable
occupations of even a cobler, a dabbler in soap-suds, a tailor, or a
razor-grinder, a diploma was requisite — not from masters in the art,
but from some mendicant monk or jovial friar of orders gray.

174 SPANISH LOANS.

Don Pedro Varela, sometime Secratario del Despacho de Hacienda,
actually ventured however to propose to Carlos VI., not the suppression
of the GremioS) but the free entry and establishment of Jew com-
mercial houses in Spain, as an economical resource, to whom should
be entrusted the charge of supporting the credit of the Vales or
domestic floating debt. The passage is curious in the original :
Don Pedro Varelas en una exposition dirijedaal Senor D. Carlos IV.
le pidio, como un recurso economico, la entrada y establecimiento en
Espana de casas Hebreas de comercio ; d cayo cargo corriese sostener
el credito de Jos Vales. What is more curious, the king submitted
the daring proposition to the council of state, to which the cardinal
inquisitor general, and the cardinal patriarch, were called for deli-
beration, and this infallible tribunal actually ratified the plan with
their approval. It failed notwithstanding in spite of its most rever-
end patrons, for the minister died just as his project saw the light,
and, as nothing in that country survives a minister, it was sacrificed
upon his tomb, as the Hindoo widow is led to the stake, that her
ashes may be reunited with those of her dead lord. Another
speculation, after many throes, had a happier delivery. A new
ministerial department was created for the encouragement of in-
dustry, under the title of Departamento del fomento general del
reyno y de la balanza de comercio. This meritorious board, composed
of the best practical economists of Spain, accomplished several ob-
jects of utility ; another census, that of 1797, embracing a greater
detail than that of Carlos III., was undertaken, the gross results of
which however show little increase of population for the twelve
years' difference ; and various statistical works were published of
considerable merit considering the scantiness of materials at com-
mand.

From this sketch it will be perceived that, in effect, Spain made but
very superficial practical advances in the science of political economy
down to the period of the invasion of Buonaparte (at which point
our cursory review terminates) and the first installation of the
Cortes. The view of the question most flattering to national vanity
has been presented as depicted by Spanish authors, laudably jealous
of the fame of their native land, and notably by Canga Arguelles,
a writer and a statesman, partaking in no mean degree of the pre-
judices, and the spirit of exaggeration, too common among his coun-
trymen. It will be seen that projects were not wanting ; that writers
were, for the Peninsula, prolific ; but the beneficial results are few
and far between — in truth much cry and little wool. Neither the
first nor the second Cortes — neither that of 1814, nor that of 1823 —
contributed materially to further the great work of economical re-
organization. So far as violent and vulgar, and therefore easy
expedients were at hand, wherewith to bolster up a falling revenue,
they were had recourse to ; and confiscations, sales of national do-
mains, with arbitary seizures of church property, regardless of
vested and even of life interests, became the order of the day. The
odious monopolies of the Estancos de Tabaco, del Abadejo, de Lanas,
de la Sal, were however all left untouched, and a reform in them
rarely hinted at. The last, the salt monopoly, is one odious beyond
example, and constitutes an exaction no less cruel than arbitrary in

SPANISH LOAN*. 175

the mode of assessment. The quantity of salt which every man,
even the poorest, must take and pay for, whether he consume it or
not, is apportioned to him without appeal ; the price, we need not
add, is fixed and exacted likewise on the spot. Besides these crying-
abuses, the very men, Canga Arguelles among the number, pro-
fessing to be enlightened economists, and moving in the spirit of the
age, were those who in power most rigidly adhered to and enforced
that fiscal system, that absurd code of custom-house law, by which
Spain is fenced in with a wall of prohibitions and prohibitory duties ;
the effect of which has been, and still is, to convert the whole of
her seaboard from St. Sebastian of the Atlantic to the gulf of Rosas
in the Mediterranean ; of her land frontier from Tuy to Ayamonte,
on the side of Portugal, from the eastern to western Pyrennees, or
that of France — into vast lines of an immense system of contraband
traffic, unparalleled in the whole world ; in which native and foreign
shipping are equally engaged in almost open violation of custom-
house law, and in defiance of Guardas Costas ; whilst tribes of
smugglers traverse the interior, convoying magazines of prohibited
merchandise in the face of day, and in undisguised contempt of
custom-house officers and regular troops, wherever no previous
good understanding has been provided for. The system admirably
described in the Noticias Secretas de America of Ulloa, as prevailing1
in her ultramarine possessions, may, with trifling- reservations, be
regarded as relatively true of Spain herself; and therein the chain
of corruption by means of which it flourishes may be traced, link
by link, from the Intendentes and Oidores of the Real Audiencia
down to the Official Real and Guarda mayor.

Such being the practical proficiency of liberal as well as absolute
Spain in the science of political economy, let us glance at her finan-
cial position on the second constitutional advent. The revolution of
the Isle de Leon, in the year 1820, achieved through the instru-
mentality of an army mutinous for want of pay, and infected with a
pusillanimous dread of confronting the terrors of Bolivar and the
wastes of the Magdalena, installed the Cortes into an empty trea-
sure and a bankrupt government. According to the report of a
committee of finance, presented to that body on the 17th of May,
1822, the then verified debt is thus classed: —

FOREIGN DEBT IN 1820.

3 1 ,1 35 bonds of the loans in Holland, Reales veiion.

at 5,600 reales each . . . 174,356,000
19,918,093 florins of interest on the
, above in arrears .... 89,631,418

Total, foreign debt of Spain . . 263,987,418

DOMESTIC DEBT.

Debt bearing interest . . .7,081,016,605
Ditto, without interest . . .7,587,286,139

Total, domestic debt .... 14,668,302,745

Total debt 14,932,290,163

176 SPANISH LOANS.

or, in our money, in round numbers, about ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY
MILLIONS of pounds sterling.

This amount is no doubt of sufficiently ponderous dimensions, even
by comparison with our own enormous dead weight ; but it is more
startling still when viewed in connection with the resources of the
state at the same period of time.

Reales.

The gross revenue of Spain was estimated at . . 551,126,987

The charges on collecting which were 161,099,000

Other deductions . . . . 59,316,000 220,415,000

Net product . 330,711,987

or rather more than THREE MILLIONS AND A HALF sterling, wherewith
to support the army and navy, the royal household, and all other the
necessary machinery of government, calculated generally at nearly
double that amount alone ; so that interest upon the debt was out of
the question, and had been for years.

In these untoward circumstances the Cortes of 1820 found them-
selves with the arrears of pay of a clamorous army to satisfy, and
with myriads of hungry patriots to gorge, in default of which they
stood on the very verge of the precipice which had just engulphed
the absolute monarchy of Ferdinand. Both at home and abroad
Spain seemed equally bankrupt in resources and credit. The reign
or a constitutional regime became however a wonder-working
miracle in her behalf. The ancient prejudices of Europe about
her inexhaustible riches — her mines of gold, silver, and precious
stones — her countless hoards of doubloons and dollars, stored up
during centuries of a monopoly of the incalculable treasures of the
Americas — in short, all the wonders of the Galleons, and all the
historic fables of the Incas, were revived in the minds of men in
more than their pristine magnificence of imagination and invention.
The new government was forthwith beset with usurers and sharpers,
with Chevaliers d'industrie, and capitalists, Jew and Gentile, exhi-
biting or boasting of their cornucopias of fathomless plenty and
countless millions, humbly and eagerly contending, as for the most
signal favour, for the exclusive privilege of pouring the glittering
contents into its lap. Astounded as were the Cortes with the un-
undreamt-of succour, they hesitated not, with more haste than good
speed, to welcome the golden shower ready to descend and irrigate
the arid waste of the national exchequer. Their exigences were
urgent both with regard to the public service and to the private
interests of many of the members and functionaries of their body.
The bargain was hastened lest the fairy dream should vanish ; con-
ditions, however onerous, were obstacles unthought of, where re-
payment existed only in the distant vista of improbabilities ; accord-
ingly, loan the first was concluded on the 6th of November, 1820,
with the house of Lafitte and Co., which introduces us to the subject
matter of the pamphlet we have heretofore referred to. This work
professes to be a ^history of the loans of the Cortes, and those of the
absolute government of Ferdinand ; it is published with the view
of drawing a parallel between the two series of operations, so as to

SPANISH LOANS. 177

demonstrate the superior management and more profitable results
of the royal quoad the constitutional, the incontestible claims, there-
fore, of the holders of the former securities over the latter — of the
Parisian stockholder, in fact against the Cortes' bondholders, princi-
pally and unfortunately natives of this country — the validity of the
former being, at the moment of the publication, a subject of discus-
sion, and even of denial in the Cortes ; and, finally, to contrast the
more honourable and disinterested character of the one class of con-
tractors with that of the other. The author, it is clear, has his pre-
dilections, and his account is therefore tinged with the colouring of a
partisan ; but we have to deal with his facts alone, and those are em-
bodied in figures and official documents, from which it is not difficult
to extract something like truth. To us, as to the public at large, it
is of little moment whether Angel Vallejo, Toreno, and Ardoin, on
the one hand, or Aguado, Burgos, and Minano, on the other, have
been the most extensive speculators or plunderers in or out of Spain.
The comparative amounts of each, in the grand total of pecuniary
iniquity, are of minor importance to all but the parties concerned,
in face of the records of a systematised scheme of national and in-
dividual plunder upon the most gigantic scale, that the annals of
public profligacy were ever before stained with.

The first Cortes' loan, or that of Lafitte, was for 300,000,000 of
reales, bearing interest at seven per cent., to run from the 1st of
November, 1820, although contracted only on the 6th, it was re-
imbursable in full in twenty-four years. The price was 70 per cent.,
with a deduction of 5 per cent, for commission, not only upon the
nominal capital of the loan, but upon the gross amount of the interest
thereof for the whole term; being the first time, says our author, that
a commission was ever known to be taken, in a loan, upon interest and
reimbursements, not to be paid until twenty-four years after. The
results to Spain were : —

Reales.

The loan of 300,000,000 would produce at 70 . 210,000,000

The charges of transport of specie, loss
by the exchanges upon bills, and
other items ... . 13,592,430

The commission upon the nominal ca-
pital and interest >. . . . 30,225,000 43,817,430

The government netted , . . . 166,182,670

for which sum it acknowledged itself debtor for 30,225,000 dollars,
or 604,500,000 reales. The commission and charges amount to
about 27 £ per cent, upon the capital actually received. This opera-
tion is sufficiently scandalous, but, compared with what follows, it is
far from being usurious.

Of the second, or national loan, it is not necessary to speak, as the
operation, being one of national capitalists, only partially succeeded;
one half of it was to be paid in money, the other in old vales of no
value in the market ; in our summary hereafter the proceeds will be
found stated,

M.M,— No.8. Z

178 SPANISH LOANS.

We arrive now at the first famous coup de main of the celebrated
house of Ardoin, Hubard, and Co., Parisian bankers, until then un-
known in the character of capitalists. And here we may observe,
that with the class of traders known as bankers, the public mind in
this country associates, and justly, the possession of great and almost
boundless riches. But the caste is of a different and vastly lower
grade in Paris ; scarcely is the distinction between a Brahmin and a
Paria, in the East, more widely marked than that between a banker
of London and a banquier de Paris*. There are, undoubtedly,
banking-houses to be found in that capital of high standing and un-
doubted wealth, — such as the Delesserts, the Periers, the Rothschilds,
— but, with the exception of the last, even these are more known,
and professionally should rather be classified, as sugar refiners, ma-
nufacturers, or merchants, than as dealers and exchangers of money
exclusively : in the same manner as many country bankers of Eng-
land are brewers, proprietors of iron-works, &c. Of the house of
Ardoine, Hubard, and Co., we have no desire to speak disrespect-
fully; it was doubtless respectable in its standing, but, we appre-
hend, without any legitimate pretensions to loan millions, or hundreds
of thousands, or even tens of thousands. With this firm, then, the
third Cortes Loan, or that of Conversion, as it was termed, was
negociated. Two objects were contemplated in this operation; the
first was to relieve the pressing necessities of the government with a
sum of money ; the second to convert into new stocks the two loans
we have noticed, and those of the loans contracted in Holland in the
reign of Carlos IV. — a piece of hocus pocus for juggling the nation
by sleight of hand out of some millions of real value, in return for
persuading foreign creditors that the panel sellado (official stamped
paper) of the Cortes was intrinsically of greater value than the papel
sellado of the same Cortes when one year younger, and than that of
Carlos IV. That branch of the double game, under favour of
which the state was to touch some hard cash, was thus managed.
140,000,000 of reales were wanted, in order" to obtain which

* The Morning Advertiser, an old established morning paper of the metro-
polis, of very considerable circulation, — being the property of that numerous
body the licensed victuallers — in the course of some articles on the Spanish
loans, written in a commendable spirit of impartiality, to which we take this
occasion to confess our obligation for much valuable information, relates an
amusing anecdote on this head. We ought not to omit mentioning that this
paper has recently been enlarged, and greatly improved, so as to take rank
with the first of its contemporaries.

Speaking of Bankers a la mode de Paris, it says : " An Englishman in
Paris replied to an advertisement in the Petites Affiches, offering an apartement
meuble on very moderate terms; the proprietor of which, on their meeting,
represented that he was in very pressing need, and would, therefore, take
700 francs (28Z.) for what little miserable furniture he had ; he was setting
out for Bourdeaux, and must conclude on the instant, as he could not make
the voyage for want of the money. Our countryman casually observed that
he presumed he was a wine-merchant (from the city he was about to visit),
to which the Frenchman answered, with customary vivacity — " Non, Mon-
sieur, je svis banquier.' — ' No, Sir>J am a banker.' "

SPANISH LOANS. 179

280,000,000 of a five per cent, stock was sold to the contractors at
the rate of fifty per cent., subject to a deduction of four per cent, for
commission and other charges. The Spanish government received :

Reales. M.

In bills upon Spain . . 74,280,983 13

In Spanish money .... 1,538,124 7
In gold and silver bars . . . 31,633,314 19

Total . . , . 107,472,428 0

" Thirty-four millions, that is one-fourth of the loan, were ab-
sorbed by the commission, the half-yearly payment of interest, and

other expenses."

Reales

Stock was given for .... 280,000,000
Received in cash .... 107,500,000

Loss to 'the State upon this single > 172 500 000

transaction . * . . . S '

That is, it received about thirty-eight per cent, of the nominal ca-
pital. The interest, moreover, was to date from the 1st of Novem-
ber, 1821, although the contract was not concluded until the 22d.

This rate may be, however, considered moderate usuance for
money, compared with that of the conversion, paper against paper —
old rags transformed into bran new bonds, with coupons attached.
Messrs. Ardoin, Hubard, and Co. seem to have felt their liability to
the Jew's reproach : —

" He lends out money gratis, and brings down
The rate of usuance " —

by the moderation of their exactions in the case of this loan. The
conversion juggle seems to have been considered in the light of a
compensation for profit foregone in the extraordinary bonus of laying
down thirty-eight against a promise to pay of 100. The conditions
of the conversion were framed accordingly, which we give in the
words of our author.

" The Spanish government bound itself, in this transaction, not to
receive, under any form whatsoever, from any but the contractors in the
present bargain, for the term of eighteen months from the date of
the contract, all and each of the undermentioned stocks, at the follow-
ing 'prices, viz. : each bond of the loan of 1820, for the amount of
1 ,400 reals vellon ; each premium-ticket for 300 reals vellon ; each
bond of the national loan of 1821, for 2,100 reals vellon; each Dutch
bond of 1 ,000 florins, for 5,600 reals vellon ; each florin of the arrears
of interest due to the first of January 1821, for 4£ reals ; each florin
of current interest, that is, of such as, by the fact of the delivery of
the Dutch bonds, shall have accrued subsequently to January 1, 182 1 ,
for eight reals; the interest due at the periods of remitting the
bonds of the loan of 1821, at the rate of twenty reals vellon for each
dollar ; and each real of the interest due at the time of remitting the
bonds of the national loan of 1821, for one real, actual value.

J&O SPANISH LOANS.

" We find that the contractors finally reserved to themselves the
right of remitting exclusively, for eighteen months, the stock of the
stock of the old loans at the price of seventy per cent. ; and that
they gave in, as equivalent to cash, the interest accruing on those
bonds at the day when they remitted them ; — the dividends in arrear
on the old Dutch loans, at the price of 4J reals vellon per florin, —
and the premium tickets of the first loan, at the price of 300 reals
vellon each.

" In exchange for the amounts which they could deliver, the
Spanish government gave them a quantity of indeterminate stock, at
the price of fifty per cent., with the enjoyment of interest from the
1st of November, 1821.

" The government was forbidden to conclude any loan during the
first twelve months after the signing of the contract : if a fresh loan
became necessary before the expiration of that term, the new stock
could be disposed of to none but these contractors."

In gross, we may state that the old loans, then without price or value
in the market, were to be redeemed at the par of issue, and the
arrears of interest accruing thereon at the par of exchange, and at
general full nominal amounts.

The most scandalous part of the transaction however was, that
the Spanish government covenanted to pay interest on the new
indeterminate stock delivered to the contractors, from the 1st of
November, and secured to them the interest in the old stocks at the
same time — -both running for the space of eighteen months, during
which the operation was to last —so that a cross fire of double interest
on two classes of obligations representing the same values was esta-
blished ; an ingenuity of usury such as the world never witnessed
before, and Shylock himself must have confessed in it the master-
mind of all the tribe of money changers from those of the temple,
to this, our time.

The Cortes at length began to open their eyes, when all the world
besides had long been wide awake. They deliberated upon annulling
the contract and impeaching Angel Vallejo, the Minister of Finance,
under whose auspices it had been settled. A Committee of Enquiry
was appointed, and on the 17th of May, 1822, the Report was
presented and read, if not drawn up, by the Conde Toreno himself,
then an eloquent and independent member of the Cortes, afterwards
and now sworn friend of Ardoin, Hubard, and Co., and actual
Minister of Finance, and Prime Minister. The following are
extracts : — " The losses which it is sought to inflict upon unhappy
Spain by this pernicious treaty are not confined to what we have
already pointed out. It is designed to make her drain the bitter cup
of sacrifice to the dregs. In contempt of reason and morality, and
without any example of such a transaction, we find from this treaty,
that for one and the same thing, that is, for the previous loans, an
obligation is entered into to pay the interest which was due before ;
and, moreover, to pay fresh interest, commencing before the ex-
istence, and even before the signing of the contract, viz. from No-
vember I, 1821. In the eighteen months which this operation may
occupy, of double payment of interest, it will occasion to Spain a loss,
in specie, of 6 1 ,096,9.50 r. v,"

SPANISH LOANS. 181

" Moreover, the Finance Committee calculated that according to
the London rate of exchange, at 36 pence per dollar, and the Paris
exchange, at 15 livres 6 sous per pistole, together with the com-
missions, advertisements, and other expenses, the redemption and
the payment of interest would cost Spain twelve per cent per
annum."

And finally, the Finance Committee, in No. 13 of its observations,
thus expresses itself : — " It might be supposed that while such enor-
mous sacrifices were yielded by this treaty, Spain was to derive the
greatest advantages from it ; that she was to be enabled to dig
canals, lay out roads, &c. &c. &c. ; and that abundance was to be
introduced into the public chest. Far from it. At the end of eigh-
teen months from the signing of the treaty, and without reckoning
the disbursements occasioned by the former loans, the 140,000,000
r. v. specified in Article 1., are in reality reduced to the wretched sum 9.
in specie, of 47, 785, 251 r. v. 9 in. ; for which inconsiderable amount
Spain binds herself to the payment of 2,082,235,609 r. v. This
total is produced by reckoning the payment of interest and redemp-
tion until the extinction of the stock issued to obtain the 47,785,251
r. v. 9 m."

The threat of annulling this iniquitous contract produced its effect;
negociations were entered into, ^and some trifling modifications
extorted from the fears of the contractors. After the passage of
various state papers, and the concoction of Protocols almost as
numerous and more prolific of result than those of Lord Palmerston,
the very Lord of Protocols himself, the Cortes obtained an abatement
in the terms of the treaty of the 22nd of November equivalent to
nearly 100 millions of reales of real value, or about ONE MILLION
ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS sterling. Messieurs the Parisian
bankers were not ruined by this prodigal display of unexampled
liberality ; as will shortly be seen, a very decent sort of bread and
cheese living still remained to them after this splendid sacrifice ;

Reales.

" Ardoin, Hubard, and Co., received from the govern-
ment in new stock . . 754,849,100
In return for which they remitted in old stocks and
coupons of interest in arrear as follows : —
108,003 bonds of the first loan ; forming,

at 2,000 r. v. each .... 216,006,000
77,360 premium-tickets of the first loan,

at 300 r. v. each .... 23,208,000
25,418 bonds of the second loan, at

3,000 r. v. each .... 76,254,000
15,436 bonds of the Dutch loans, at 8,000

r, v. each . • 123,848,000

295,846 dividends of the Dutch loans —
60,697 being at 4| r. v. each, and
235,149 at 3£ r. v.— making together 136,893,434

575,849,434

178,999,666

182 SPANISH LOANS.

" Whence it will be seen that the government had to sustain in
the first instance a loss of 178,999,666 r. v. arising from the differ-
ence between the capital of the stock which it issued, and that of
the stock which it received in payment ; which loss turned wholly to
the profit of the contractors.

" To this difference of capital must also be added the double
interest of the stock which the government was issuing ; which
interest the contractors began to enjoy from the outset, reckoning
from November 1, 1821 ; besides the interest that had accrued upon
the amounts which they remitted in payment as money. All these
sums together form an actual amount of more than forty -nine millions
of reals vellon.

" So that in this transaction the contractors gained 227,999,666
reals vellon.

Reales.

Still, this is not all which the government lost. In
fact, the annual interest of the stock which it issued,

amounted to . 3.7,742,455

The interest of the amounts which it received in pay-
ment, making 20,786,130

The result to the government was an increase of annual

interest to the amount of 16,956,425

So that in gross amount the government sustained
the following losses : —

Loss resulting from the difference of capitals, as par-
ticularized above . . . . . . 178,999,666

Loss resulting from the double allocation of interest,

in actual money 49,000,000

Losses in interest upon the stock issued, payable

yearly ...... . 16,959,375

Total . . 244,959,038

The contractors therefore gained in this honest transac-
tion of paper versus paper, in actual value paid by

Spain . 228,000,000

or the best part of TWO MILLIONS AND A HALF POUNDS STERLING.

Reales.

Whilst the government lost by the thimble rig . 245,000,000

or the best part of three millions of pounds. It will be understood
that our reductions into sterling are merely approximative, and in
round numbers.

But the £2,500,000 were far from being the limit of profit. When
it is considered that the bonds of the former Cortes loans, which by
their covenant the contractors were empowered to deliver at par,
were at enormous discounts ; that the Dutch loans with the arrears
of interest due and unpaid upon them must have been absolutely
without price or value in the money market, and were perhaps at
the utmost purchased at one-fourth, or one-half of their transferred
value ; we may be allowed to hazard a round and not improbable
guess, that the collateral and less direct gains — the contingent re-
mainder— did not fall short in the whole in addition of the too rno-

SPANISH LOANS. 183

dest sum already denominated. The partition of the burden may
undoubtedly be founded in equitable principles, so far as fairly
apportioning a contribution between separate parties can be so con-
sidered. Thus, Spain, as we have seen, is taxed in two millions and
a half sterling, for the benefit of the Frenchmen, who, we presume,
would argue that England, as the broader shouldered of the two,
and the exclusive purchaser of their new paper money, had no need
to complain of a levy to an equal amount ; between the two making
up no unacceptable reyalo for a dia de Santo of the contractors of some
five millions sterling — without reckoning tne two or three hundred
thousand pounds commission on the loan, producing 107,000,000 of
reales (or £1,200,000 sterling), which are hardly worth mentioning
alongside the glories of the conversion, excepting as vails for the
lacqueys of the high contracting parties concerned.

We are only yet, however, in the beginning of the end ; the ple-
thoric state was still of too gross habit, and the leeches clung on un-
gorged. Besides the indeterminate stock received by Ardoin, Hubard,
and Co., for the purposes of the conversion juggle, the special amount
of 700,000 dollars' stock was placed in their hands by way of deposit,
or anticipation, or guarantee, or bail ! ! perhaps for the good faith of
the government in this affair, with the immaculate Parisians. This
stock was " constantly to remain untouched," and to be " restored at
the end of the transaction." At the expiration, therefore, on the 1st
of March, 1823, of the eighteen months' exclusive privilege conferred
upon them for exchanging new paper for old rags, these gentlemen
were required to effect the remittance and redelivery of these 700,000
dollars of stock, along with the two half years' interest upon it which
the contractors, no doubt, had carefully charged and passed in account.
After some delays on their part, a settlement of accounts — a finiquito
de todas cuentas — was agreed to be made, and the stock was to be
surrendered in London to the commission acting there. Accordingly
Ardoin, Hubard, and Co. presented their account, and brought in the
government debtor for 8,417,256 reales ; ingeniously forgetting to bring
forward sundry items on the credit side, and giving, as our author
says, " a double meaning to different articles of the treaty of conver-
sion, the benefit of which they had relinquished" voluntarily, as we
have seen by the modifications agreed to of the original treaty after
the remonstrances of the financial committee. But the reign of the
Cortes and of loan jobbing was equally drawing to a xylose ; that
assembly of notable imbecilities and corrupt demagogues, which all
the splendour of eloquence and the integrity unsullied of Augustin
Arguelles — all the burning enthusiasm and matchless oratory of Alcala
Galiano — all the unrivalled science of Felipe Bauza — were insufficient
to redeem from contempt and ignominy, no less universal than deserved,
was now on the eve of dissolution, shut up in Cadiz, and without hope
of rescue and hardly of escape ; so that, although the account was at
length rectified, and agreed, we presume, by which the contractors
became debtors, in a balance of 13,553,796 reales, besides 396,880
dollars of stock alone remaining of the 700,000, yet the delay of several
months in the adjustment was so well managed, and so nicely timed,
that when pay-day arrived, the creditor had disappeared, and the

184 SPANISH LOANS.

honest debtors had no other course than to remain burdened with an
additional million of hard dollars,* or above two hundred thousand
pounds, which has probably never been refunded to this day.

* "Among the documents which have furnished these details are some papers
which have disclosed a fact worthy of notice for its singularity.

" The stock arising from the old Dutch loans, which, by virtue of their
contract of conversion, MM. Ardoin, Hubard, et Comp. remitted to the
government, which remitted them 5 per cent, stock in payment, was deposited
with the government's consuls at Paris, London, and Amsterdam.
Sr. Machado, then consul at Paris, received :
99,599 dividends of the old Dutch loans;
664 bonds of ditto ;
33,409 ditto of the first loan ;
71,062 premium- tickets of the same loan ; and
3,478 bonds of the second loan.^

' The moment these stocks were deposited at the consulate, a stamp was set
upon them bearing in large letters the word annule.

"Being compelled by the events of the year 1823 to quit Paris, Sr. Ma-
chado packed up the records of the consulate, secured the above-mentioned
stock -shares in boxes, and entrusted the whole to the care of MM. Ardoin,
Hubard, et Comp.

" Some years after, in 1829, the conversion (that of Aguado) of the old
Dutch loans took place. At that time, the parties who had these boxes in
their care, knowing that they contained shares of these loans, presented a
requete to the president of the tribunal de premiere instance of Paris, alleging
that they had in their keeping different boxes belonging to third parties,
wherein certain bonds were deposited, which would become void unless pre-
sented in time at Amsterdam, to be converted into permanent stock. Upon
the allegation of this banking-house, an ordonnance de rtfe're was made, au-
thorising them to open these boxes, to take out the shares they contained,
to take the necessary steps for avoiding their nullification, and then to keep,
for the account of those to whom they might belong, the amounts arising
from their conversion. Accordingly, they proceeded without delay to open
these boxes in the presence of a juge de paix. The bonds and dividends of
the aforesaid Dutch loans were taken out, then despatched to Amsterdam,
where they were presented, for the purpose of conversion, to MM. Willinck,
jun. and Co. to whom that operation had been entrusted; but these bankers,
immediately observing the stamp upon these shares which rendered them
null, refused to convert them. The other parties, however, persisted ; and
had the instruments in question legally noted, in order to avoid a forfeiture.

" But as soon as this scandalous proceeding came to the knowledge of the
Count d'Ofalia, ambassador at Paris, he interfered, and obtained, by the
mediation of the French government, the delivery at the embassy of those
cancelled bonds, as well as of the other papers belonging to the con-
sulate."

f To make it more intelligible to our readers, it may be as well to state
what we understand by the process of the conversion. Before Ardoin, Hu-
bard, and Co. made sale of the indeterminate stock assigned to them, they
purchased bonds and coupens of the old loans on the best terms they could,
charging them, however, as we have seen, against the state at a fixed rate or
at par. The bonds and coupens so purchased were in the course of the pro-
cess deposited with the agents of the government. Had the fraud above-
described succeeded, the stocks annult, for which the.Cortes paid several mil-

SPANISH LOANS. 185

Such were the final results of the first financial operations between
Ardoin, Hubard, and Co., and Spain Constitutional. Notwithstanding
the denunciations of their unequalled iniquities by the Conde Toreno
and the finance committee of which he was the reporter, a second loan
(being loan the fourth of the Cortes) was concluded with the same
firm, and what is more strange, though not perhaps inexplicable, upon
the strong recommendation and through the active intromission of the
Conde Toreno himself — a fact which our author does not allude to,
from an evident tenderness for certain names. Our limits will not
allow more than a cursory review of this and the remaining prodigies
of financial prodigality, from the great detail into which we have
already entered of the last transaction ; it may, in brief, be observed
of their characteristics, ab uno disce omnes. This loan and its proceeds
are or may be thus stated :

Reales.

The loan was contracted Oct. 1 , 1 822 ; the interest,
5 per cent, however, to commence from the 1st of
May of the same year (six months beforehand}. Com-
mission 4 per cent, and price 60. Nominal capital . 348,000,000
The amount which the government should have re-
ceived was therefore no more than 192,000,000

But the " payment of the proceeds was effected part
only in money ; part was paid in dividends of former
loans, and creances upon the treasury, worth at
Madrid only six or seven per cent, but which never-
theless were paid in as money at their nominal value.'*
The amount of these is estimated at 8 1 ,000,000 reales.
The actual money received is assumed at the utmost

to be 110,000,000

an amount, adds our author, "some tens of millions above the truth.'*
The provident government, therefore, netted less than 30 instead of
55 per cent. The further enormous gains of the contractors may be
guessed at from the fact, that the bonds of this, as well as the former
loans, rose in the London money market to between 70 and 80 from
56, the contract price.

The FIFTH LOAN, or that of Bernales and Nephew of London, broke
down, and eventually^ ruined the unlucky projectors, a house of un-
doubted capital, and much higher pretensions than the French entre-
preneurs. An eager desire to share with foreigners the plunder of their
unhappy country, and the apparently fathomless stores of the London
Stock Exchange, had tempted these unfortunate Spanish merchants to
abandon the more honourable but less flashy pursuits of commerce, to
fish in the golden stream, where at once they made shipwreck on
shoals and quicksands, where only knaves and usurers could navigate
with safety. The SIXTH LOAN, for 291,000,000 reales, which produced

lions sterling, would have been reconverted and exchanged for royal bonds,
and sold for several millions more clear gain, and there would have been
two kinds of stock current in the market, viz. the Cortes 5 per cent, and the
royal 5 per cent., both representing the same Dutch loan redeemed.
"M.M. No. 8. 2 A

186 SPANISH LOANS.

only 61,435,525, was undertaken by Messrs. Campbell and Sabbock on
Commission. It was concluded on the 6th of July, 1823, signed, if
we recollect aright, when king Ferdinand was in durance at Seville,
having been actually deposed from the throne by the Cortes when on
their flight to Cadiz, and in so far entirely invalid. Its avowed object
was to take up the dishonoured Bills accepted by Bernales and Nephew
for account of the State. The Bonds were disposed of, as we have
heard, so low as even 17 or 18 per cent, to the last moment of the
existence of the Cortes and of any marketable demand for them. For
this, as being a Commission Loan, no blame is imputable to the agents,
who acted only according to orders. But a serious question does arise,
upon which no explanation has been given to or sought by the Bond-
holder that we know of, viz. who were the depositaries of the disgraced
Bills, thus to be redeemed in full at the expense of the public ? To
place the subject in a more tangible point of view, were or were not
those Bills in the hands of English holders, remitted to them by their
correspondents in Spain, who might have been unable or unwilling to
refund them if returned with all notarial charges and the costs of ex-
change and re-exchange upon them ? Nothing short of the production
of the Bills themselves can solve this mystery, and this the creditors
have an undoubted right to expect, in order to the clearing up of a
transaction of very doubtful morality in many points of view. This
Loan closes the financial career of the Cortes coevally with that of its
destructive political existence : happy for Spain and England had the
catalogue of mischiefs it perpetrated closed even here ; but we see the
same men and essentially the same body repossessed of power and pre-
paring to run over again the same courses, careless of the past and
reckless of the future.

Six were the Cortes Loans ; six were likewise the Royal Loans of
that government — of the absolute Ferdinand which succeeded. We
shall not attempt any detail of them, because they present no more than
a disgusting repetition, though upon a more moderate and less disho-
nourable scale, of the frauds, the conversions, and the hocus pocus
already exposed of their Constitutional exemplars. The people who
appeared as Contractors of the first, for 334,000,000 reales are, one
Marquis de Croy, who, some year and a half ago, figures before the
tribunal of Correctional Police at Paris on charges of making or altering
certain pieces of paper, not Spanish bonds but imitation Bank notes ;
and who may be seen either at St. Pelagie or elsewhere, imprisoned at
this moment, we believe, either for that or other escroqueries ; the
Compte de Croy, his brother we suppose, was a Co-contractor, with
Messrs. Guebbard and Co., company of banquiers de Paris, and other
worthies. Although the Loan did not succeed for the government, it
did for the confederates, who one and all achieved fortunes, which some
of them could not keep ; so true it is, that money obtained lightly often
doth make itself wings and fly away. The remainder of the Loan not
negociated was entrusted to Senor Aquado, then a petty wine-dealer,
to commence in which humble though honest calling he was indebted,
it is said, to the bounty of a friend for the loan of 10,000 francs (£400
of our money) ; although now, since March 1824, the date of his first
contract, and in less than ten years, Senor Aquado was accounted a

SPANISH LOANS, 187

millionaire, one of the greatest capitalists not of France alone, but of
Europe, his property being seldom estimated at less than two or three
millions sterling ; he carries in his pocket moreover, although he has
the good taste not to append to his name, the patent of the title of
Marquis de las Marismas, conferred on him by the gratitude of Fer-
dinand, with probably some dozen couces of Isabel la Catolica, and
other orders. Aquado, with Burgo?, Minaeno, and the colleagues with
whom he carried through his loan schemes, belong to the class of po-
liticians designated in Spain as Afrancesados, a party wholly and indi-
vidually sold to Buonaparte, adherents of his brother Joseph, some time
the intrusive king ; a party utterly abominated as traitors in Spain, and
as such expelled by both the Cortes and Ferdinand himself. More
fortunate or more prudent than his rival speculators, Aquado retains
his hold upon the wealth he has acquired, whilst the house of Ardoin,
Hubard, & Co., after all the immense gains, a sketch of which we have
given, figured some few years since in the Paris list of Insolvents. It may
be observed, indeed, that those gains were not exclusively appropriated by
the House, but a portion became naturally divisible among the great
capitalists, here and elsewhere, without whose co-operation and counte-
nance a concern of its standing could hardly have attempted, much less
carried into effect, financial operations of such extraordinary magnitude
and intricacy. Although these are the real parties through whom the
large advances in anticipation were in reality made, which would not
assuredly have been afforded without previous acquaintance with, ap-
proval of, and participation in the provisions of the contracts, yet
doubtless they stand purged in their own eyes from any taint of the
original sin of those scandalous contracts, because public accessories
only after the fact. The plea is a questionable one even for consciences
so well seared as those of practised money-changers. The splendid share
of these auxiliaries it is not for us to calculate ; as the house of Ardoin,
Hubard, & Co., disgorged upwards of a million sterling of the spoil on
one contract, upon a simple remonstrance and exposure of an unin-
itiated Committee of the Cortes, so we have heard of capitalists con-
cerned, who, on the failure of extensive brokers and jobbers in the
Securities on the London Stock Exchange, most liberally and at once
released them from claims of hundreds of thousands for which they stood
as creditors. The Conde Toreno fared sumptuously and magnificently
at Paris, during an exile which should have left him poor — poor as he
was at home, where, as our neighbours say, he was before the era of
loans and " conversions," crible de defies,* poor and virtuous as Agustin
Arguelles and Admiral Valdez, whilst the great mass of his brethren in

* During the latter year of his exile, it would appear that he had exhausted
every thing. Since his return to his own country and accession to office, under
the patronage of Louis Philippe (himself more than suspected of being largely
interested in Spanish and other jobbing loan transactions), the French papers
record it as to his honour, that he has riot only repaid but handsomely grati-
fied some French actress or Opera dancer, on whose bounty he had latterly
depended, after having upon her and others, during his short-lived day of
opulence, lavished his gifts with open hand.

SPANISH LOANS

188

banishment, victims and dupes of his delusive theories and eloquence,
were begging their bread in the streets of London, and would have pe-
rished of hunger in any other land save that of British hospitality.

We shall close this part of our subject with a comparative view of
the Constitutional and Royal Loans — a review which in its results,
even if admitted with due allowance for the exaggerations and pre-
dilections of a partizan, does infinite credit to the skill and masterly
combinations of Aquado. The balance is thus struck by our author :

CORTES LOANS.

Reales.

Nominal capital
of the loans issued
by theGovernment
of the Cortes in
33 months .... 2,098,961,875

Proceeds in ac-
tual money .... 507,404,084

Average rate of
the loans, 24 and
one-sixth percent.

Difference be-
tween the capital
of the debt and its
proceeds, or loss to
the Spanish go-
vernment in these
transactions. . . . 1,591,557,791

ROYAL LOANS.

Nominal capital
of the loans issued
by theGovernment
of Ferdinand in 10
years

Proceeds in ac-
tual money ....

Average rate of
the loans, 42 and a
half per cent.

Difference be-
tween the capital
of the debt and its
proceeds, or loss to
the Spanish go-
vernment in these
transactions .

Reales.

1,745,890,666
739,595,106

1,006,295,560

Let it be further observed, that the last half year's interest paid
being that due November 1st 1823, there are due up to November
1st 1834, eleven years' interest, amounting to 1,141,284,760 r. v. ;
we then arrive at this result — that the Spanish Government is now
debtor to a capital of 3,240,246,635 r. v., for which it has received
only 507,404,084 r. v , that is to say, about ONE-SIXTH of the said
capital.

" So that the conditions of the loans contracted under the two
Governments are to each other as 24 to 42, or about 5 to 9 ; that
is to say, that WITHIN ONE-FIFTH, THE ROYAL LOANS HAVE YIELDED,

IN PROPORTION TO THE NOMINAL CAPITAL, DOUBLE THE PROCEEDS

OF THE CORTES LOANS.

" It should, moreover, be observed, that upwards of one-third of
the total amount of the loans concluded by the absolute Government,
only burdens the State with an interest of three per cent.; wh 1st
those of the Cortes were saddled with an interest of five per cent.
Nor should it be overlooked, that the greater part of the Cortes loans
were negociated at the time when the constitutional Government
was in its highest power, and had with it the sympathies of nearly all
Europe ; while the Royal loans were brought forward, either at a
period of distress, or when the liberal press had stimulated public
censure, and excited the distrust of the bankers of the principal trad-
ing towns."

SPANISH LOANS.

Reales.

Thus upon these two descriptions of loans Spain

stands indebted ....... 4,986,000,000

For which she has received values real or pretended

to the amount of .... 1,247,000,000

Balance against Spain yet to be liquidated on this

race of public spoliation . . . 3,739,000,000

Or between forty and fifty millions sterling!

It is with these circumstances fresh in our recollection, that the
Conde Toreno and some of his former associates have recommenced
the ruinous business of loan-jobbing. The former Cortes, we have
seen, saddled the state with nearly double the amount of loans in
thirty-three months that the absolute Ferdinand did in ten years, to
say nothing of the differential proceeds so greatly in favour of the
latter. The first proposed loan of these worthy gentlemen (who,
after their former intimate union, re-entered Spain almost together,
one of the contractors following close upon the heels of his ancient
confederate) was signed on the 6th of December last, for 701,754,386
reales, nominal capital, or at the price of 60 effective money, or
about four millions and a quarter sterling. The interest at five per
cent., according to former precedents, commences on the 1st of No-
vember previous. The usual juggle is played in the delivery to
the contractor of 150,000,000 of bonds by anticipation, before an in-
stalment is payable. Should the price in the Stock-exchange exceed
66, within three months from the date of the contract, the last half
of the loan is to be paid at the rate of 66 ; but the danger of that
has been avoided, since the period has already elapsed, and the
bonds carefully kept below the price until the danger was passed.
Then we have again another hocus pocus of a conversion of old
stock into new, to be entrusted to the sole " charge of M. Ardoin,
under the superintendence of the minister of finance," his old friend
Toreno; so that the operation may not deluge the public with bonds
to the deterioration of the premiums, but the " state of markets" be
consulted. The holders of old bonds are indeed to be permitted,
by special " convention" with the contractor, to take all or part of
the new loan by "fragments of specie ;" and, finally, we have [the
customary mystification about " active " and "passive" debt, with
other such like rigmarole to " split the ears of the groundlings."

We have faith, however, that the project will fail, and that the
lessons of the past are not absolutely thrown away upon our country-
men, for it is against them the conspiracy is directed. With a civil
war raging in the heart of Spain, in which Don Carlos has so far
the upper hand that all the queen's generals are shut up, and rarely
venture to quit the defences of their fortresses ; with a revenue de-
creasing by nearly one-fourth, from the impossibility, as Toreno
admits, of receiving any supplies or taxes from Aragon, Biscay,
Guipuzcoa, and Navarre, the insurgent districts — he might add
Valencia and Catalonia also — it ,is an insanity without parallel in
the annals of St. Luke's to loan further millions to a government al-
most irrecoverably bankrupt ; which indeed would reach its coffers

190 SPANISH LOANS.

now no more than heretofore, but go to make or to swell the fortunes
of needy patriots and intriguing schemers, with usurious capitalists
behind the curtain, grasping all, and leaving their dupes, the public,
with the waste-paper securities.

The debt, foreign and domestic, of Spain, may be

estimated at . . . . . £150,000,000

Reales Vellon.

The Conde Toreno himself states the expenditure at 957,460,000
The revenue 766,804,000

Annual deficit . . 190,656,000

Or about in sterling £2,000,000

Assuming the whole debt to bear interest at the rate

of 2J per cent, only, we shall have . . . 3,750,000

An annual deficit of . . £5,750,000

That is to say, the annual deficit nearly equals in amount the
whole of the revenue, as that is stated by the Conde Toreno himself.
But taking into account that he has overstated the revenue by one
hundred millions of reales, and understated the expenditure by at
least an equal sum, as we could readily prove from indisputable au-
thorities, but for the inadmissible length to which it would carry this
article ; reckoning also the charges of interest upon the loan of
700,000,000 of reales contracted in the last November, and now on
the money market, together with other loans and obligations since
contracted and being contracted, of which the bondholders rest in a
happy state of unconsciousness ; taking all these together, we repeat,
there can be no question that the annual deficit exceeds considerably
the whole of the annual income of Spain. We have assumed the in-
terest upon the debt at 2J per cent, only in this calculation; but,
although the rates vary upon the different loans, and especially as
between the foreign and domestic portions, we have little doubt that
the average would be found higher than we have chosen to calculate
it. The budget of Toreno for 1836 will, or we shall be mistaken,
afford many contradictions to that for 1835.

Re that as it may, a debt of ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTT MILLIONS
STERLING, with an annual deficit superior in amount to the whole of
the revenue, present grave matter for the cogitation of all concerned.
Zealous friends as we are to the Christino cause and the cause of
liberal institutions for Spain, we cannot afford to violate conscience
by advocating the wholesale plunder of our fellow-subjects as the
means to that end. Spanish loans have heretofore, as we fear to
think they will again, proved the irremediable ruin of thousands of
our countrymen ; to Spain they have produced nothing but beggary
and bankruptcy; contractors, jobbers, and unprincipled capitalists;
nothing possessing or nothing risking, are alone the parties to benefit;
these gorge themselves to repletion at the expense of their unsus-
pecting victims, the people, whom they flatter and fawn on tlie

SPANISH LOANS. 191

while, as the vampire fans with refreshing coolness the sleeping
prey, whose heart's blood it is voraciously draining.

The practical lessons which 1823 and the panic of June last in
the money market afford, are beacons, whose warnings should not be
disregarded ; they who require signs more portentous of the future
would not be satisfied though one rose from the dead. The descent,
in a few days only, of Spanish paper from seventy to thirty-five, is a
recent and truth-telling developement of the facilis descensas averni,
as applied to Spanish loans, or rather of their natural tendency,
when unacted upon by the force or fraud of capitalists and jobbers,
to find their proper level. Amidst the concern which we must feel
for the victims of good faith and unsuspecting confidence on that
fatal occasion, it is a consolation to know that some of the original
plotters have likewise been victimized by their own overreaching,
or, entangled in the meshes, perchance, of more potent beasts of
prey. The conspiracy is not for all that abandoned ; the Sisyphean
task of rolling the cumbrous mass of bond-debt upwards has, we
perceive, recommenced. All manner of help is pressed into the
service of the fainting, fear-stricken labourers. The Quixotic mis-
sion of the gallant de Lacy Evans, trumpeted forth as it was, ope-
rated, however, upon the disconsolate stock-jobbers no more than
would a charge sounded from a penny trumpet, upon the Anglo-
Spanish dragoons, that are to be, of Colonel Kinlock. The disinter-
ested Ricardos, &c., protocolized Lord Palmerston, and his lordship
protocolled gallantly in reply, in vain; the million found subscribed
upon paper, and advertized in the daily papers, was powerless in
behalf of Spanish paper. The hour of extreme unction seemed at
hand, when the death of one man saved — not a state only, but —
Spanish bonds and coupons, debt active, deferred, and passive, with
all that thereupon fatten. The leaden messenger which struck Zu-
malacarraguy was doubtless the identical weight which held down
scrip, newly installed, and vales consolidados ; as his wound festered
so the bonds prospered ; the fever which enfeebled the frame of the
hero revivified the rotten carcase of the stock house; Zumalacarra-
guy died, and the surgeon who excised ball and life together, injected
by the very process a new life and life's blood into the corpus de-
functus of Capel Court. The cauldron began to bubble again, al-
though not yet at boiling heat; auxiliary ingredients were, ever and
anon, thrown in by the weird enchanters, whose occupation it is to
transmute paper into gold for their own use, and at other folks' cost.
Toreno, the sworn ally of the Stock Exchange, became a premier —
that was one left ; Senor Mendizabal was nominated to be his fag,
or Secretario de Hacienda — a very master-stroke of policy. He
who had wonders worked for the funds of Portugal — he who had
shut up her six per cents, to par, and then with his magic wand had
transmuted them into threes of baser metal — what could not he
achieve for the dolorous fives of Spain ? So reasoned the gentlefolk
of the Alley — but the public heeded not. Nevertheless, Spanish loans
commenced creeping on, stealthily and timidly however ; the busi-
ness is, as we trust the business will remain, all among the money-
changers of the temple in Bartholomew-lane, a mere matter of rou-

19'2 . SPANlsli LOANS.

tine, buying with the right and selling with the left hand, among
the families of the Shylocks and Overreaches.

Senor Mendizabal was the financial agent, or envoy of Portugal, to
the money-market of this city. We are told of the exceeding expert-
ness he has displayed in managing the financial affairs of that country.
Upon that knotty point we have an opinion, and could say something
if we would. We, who have heard of him in Spain, as well as else-
where, should lament to learn that he had sacrificed his own finan-
cial interests to those of Portugal, as it is recorded in Chancery he
did once on a time to those of his native land. It is whispered that
Senhor Carvalho, his chief, and late Portuguese Chancellor of the
Exchequer, has arranged his to admiration, and now enjoys the
blessed otium with sufficient splendour, if not dignity. What may
be briefly told of Portuguese finance is, that for payment of interest
or principal of the Carvalho loans, not one cento of reis has, to this
hour, been remitted from Portugal ; gold has been shipped from
hence, and, bulk unbroken, re-shipped from the Tagus, for the
Thames, for payment of dividends we know; such gold being the
produce of a loan raised here for the stated purpose of redeeming
some floating old paper rags in Portugal, and not so applied ;
being really intended for dividends falling due in London, in the
teeth as is alleged of obligations incurred with the public, in the
formalized provisions of former loans against the contract of new
ones within a specified period, and without the fulfilment of special
conditions. If financial management be measured by its cost, then
should the Portuguese nation rank high the talent of Carvalho and
his coadjutors — if any he had : nay, they should make them a calf
of molten gold in his honour, although dearly have they paid already
in commissions, shipping and re-shipping charges, insurances and
exchanges, for a knowledge of the science of management and mys-
tification. The conversion of the six per cents, out of the last three
per cent, loan, with the solid disposable residuum, is only a more
finished process of the same manufacture, adapted for future contin-
gencies of quarterly concern.

Flourishing, however, are the accounts from Lisbon. Convents
are abolished, monasteries suppressed, estates confiscated, and na-
tional domains put up to sale. All these vast properties are fetching,
we are gravely told, 100 per cent, beyond the taxed price, and
enough, aye, more than enough, will be realized to redeem the
whole debt of the state. The Cortes of Spain confiscated, and sold,
and published, the very same thing in 1822 and 1823 ; but somehow
the proceeds never reached the pockets, or more properly, the ex-
chequer of the state ; for Spanish functionaries of those days had, as
we hope the Portuguese have not, a wonderful dexterity in inter-
cepting the supplies, or each severally taking toll of them. The
Por*uguese lesson will, no doubt, find apt scholars in Madrid, already
partly initiated, and we may shortly expect to hearof royal auctions,
at which principalities will be knocked down to capitalists, fiercely
contending at covering acres with dollars ; whilst monastic lands and
tenements, in the conflict of Protestant and Hebrew, must, at the
least, realize fifty years' purchase. That these wonders will be

THE EUROPEAN PERIODICAL PRESS. 193

achieved, we may hesitate to believe; that they will be swallowed
in pure simplicity of heart, by bond-holders, or depositors in savings'
banks eager to add to their little hoards, we cannot assert, after what
we have witnessed, to be impossible ; that they will be printed and
published and bruited about from high authority, let no one doubt.
We judge of the things that will be, from those that have been. Let
the people, for whom we write, take heed by our warnings in due
season, and treat such rumours as the vox et preterea nihil, " full of
sound and fury, signifying nothing."

For Spain there is hope, and then only, when she shall have a mi-
nistry free from the taint of stock-jobbing. Under any circumstances,
nothing, we fear, awaits her and her unfortunate creditors, but a na-
tional bankruptcy. But the evils of even so direful a state of things
may be greatly mitigated, if honest intentions, good faith, and pure
patriotism preside at the helm of her affairs. She possesses public
men who enjoy, and, what is more, who deserve, confidence both at
home and abroad. With Agustin Arguelles at the exchequer, the
science of finance would cease to centre in, or be made subservient
to, the price of bonds or vales ; with Alcala Galiano at the home
department, virtue and vigour would be infused into the constitutional
system. Other coadjutors equally honest, if less able, we could
name to assist them in the work of regeneration, but this needs not
to accomplish our task. In bidding farewell to the subject, let us
not, however, be unjust to Martenez de la Rosa, the late prime
minister of Spain. Honourable and honoured, he has descended
into a private station, not convicted of incapacity for his high func-
tions, but deficient, .physically as mentally, of the iron-hearted energy
demanded for the eventful times in which his lot was cast. His
hands are untainted with the leprous defilement of the stock-jobbing
fellowships ; he boasts no palaces built up from the spoils of a much-
wronged country, whose quarried blocks of polished marble are
cemented with the tears of widows and orphans despoiled of their
rnites, and affectionate fathers too eager for the worldly weal of those
they cherish, to be wise even in the ways of this generation. Gentle
was the rule, patriotic as philanthropic the aims of the retired states-
man ; in the bosom of his family, amid the circle of friends who
loved the man, and fawned not on the minister, in the enjoyment of
that literature to which he was ever so fondly attached, and of which
he has the glory of being crowned the presiding genius, may he find,
as he will find, that peace and happiness which are vainly to be sought
in the turmoil of party, and the strife of vulgar ambition — which po-
litical storms shall invade and assail in vain.

THE EUROPEAN PERIODICAL PRESS.

As society advances in civilization most callings are materially
varied. Numerous circumstances give individuals, devoted to the
same labours, at distant periods, very different stations in life ; and

M. M.— No. 8. 2 B

194 THE PERIODICAL PRESS.

persons, nominally in the same situations, are engrossed by cares
very different now, from those which attached to those situations
formerly.

Of all the changes of this sort, produced by the march of time, we
are inclined to think none can be more curious, none more extraor-
dinary, than those which affect newspapers. In a volume entitled
Tales of To-day, this has been shown by a reference to ancient jour-
nals, which will at once startle and amuse. The volume is hand-
somely printed and embellished with some spirited and curious
engravings.

The article to which we refer gives the following history of the
rise and progress of newspapers :

" In England, newspapers are said to have originated in the
policy of Lord Burleigh, who, when this country, in the reign of
Queen Elizabeth, was threatened^svith an invasion by Spain, availed
himself of them to inform the people of the designs of their enemy,
and of the ' measures necessary to be adopted in order to frustrate
those designs.

" But it was during the wars between King Charles I. and his
Parliament, that the importance of these daily or weekly sheets was
first thoroughly understood. Then it was that the partisans of
the Monarch, and their adversaries, looked to the newspapers to
promote their designs, by telling their story in their own way, and
refuting what they treated as misrepresentations ; and then began
that competition among news-writers which has since been carried to
a most astonishing length.

" The sudden and extensive publicity given to whatever was
printed in those sheets, soon suggested to individuals, who wished to
make their wants or talents known, or to offer their merchandize for
sale, the expediency of getting their wishes fashioned into advertise-
ments. The duties of an editor became very different from what
they had been, and not less different from what they are now. In
peaceable times, the conductor of a newspaper, at the close of the
seventeenth century, bore no resemblance to the military partisan of
Oliver Cromwell's time, or to the literary chief of a modern estab-
lishmen. The editor of a journal, who was also generally its printer
and publisher, must have been more like a broker or auctioneer of
the present day, than any character now known in connection with
the diurnal or weekly press."

This assertion is made out by the production of a string of adver-
tisements, from a newspaper published in 1697. They prove that
the editor, who was also generally its printer and publisher, was then
a sort of general voucher for the accuracy of his advertising customers.

"If any Hamburgh or other merchant, who shall deserve £200
with an apprentice, wants one, I can help."

" One has a pert boy, about ten years old, can write, read, and be
very well recommended ; she is willing' he should serve some lady
or gentleman."

"I want a cook-maid for a merchant."

" I sell chocolate made of the best nuts, without spice or perfume,
and with vinellbes and spice, from four to ten shillings the pound,

THE PERIODICAL PRESS. 195

and 1 know them to be a great helper of bad stomachs, and restora-
tive to wake people, and I'll insure for their goodness."
. " If any will sell a free estate, within thirty miles of London, with
or without a house, to the value of £100 the year, or thereabout, I
can help to a customer."

" If any have a place belonging to the law, or otherwise, that is
worth £1000 or £1200, I can help to a customer."

"If anydivine or their relics, have complete sets of Manuscript
Sermons upon the Epistles and Gospels, the Church-catechism, or
Festivals, I can help to a customer."

" A fair house in Eastcheap, next to the Flower-de-liz, now in the
tenure of a smith, with a fair yard, laid with free stone, and a vault
underneath, with a cellar under the shop, done with the same stone,
is to be sold : I have the disposal of it."

" I believe I could furnish all the nobility and gentry in England
with valuable servants, and such as can have very good recom-
mendation."

" Mr. David Rose, chirurgeon and man-midwife, lives at the first
brick house on the right hand in Gun yard, Houndsditch, near Aid-
gate, London. I have known him these twenty years."

" 1 want an apprentice for an eminent tallow-chandler.'*

" If any want all kind of necessaries for corps, or funerals, I can
help to one who does assure me he will use them kindly ; and who-
ever can keep their corps till they can send to London, and have a
ready made coffin sent down, may afterwards have them kept any
reasonable time."

" About forty miles from London is a schoolmaster, has had such
very great success with boys, as there are almost forty ministers and
schoolmasters that were his scholars. His wife also teaches girls
lace-making, plain-work, raising paste, sauces, and cookery, to the
degree of exactness. His price is £19, or £11 the year, with a pair
of sheets, and one spoon; to be returned, if desired: coaches and
other conveniences pass every day within half a mile of the house;
and 'tis but an easy day's journey to or from London."

" I know of several men and women whose friends would gladly
have them matched ; which I'll endeavour to do, as from time to
time I shall hear of such whose circumstances are likely to agree ;
and if they ill come to me, it shall be done with all the honor and
secresie imaginable. Their own parents shall not manage it more
to their satisfaction : and the more comes to me, the better I shall
be able to serve 'em."

From the above, it will be seen, that the advertisers were not in
the habit of giving their addresses, but the editor was to do all that
was necessary. He engaged to get places, to hire or let houses, to
sell all sorts of commodities, and last, not least, to make love for his
customers. It would be difficult to find an editor of the present
day, competent to undertake such various negociations.

But a modern newspaper establishment greatly exceeds in magni-
tude any thing known in former times. — Exclusive of a large com-
pany of printers, the editors, reporters, translators, and clerks, regu-
larly connected with a London newspaper, form a corps of from ten

196 Tilt: PERIODICAL Pit ESS.

to twenty gentlemen, constantly ready to give their talents and
labour whenever they may be called for. They find their way every
where. The low meetings of idle mechanics, which were frequent
some years ago, were not beneath their notice ; and the same indi-
viduals who ascended the carts and waggons put in requisition by
Thistlewood and his associates, attended at Westminster-hall and
Abbey, in their court dresses, at the Coronation of his present
Majesty.

A modern English newspaper numbers among its contributors
persons of all classes in the State. From its great and acknowledged
influence, statesmen of the highest celebrity, and persons most dis-
tinguished for exalted rank, or most eminent for talent, do not disdain
to correspond with its editor; while many of the meanest of the lower
classes, whom chance may make the spectators of an accident, find
their interest in carrying it to the journalists. This practice, though
contributing, with the other liberal arrangements of the newspaper
press, to produce a concentrated mass of intelligence, to be found in
the periodical publications of no other country, is attended with one
injurious consequence. Individuals who cannot boast of " a local
habitation or a name," are constantly on the hunt for accidents,
which they sometimes invent when they cannot find them. Such
fraudulent practices the editors fail not to expose and punish ; but
they cannot always prevent them ; and the parties thus unworthily
employed, putting themselves forward as " Reporters," and "Gentle-
men of the Press," bring unmerited reproach on writers of a very
different character, who have furnished from their ranks the Bar, and
all the liberal professions, with some of their most efficient members,
and who have comprehended many of the best ornaments of their
country's literature. What more striking proof can be given of their
industry and talent, than is furnished by a modern Parliamentary
debate *? A single night produces sufficient matter to fill an octavo
volume, and the speech pronounced in .the senate at four or five
o'clock in the morning, is often seen on the breakfast table before
nine.

A newspaper, says a sensible writer in Tait, is a flying omnibus,
licensed to carry the opinions of the world. Time and space are
compromised by its velocity and power ; for it has the regularity of
ocean's tides, besides that they are turned into steam, and work at
high pressure. It is an ephemeral giant, whose birth is renewed
every morning; and it issues forth to the field with all its "arms
and appointments," as though it had only slept like the rest of us, in-
stead of having laid human brains and hands, and wonder-working
machinery, under heavy contributions for its re-action. — In its war-
replenished grasp it holds the passions, prejudices, interests, reasons,
virtues, and vices of the times, with the opinions that result from the
complex mixture ; and it strides forward on seven-leagued boots —
to speak moderately — strewing them on every side. It is a voice
that will be heard ; for, if it fail in its desperate effort to have its
own way, and produce its desired effect, it gives up attempting to
make the mountain come to it, and very wisely sides with the col-
lected mass, ft is the mirror of public opinion ; not the original or

THE PERIODICAL PRESS. 197

fundamental creator, but the munificent distributor. You may be
heartily sick of politics, commerce, and the rest of the perverse pre-
sent ; but the newspaper claims your ear as its prey, and remorselessly
pursues you for ever. Dart away by the mail to escape from some
detested news of Bourbon or St. Nicholas, and take shipping- at the
Land's End, " the paper'' goes with you; hide yourself where you
will, it finds you out ; it is the bellman of your social existence, your
shadow, your familiar; in short, there is no avoiding it. The first
house we set our foot in, on arriving at Mexico, in 1825, — in time of
war, trouble, and yellow fever, and before speculators and travellers
had ventured their lives and fortunes to work mines, or write a book,
— there sat the vice-consul's clerk, blowing swift clouds from a
rnuch-excited cigar, behind a copy of the incorrigible, omnipresent
Times newspaper!

It is to the Italians we are indebted for the idea of newspapers.
The title of their Gazzettas was, it is thought, derived from the word
Gazzera, a magpie or chatterrer; but much more likely from a
farthing coin peculiar to the city of Venice, called Gazzetta, the
common price of all newspapers.

The first paper, however, was a Venetian one, and only monthly,
and was merely the newspaper of the government. Mr. Chalmers,
in his life of Ruddiman, assures us that the jealous government did
not allow a printed newspaper, and the Venetian Gazetta continued
long after the invention of printing, to the close of the 16th century,
to be distributed in manuscript.

It is a remarkable fact, which history was either too idle to
ascertain, or too much ashamed to relate, that the arms of Cromwell
communicated to Scotland, with other benefits, the first newspaper
which had ever "illuminated" the gloom of the North. Either army
carried its own printer with it, expecting either to convince by its
reasoning, or delude by its falsehood.

These were, however, but extraordinary Gazettes, and not regu-
larly published. The first newspaper in the collection at the British
Museum is marked No. 50, and is in Roman, not in black letter ; it
contains articles of news, like the present London Gazette. The
first daily paper was published after the abdication of James II. and
took for its popular title that of The Orange Intelligencer. $

In the reign of Queen Anne there was but one daily paper, the
others were weekly. Some attempted to introduce literary subjects;
and Sir Richard Steele then formed the plan of his Tatler ; but it
remained for the elegant Addison to banish the painful topic of
politics from his interesting pages, and from his time periodical
literature and newspapers became distinct works. The following
advertisement is copied from an old Norwich newspaper, printed by
Henry Crossgrove, in the year 1739. "This is to inform my friends
and customers, that on Saturday next this newspaper will be sold
for a penny, and continue at that price. The reason of my raising it
to a penny is, because I cannot afford to sell it under any longer,
and I hope none of my customers will think it dear at a penny, since
they shall always have the best intelligence, besides other diversions."

At first newspapers were extremely small and limited in their ex-

198 THE PERIODICAL PRESS.

tent, not exceeding the bounds of an ordinary letter; but after 1713,
in which year the newspapers were first stamped, it became neces-
sary, as much from this circumstance as from any other, to enlarge
the size, as well as to raise the price. Notwithstanding, however,
the important scenes that from that time up to the year 1750,
were acting on the theatre of Europe, and the stirring events that
took place in England and Scotland, the inventive powers of the
editors appear frequently to have been at a stand-still ; they were
often puzzled enough in what manner to fill up their columns, scanty
as they still were; and in the latter year the editor of the Leicester
Journal — a paper which was printed in London and sent down to
Leicester for publication — actually had recourse to the Bible to help
him out, and filled up his empty space with extracts from it ! He
commenced at the beginning of Genesis, and continued the extracts
in every succeeding number, chapter by chapter, as far as the 10th
chapter of Exodus 1

The press, says an eminent American writer, wields a power over
every " reading community " not easily described ; it is a mere
power, and its operation for good or evil depends entirely on the
motives and direction given to it by its conductors. THERE ARE

STRONG TEMPTATIONS TO MISLEAD THROUGH THIS POWER ; think,

therefore, that we all owe thanks and gratitude to those independent
and able men who have given their time and talents to the press,
during this controversy. And here I may ask, what would have
been the case if the u press" had taken a wrong direction? If no
exposition, no foretelling of the advance of evil had been made by
it, is there not danger that before the people could have been roused
to a just view of their situation, the government of the country would
have been, in a great measure, changed ?

The following members of the Press have held public situations :
Lord Brougham, formerly a chief editor of the Edinburgh Review,
late lord high chancellor of England. — The Right Hon. J. W.
Croker, one of the editors of the Quarterly, late secretary of the
Admiralty.— T.he Right Hon. F. JefFery, chief editor of the
Edinburgh Review, late lord advocate of Scotland. — Mr. Roebuck,
one of the editors of the Westminster Review, a member of parlia-
ment.— E. L. Bulwer, Esq., late editor of the good old Monthly
Magazine, a member of parliament. — John Walter, Esq., one of the
proprietors and co-editor of the Times, a member of parliament for
a county. — Mr. Grote, one of the proprietors of the Chronicle, mem-
ber for the city of London. — Colonel Torrens, late proprietor and
chief editor of the Globe, member of parliament, holding some place
besides. — Mr. Praed, editor of the Morning Post, member of parlia-
ment, and secretary to the India Board. — Mr. Baines of the Lieds
Mercury, member of parliament. — Mr. Coulson, formerly editor of
the Globe, one of the late commissioners for enquiring into the poor
laws. — Mr. Chadwicke, late one of the editors of the Examiner, now
secretary to the poor law commission. — Mr. Wakley, editor of the
Lancet, member of parliament. — Mr. D. W. Harvey, late editor of
the Sunday Times, a member of parliament. — Mr. Buckingham, of
the Calcutta Journal, of the Argus, &c. &c. &c., member of parlia-

THE LONDON NEWSPAPERS. 199

ment. — Mr. Sergeant Spankie, sub-editor of the Morning Chronicle,
late member of parliament, candidate for a judgeship, and actual
counsel to the East India Company. — Mr. Shiel, formerly reporter
on the Chronicle, member of parliament. — Sir John Campbell, for-
merly reporter on the Chronicle, late solicitor general. — Sir John
Jeffcott, once reporter on the New Times, now chief judge of the
admiralty court at Malta. — Mr. Dowling, formerly reporter of the
Chronicle, a judge at Sidney. — Mr. Farren, formerly editor of the
British Traveller, now consul-general in Syria. — Besides many others,
who have ably served in various commissions and other capacities.

THE LONDON NEWSPAPERS.

IT is a curious picture of the condition and habits of the country—
a record which was kept 500 years ago would be more valuable now
than all the histories together that we have in print — the common News-
paper which comes into the world every morning at six o'clock, and
lies upon our breakfast table — and always full too, that's the strangest
problem — regularly by nine. The whole world, take away alone
America, possesses nothing like an approach to the same document.
A foreigner finds it difficult to comprehend the daily amount of the
actual domestic occurrences — the rapes, murders, forgeries, " and all
other interesting intelligence," which the metropolis affords — as I saw
a Sunday placard specifying the contents of a paper the other day.
But the real curiosity is in the page of advertisements — the master-
key which this furnishes to the state of England — of Europe — almost
of the world.

The unaccountable variety of callings and speculations that appear —
some so great ; some so apparently contemptible ; and yet all open-
ing mines of riches to so many ! One column announces the prepa-
ration of a hundred ships, all ready to'sail instantly, almost for as
many different ports in different quarters of the globe. The next
offers " Steam-packets to Richmond, every Sunday morning at
nine — Refreshments on board," — and "Two and sixpence each pas-
senger." A third sets out with the word " Accommodation !" —
" Any sum ! from two hundred pounds to ten thousand !— ready to
advance for the convenience of noblemen and gentlemen at a
moment's notice." And at the top of the fourth under the same
title — " Accommodation" — you find that " Ladies whose situations
require a temporary retirement," may hear of " An airy situation,"
and " the strictest secresy, by applying at No. 34, next door to the
grocer's, in James's-street, Gray's-Inn Lane." " Education tempts
you in every shape; from — "Yorkshire," at "Sixteen guineas
a-year," where there are " no extras or vacations," and "Fare by
the waggon," only £1 12*.; to— Rits in Urbe!"-— « Dr. Dolittle's
establishment'' — " Grosvenor-place" — and "Graduate of Cam-
bridge," at " two hundred." — And, if you turn to the next page, and
have only the happiness to be insane, you will see the " Tenderest
attention" is paid to " Valetudinarians," at " Strait Waistcoat
Lodge," between Somerstown and the Dust grounds at Battle Bridge ;

200 THE LONDON NEWSPAPERS.

"References of the first respectability" to persons who have been
raving ; and " Private families" accommodated with " keepers" upon
reasonable terms, " by the day, week, month, or year."

And all these fierce competitors for preference, in their thousand-
and-one peculiar occupations and capacities — the projector upon
Indian government, and the improver upon India soy — the companies
in Bridge-street, who think of nothing but insuring life, and the
undertakers in Fleet-market, who thrive only upon its extinction —
the draper, who founds himself entirely upon " Ten thousand pair
of warm Whitney blankets," and the perfumer, whose hope on this
side the grave is only to ensure " Universal ease and comfort in
shaving" — the patent pen-maker, and the patent pin-maker — the
mangle-maker and the spangle-maker — the dealers in spring-guns,
and in pop-guns — perigord pies, and artificial eyes — sell you a
mango, dance you a fandango — large Twelfth cakes, nobody but
Farance makes — Paris stays — raise the highways. These millions
are but the few who court popularity, at a peculiar expense, and
through one particular medium ! They are not the same as, but
over and above, the decorators of the dead walls of the town, posts,
obelisks, empty houses, and scaffoldings ; who address themselves
to the more busy crowd, who have not time to read newspapers, and
who can only pursue their researches, in pursuing their daily peram-
bulations— " Matrimonial joys " — "Suits for little boys" — "Teach
the deaf and dumb" — Great reduction in brandy and rum" — "Man
taken up on suspicion of stealing !" — " Tooth pulled out by Mr.
Jones, without feeling" — "Portable gas" — "Wild ass" — "Poison
rats'' — " Re-beavered hats" — " Clergyman's widow in great dis-
tress"— " New crapes and poplins for summer dress." There is no
place on earth, I believe, certainly none that ever I have visited,
where a man can get all he wants, and with so litle loss of time or
asking for, as in London.

For the very thirst of gain, in fact, which makes us merciless arid
rapacious, completely ensures every one's getting his " money's
worth," and in his own way, too, for his money. If you only want
a ride that costs a shilling, you have a whole "stand" of cab and
hackney coachmen, threatening each other's lives which shall sell it
to you. If you have ten miles to go into the country the omnibus
that carries you for six-pence is, in truth, drawn and driven in a style
ten times beyond the state of an Italian marquis. Would you dine ?
— dine at Harding's in Fleet-street — sumptuously from \bd. to
10*. 6c?., or in any quarter — in five minutes you have it on the table.
If you want a coat, the fashion changes five times before you can
determine which of the five hundred professors, who "unite elegance
with economy" for " prompt payment," best deserves your attention.
If you have a complaint, a thousand remedies are published in all
the shop windows — nay, on men's backs about the streets, for your
particular salvation. And, after they have killed you, there is a
fight between the Wooden Coffin Undertaker and the Iron, in which
material you shall be buried.

We sometimes meet with very funny things in the shape of adver-
tisements. Amongst the crowd of equivocal " Wants" of "plain

THE LONDON NEWSPAPERS. 201

chambermaids" and "light porters" every day to be found in the
Times newspaper, we lately observed the following : " Wanted
immediately, as footman, a respectable and well-educated man ; he
must understand the dead languages and speak most of the living
ones fluently. He will be expected to wait at table with decorum,
to clean knives and forks, and attend to a horse and gig. He must
be of a brave and serious deportment, help the girls to make the
beds, and play with the children !"

PROPER MODE OF LITERARY WARFARE. — As soon as a man
publishes his sentiments and opinions on any subject, they become
fair marks of attack. Ridicule is a perfectly legitimate weapon,
but must be confined to the publication itself, its language, or the
views it contains. No personal allusion is, or can be, admissible.
If a man puts forth what are conceived to be false or unsound
doctrines, either in politics, law, or religion, let their fallacy be ex-
posed. Knock the author on the head with an argument — run him
through with a syllogism — show the absurdity of his opinions — attack
them in prose or poetry, rhyme or blank verse. None of these can
an independent press refuse. They are all legitimate modes of
" wordy warfare." But personal abuse, and personal allusions, are
wholly indefensible. They do no good ; but, in nine cases out of
ten, a great deal of harm to the very side they are intended to
support. They promote not the cause of truth ; they, in fact, destroy
the beneficial effects that might otherwise result from free and inde-
pendent discussion.

When newspapers fall out, it is remarkable how closely they
imitate the foibles of common-place humanity. They no longer
make a mystery of their calling ; they fling off the disguise of their
avocation, and become the merecreatures of passion and impulse ;
like players in a country barn, who quarrel, cast away their mock
habiliments, and fight out their brawl in the vulgar way. When one
newspaper has had a difference with another, the animal sensitiveness
of the porcupine is awoken, and the thousand quills of ridicule and
opprobrium are put into active operation. The public, however,
care very little about personal animosities or professional etiquette :
the great mass of mankind remains perfectly unmoved by the shock
that is rending the printing-office from end to end ; and, while editors
are storming Vwer the types, readers are placidly smiling at their
folly. A quarrel is indicated thus : one Journal says of another —
"that vile organ of slander" — "that contemptible print" — "the
wretched Billingsgate, of the Hubbabub Journal" — our degraded
contemporary," &c. ; which complimentary epithets are returned
with interest by its opponent. At last, the difference becomes
reconciled ; and the newspaper that but a few days before concen-
trated in its columns the worst elements of mischief and disgrace, be-
comes suddenly transformed into " our respectable contemporary, the
Hubbabub Journal" — " that well-informed print" — " decidedly one
of the first of its class," &c. ; in all which commendations the public
takes as much interest as it did in the previous censorial criticisms.
These are things of course — they have grown up with the vices of
the press, and can only be expurgated by an editorial reformation,
M.M.— No. 8. 3 2 C

'202 THE MAJESTY OF THE BRITISH PRESS.

which is, perhaps, an unattainable millennium : — the fault is in human
nature — in the common condition of mal-constructed minds.

The " Times," being the most prosperous Journal in the empire,
is subject to an interminable war with nearly all the editors of the
other papers. The following specimen of attacks upon the " Times"
conveys a correct idea of newspaper quarrels in general : —

LIES OF THE " TIMES.'' — The Times journal, with that de-
praved taste for slander which characterises it, has been spitting
forth some of its rancorous slaver at the Marquis of Exeter,
whom it terms the greatest brothel proprietor in the metropolis.
Now the Times, whilst it makes this infamous statement, is at
the same time fully conscious that it is false. The estate be-
longs to the Noble Marquis, but the brothels are the property
of Samuel Arnold, Esq., a county Magistrate, and proprietor of
the late English Opera-house. This reputation-murdering print
sneers at the Marquis, as a Nobleman who " in private life is
considered to be strict even to austerity." If to be a man of unde-
viating integrity, to be a nobleman of unblemished conduct, of
unimpeachable honour and morality, exemplary in domestic life,
respected by all who know him, of liberal feelings, and a considerate
landlord, be an object for the venomous aim of the Times, they could
not have selected a Nobleman who more fully answers the descrip-
tion than the Marquis of Exeter. It is the principle of that journal
to malign those in any way opposed to its own shuffling line of con-
duct. The Marquis of Exeter is a Tory in heart and action ; a
staunch friend of the Constitution of his country ; one of the few
who vigorously opposed the "breaking in" upon that Constitution ;
and, consequently, a marked man by the Times, and the crew whose
eyes were so suddenly opened to the necessity of Catholic Emanci-
pation. To be independent is, in these days, a crime in the code
of politics ; and the Noble Marquis in question having an ample
rent-roll, which renders place not necessary to keep up his rank, as
is the case with the majority of our pauper aristocracy, is inde-
pendent, and of course an object of the hatred and (consequently)
malicious abuse from the " Wellington Journal." The " austerity "
of this Nobleman consists in his totally abstaining from gambling ; in
making his home the centre of his happiness ; in living on his own
estate ; in never exceeding his princely income, and expending it
amongst his tenants ; thus obtaining a reputation that defies malignity,
and maintaining the true dignity of an English Nobleman."

THE MAJESTY OF THE BRITISH PRESS.

Daily Morning.

The Times, Morning Advertiser, Chronicle, Herald, Post,
Public Ledger.

Daily Evening.

Evening Standard, ditto Globe, ditto Albion, ditto Courier, ditto
Sun, ditto True Sun.

Thrice a Week.
Evening Mail, Mon. Wed. Fr. London Packet, Mon. Wed. Fr.

THE PROVINCIAL PRESS. 203

St. James's Chronicle, Tu. Thur. Sat. English Chronicle, Tu. Thur.
Sat. Evening Chronicle, Tu. Thurs. Sat.

Twice a Week.

London Gazette, (by authority,) Tu. Fr. London New Price
Current, Tu. Fr. The Record, Mon. Thurs.

Weekly.

Monday, Christian Advocate, and Mark Lane Express. Tuesday,
Mercantile Price Cur., and Mercantile Journal. Wednesday, Patriot,
and General Advertiser. Thursday, Law Chronicle, and Law Ga-
zette. Friday, Baldwin's Journal, Cobbett's Register, (dead,) and
Prince's Price Cur. Saturday, Court Journal, Literary Gazette,
Naval and Military Gazette, and Nicholson's Com. Gazette. Sun-
day, Age,* Atlas,* Dispatch,* Examiner*, John Bull,t Life in
London,* News,** Sunday Herald, New Bell's Messenger,* Old
Bell's Messenger,** Old England,* Observer,! Satirist,* Spectator,*
Sunday Times,f United Service Gazette,* and Weekly True Sun.*
Those marked * have a Saturday edition ; ** have a Saturday and
Monday edition ; and f Monday edition.

ENGLISH PROVINCIAL NEWSPAPERS.

Bath Chronicle, ditto Gazette, ditto Guardian, ditto Herald, ditto
Journal. Berks Chronicle, (Reading). Berwick Advertiser. Bir-
mingham Advertiser, ditto Gazette, ditto Journal. Blackburn Alfred,
(dead), ditto Gazette. Bolton Chronicle. Boston and Lincoln
Herald. Bradford Observer. Bridgewater Alfred, (dead). Brighton
Gazette, ditto Guardian, ditto Hearld. Bristol Gazette, ditto Journal,
ditto Mercury, ditto Mirror, ditto Times. Bucks Gazette, (Ayles-
bury,) ditto Herald, (do.) Bury Herald, ditto Post, ditto Cambrian,
(Swansea). Cambridge Chronicle, ditto Free Press. Carlisle Jour-
nal, ditto Patriot. Carmarthan Journal, ditto Welchman. Car-
narvon Herald. Chelmsford Chronicle. Cheltenham Chronicle, ditto
Journal, ditto Free Press. Chester Chronicle, ditto Courant. Cole-
chester Gazette. Cornwall Gazette (Truro), ditto West Briton.
Coventry Herald, ditto Mercury. Cumberland Pacquet (White-
haven). Derby Mercury, ditto Reporter. Derbyshire Courier,
(Chesterfield). Devizes Gazette. Devon Advertiser, (Earnstaple),
ditto Journal. Devonport Independant, ditto Telegraph. Doncaster
Gazette. Dorset Chronicle, (Dorchester"). Dover Telegraph. Dur-
ham Advertiser, ditto Chronicle. Essex Herald, (Chelmsford), ditto
Independent, (do.) ditto Standard, (Colchester), ditto and Herts
Mercury, (London), ditto and Suffolk Press. Exeter Flying Post,
ditto Gazette, ditto Luminary, ditto Times. Falmouth Cornubian,
ditto Packet. Glamorganshire Guardian, (Merthyr). Gloucester
Chronicle, ditto Journal. Gravesend and Milton Journal. Green-
wich Gazette. Hampshire Advertiser, (Southampton), ditto Chro-
nicle, (Winchester), ditto Telegraph, (Portsmouth). Hereford
Journal, ditto Times. Herts County Press. Hull Advertiser, ditto
Observer, ditto Packet, ditto Rockingham. Ipswich Journal. Kent-
ish Chronicle, (Canterbury), ditto Gazette, (do.) Kent (West)

204 THE PROVINCIAL PRESS.

iGuardian, (do.) Kent Herald, (do.) ditto and Essex Mercury. Lan*
caster Gazette, ditto Herald. Leamington Courier, ditto Press.
Leeds Intelligencer, ditto Mercury, ditto Times. Leicester Chro-
nicle, ditto Herald, ditto Journal. Lichfield Mercury, (dead). Lin-
colnshire Chronicle. Lincoln Gazette, ditto Mercury, (Stamford).
Liverpool Albion, ditto Chronicle, ditto Courier, ditto General Ad-
vertiser, ditto Journal, ditto Mercantile Advertiser, ditto Mercury,
ditto Standard, ditto Times. Macclesfield Courier. Maidstone
Gazette, ditto Journal. Manchester Advertiser, ditto Chronicle,
ditto Courier, ditto Guardian, ditto Herald, ditto Times. Mon-
mouth Merlin. Newcastle Chronicle, ditto Courant, ditto Free
Press, ditto Journal, ditto Tyne Mercury. Norfolk Chronicle.
Norwich Mercury, ditto East Anglian, (dead), ditto Herald, ditto
Mercury. Northumberland Advertiser, (North Shields), (dead).
North Wales Chronicle, (Bangor.) Nottingham Journal, ditto
Mercury, ditto Review. Oxford Herald, ditto Journal, ditto Con-
servative. Plymouth Herald, ditto Journal. Portsmouth Herald.
Preston Chronicle, ditto Pilot. Reading Mercury. Rochester Ga-
zette. Salsbury Herald, ditto Journal. Sheffiield Independent, ditto
Iris, ditto Mercury. Sherborne Journal, ditto Mercury. Shrews-
bury Chronicle. Salopian Journal. Southampton Independent.
Stafford Advertiser, ditto Mercury, I (Hartley}. Stamford Bee
(dead), ditto Mercury, ditto News. Stockport Advertiser. Suffolk
Chronicle, (Ipswich). Sussex Advertiser, (Lewes). Sunderland
Herald. Taunton Courier. Warwick Advertiser. West Briton,
(Truro). Westmoreland Advertiser, (Kendal), ditto Gazette,
(do.) Whitehaven Herald. Windsor Express. Wolverhampton
Chronicle. Worcester Herald, ditto Journal. York Chronicle,
ditto Courant, ditto Gazette, ditto Herald, Yorkshireman.

SCOTCH PROVINCIAL NEWSPAPERS,

Aberdeen Advertiser, ditto Herald, ditto Journal, ditto Observer.
Ayr Advertiser, ditto Observer. Dumfries Courier, ditto Times.
Dundee Advertiser, ditto Chronicle, ditto Constitutional, ditto Guar-
dian. Edinburgh Advertiser, ditto Chronicle, ditto Courant, ditto
Constitution, ditto Gazette, ditto Journal, ditto Mercury, ditto Ob-
server, ditto Patriot, ditto Post, ditto Scotsman, Ditto Leith and
Glasgow Advertiser. Elgin Courant. Fife Herald (Cupar). Fife-
shire Journal (Kirkaldy). Glasgow Argus, ditto Chronicle, ditto
Courier, ditto Free Press, ditto Herald, ditto Journal, ditto Liberator,
ditto Post, ditto Reporter, ditto Scottish Guardian, ditto Scots Times.
Greenock Advertiser, ditto Intelligencer. Inverness Courier, ditto
Journal. Kelso Chronicle, ditto Mail. Kilmarnock Journal. Mon-
trose Review. Paisley Advertiser. Perth Advertiser, ditto Courier.
Stirling Journal and Advertiser.

IRISH PROVINCIAL NEWSPAPERS.

Athlone Independent. Balina Impartial (Castlebar). Bally-
shannon Herald. Belfast Commercial Chronicle, ditto News Letter,
ditto Northern Herald, ditto ditto Whig. Carlow Morning Post,
ditto Sentinel, ditto Standard. Clare Journal (Enm's), Clonmel

THE FOREIGN PRESS. 205

Advertiser, ditto Herald. Connaught Journal (Galway). Cork
Constitution, ditto Mercantile Chronicle, ditto Southern Reporter.
Drogheda Journal. Dublin Dispatch, ditto Evening Mail, ditto
ditto Packet, ditto ditto Post, ditto Freeman's Journal, ditto Evening
Freeman, ditto Gazette (by authority), ditto Mercantile Advertiser,
ditto Saunders' News Letter, Ditto Warder, ditto Weekly Freeman,
ditto Weekly Register, ditto Morning Register, ditto Pilot, ditto
Comet, ditto Times and Morning Post, ditto Racing Calendar.
Enniskillener. Ennis Chronicle. Enniskillen Chronicle. Galway
Advertiser, ditto Free Press, ditto Independent, ditto Western Argus,
ditto Impartial Reporter. Kerry Evening Post (Tralee), ditto
Western Herald (ditto), Kilkenny Moderator. Leinster Express.
Limerick Chronicle, ditto Evening Post, ditto Herald, ditto Times,
ditto Star. Longford Journal. Londonderry Journal, ditto Sentinel.
Mayo Constitution (Castlebar), ditto Free Press, ditto Telegraph.
Newry Examiner, Ditto Telegraph. Roscommon Gazette, ditto
Journal. Sligo Journal, ditto Observer. Strabane Morning Post.
Tiperary Free Press (Clonmel). Tralee Mercury. Waterford
Chronicle, ditto Mail, ditto Mirror, ditto Weekly Chronicle. West-
meath Journal (Mullingar). Wexford Freeman, ditto Herald,
ditto Independent.

BRITISH ISLANDS.

Guernsey Comet, ditto Gazette, ditto Mercury, ditto Star. Jersey
Gazette, Jditto Patriot, ditto Free Press, ditto English and Foreign
News. Manx Advertiser, (Douglas.) Manxman, (ditto.) Manx
Sun, (ditto.)

THE FOREIGN PRESS.

FRENCH NEWSPAPERS.

Galignani's Messenger. Constitutionnel. Corsair. Courier de
1'Europe. Courier Francais. Courier des Theatres. Figaro. France
Nouvelle. Gazette des Tribunaux. Journal de Paris. Journal de
la Seine. Journal du Commerce. Journal des Debats. Moniteur du
Commerce. Moniteur Universel. Mouvement. National. Publi-
cateur. Quotidienne. Revenant. Temps. Tribune. Cours Au-
thentique. " PARIS ADVERTISER." Indicateur, (Bordeaux.) Bon Sens.
Impartial, (Paris.) Echo Fran9ais. Gazette de France. Messager des
Chambres. Nouvelliste. Mayeux. Echo des Halles et des Marches.
Cabinet de la Lecture. Le Voleur. L'Amis de la Religion. Journal
des Dames, et des Modes. Petit Courier des Dames, La Mode. Le
Follet. Journal du Havre. Memorial Bordelais. Semaphore de
Marseille. Ami de la Charte, (Nantes.) Echo du Gard. Journal de
Calais. Havre List. Courrier de 1'Ain. Reparateur, (ct Lyons). Me-
morial de Pyrenees (of Bordeaux) . Auxiliare Breton (of Rennes) . Me-
morial de Pyrenees of Pau.

PORTUGUEES NEWSPABERS.

Lisbon Constitutional Chronicle, ditto Shipping List, ditto Price
Current. Coreio do Porto. Oporto Chronica Constitutional, ditto
Price Current, ditto Shipping List.

206 THE FOREIGN PRESS.

SPANISH NEWSPAPERS.

Madrid Gazette, ditto Messagero de las Cortes. Eco del Comercio
(of Madrid.) Gibraltar Chronicle. The Vapor, (Barcelona.)

ITALIAN NEWSPAPERS.

Gazetta di Milano, ditto di Roma. Diariodi Romi Notizie del
Giorno. Gazetta Piamontese. Giornale delle Due Sicilie. Biblio-
tica Italiana. Florence Gazette.

BELGIAN NEWSPAPERS.

Moniteur Beige. Courier Beige. Memorial Beige. Le Beige. Lynx.
Journal de la Belgique. L'Independant. Journal de 1'Industrie. Mes-
sagar de Gand. Journal d'Anvers. Journal du Commerce d'Anvers.
Anvers Shipping List. Journal de Gand. Journal de Bruxelles.

DUTCH NEWSPAPERS.

AlgemeenHandelsbald. AmsterdamscheCourant. Amsterdamsche
Manifest, ditto Price Current. Dagblad Van 'S Gravenhageu. Dordt
Courant. Gromingen Courant. Haarlemsche Courant. Hague Cou-
rant. Journal de la Hay. Koophandel. Leyden Gazette, ditto Cou-
rant. Nederlandsche Staats Courant. Amsterdamsche Courant, ditto
Courant. Utrecht Courant.

GERMAN NEWSPAPERS.

Allgemeine Zeitung. Hande und Speuersche Berliner Nachrichten.
Preussische Staats Zeitung. Frankfurt Ober Postamts Zeitung. Jour-
nal de Francfort. Nurremberg Correspondent. Morgenblatt. Aus-
trian Observer. Vienna Court Gazette. Borsen Halle. See Berichte.
Frankfurt Gazette. Post Amt Gazette of Frankfiirt. Leipsic Gazette.
Lausanne Gazette. Hamburg Correspondent. Hamburg Reporter.
Sound List. Hamburg Import List. Bambury Gleaner. Bremen

Import List. Bremen Gazette. Hanover Gazette. Hanover Zeitung.
Leipzig Gazette. Augsburg Gazette. Swabian Mercury. Berliner
Medicinische Zeitung. Berlin State Gazette. The German Courier.
The Prussian States Gazette.

RUSSIAN NEWSPAPERS.

Journal de St. Petersbourg. St. Petersburgische Zeitung. Northeni
Bee, (in Russian.) St. Petersburg Com. Gazette. Zeitung fus Rus-
land. Senals Zeitung. De Zoon des Vanderland. Vanderland cne
Narishler. Journal de Odessa. Handles Zeitung.

TURKISH NEWSPAPER.

Moniteur Ottoman.

GRECIAN NEWSPAPERS.

The Epoque. The National. The Sauveur. Journal de Smyrne.

EAST INDIAN NEWSPAPERS.

Bengal Harkusa and Chronicle, ditto Reformer. Bombay Courier,
ditto Gazette, ditto Durpun. Calcutta Inquirer, ditto Courier, ditto

THE FOREIGN PRESS. 207

John Bull, ditto Gazette. Fad St. George Gazette. Delphi Gazette.
Sumbud Sudakur. Singapore Chronicle and Com. Register. Seram-
pore Evening Mail, ditto Courant, ditto British Nabob. Madras Cou-
rier, ditto Gazette, ditto Government Gazette. Sumachur Durpun.
East Indian. Rutnaker Tiniiru Nasuk. Prubhakur. Chundrik.
India Gazette. Meerat Observer, (Hindostan.)

WEST INDIAN NEWSPAPERS.

Barbadian. Cornwall Chronicle. Bermuda Gazette. Demerara Royal
Gazette, ditto Gazette. George Town Guiana Chronicle. An-
tigua Herald, ditto Register. Granada Free Press. Jamaica Dispatch
ditto Royal Gazette, ditto Courant, ditto Watchman, ditto Free Press,
ditto Public Advertiser, ditto Record. Kingston Chronicle. Trinidad
Courant, ditto Com. Gazette. St. Kitt's Courier.

AFRICAN NEWSPAPERS.

Liberia Herald. Grahamstown Journal. Cape of Good Hope Go-
vernment Gazette. Cape Courant, ditto Colonist. Sierra Leone Royal
Gazette. Mauritius Gazette. South African Commercial Advertiser,
ditto ditto Journal. Delzuid Afrikaan. Zuide Africansche Tydschrift.
Eastern Provincial Register. Mauritius Balance, ditto Cernecu.

WESTERN AUSTRALIAN NEWSPAPERS.

Western Australian. Freemantle Observer.

AUSTRALIAN NEWSPAPERS.

Botanay Bay Gazette. Hobart Town Gazette, ditto Colonist, ditto
Courier, ditto True Colonist. Launcetown Advertiser, ditto Indepen-
dant. Sydney Australian, ditto Herald, ditto Gazette and New South
Wales Advertiser, ditto Journal, ditto Monitor, ditto Currency Lad.
Van Diemen's Land Advertiser.

AMERICAN NEWSPAPERS.

British North America.

Canadian Emigrant, ditto Courant. District Journal. Halifax
Commercial Gazette, ditto Novo Scotian, ditto Advocate. Montreal
Herald, ditto Advertiser, ditto Gazette. New Montreal Gazette. Que-
bec Commercial Commercial Advertiser, ditto Gazette, ditto Mercury.
St. Andrew's Courant, ditto Herald. St. John's Courier, ditto Gazette,
ditto Weekly Observer. Sandwich.

CHINESE NEWSPAPER.

Canton Register.

INDIAN NEWSPAPERS.

The India Gazette has, according- to Major Head, a circulation of
568, and the Bengal Hurkaru, 954.

Besides the Ottoman Moniteur, there is now published at Constan-
tinople an official Gazette in the Turkish language, bearing the title
of Takoimi Weekaii, that is, Tablets of Events. This paper, which is

208 THE FOREIGN PRESS.

more copious than the Ottoman Moniteur, edited in French, is con-
ducted by Esaad Effendi, the historian of the empire, and author of
the Account of the Destruction of the Janissaries, which was published
at Constantinople four years ago. The first five numbers of the
Turkish Gazette have been received at Vienna. In the last number
the editor announces that he is about to publish a work on the late
voyage of the Sultan through the provinces of his empire. He in-
serts four lines of verse, with which the narrative is to close, written
by the Kiaia Bey, or Minister of the Interior, Perteu Effendi, as an
eulogium upon the historian. The same poetic minister has written
several distiches, also inserted in the Gazette, upon the skill of the
Sultan in hitting a mark with an arrow at 1,500 paces distance.

The establishment of a Turkish journal is the most extraordinary
event of modern times. It is true that its management depeeds
wholly on the government, and that the editors are chosen and paid
by the Divan, so that there is nothing to indicate freedom of discus-
sion; but it is a most curious thing to see the Turks, who hitherto
have never had an idea on the subject of politics, now taking cog-
nizance of the principal political events, foreign and domestic. The
first number of the Gazette appeared in 1832.

A new journal has been started at Canea, in Candia. It is pub-
lished in the Turkish and modern Greek languages ; the Turkish
title is Events in Crete and the Greek title Cretan Ephemeris

OLD NEWSPAPERS. — Many people take newspapers, but few
preserve them ; yet the most interesting reading imaginable is a file
of old newspapers. It brings up the very age, with all its bustle and
every-day affairs, and marks its genius and its spirit more than the
most laboured description of the historian. Who can take a paper
dated half a century ago, without the thought that almost every
name there printed is now cut upon a tombstone at the head of an
epitaph *? The doctor (quack or regular), that there advertised his
medicines and their cures, has followed the sable train of his patients,
the merchant, his ships — could get no security on his life j arid the
actor, who could make others laugh or weep, can now only furnish a
skull for his successors in Hamlet. It is easy to preserve newspapers,
and they will repay the trouble ; for, like that of wine, their value
increases with their years, and old files have sometimes been sold at
prices too startling to mention.

Every act of government (however'despotic) to restrain the liberty
of the press, is an encouragement to its licentiousness.

ED. M. M.

( 209 )

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

Nala and Damayanti, and other Poems ; translated from the Sanscrit,
with Notes, Mythological and Critical. By the Rev. HENRY HART
MILMAN, M.A. &c. Oxford. Talboys. Small 4to. 1835.

NALA and Damayanti is the most interesting, beautiful, and popular poem
in the whole range of Sanscrit literature : no light praise, seeing that not only
the Vedas, the sacred books of the Hindoos, are composed in verse, but nearly
all their treatises on science, their laws, and even their dictionaries and gram-
mars. The late period, however, at which this important volume came to our
hands will not allow us, on the present occasion, to do justice to this metrical
picture of Indian life and love ; although we promise ourselves the pleasure
of making the attempt before the publication of our next number.

But Mr. Milman, besides the story of Damayanti, has given us translations
of three minor, but not less pleasing, specimens of Sanscrit poetry ; and we
shall endeavour to convey to our readers some idea of the gratification which
a hasty perusal of these has afforded us.

The first of them is the Death of Yajnadatta, an extract from the Ramayana
of Valmeki. It may not be amiss to premise that the Ramayana itself is an
immense epic of 24,000 slokas, or couplets, divided into seven books. It
gives an account of the banishment of Rama, under the name of Chandra, or
Moon-resembling ; of his wandering to the peninsula of Hindoostan ; of the
seizure of his wife by a giant king of Ceylon ; of his miraculous conquest of
that island, and of his restoration to the kingdom of his ancestors. A fair
notion of the esteem in which it is held among the Hindoos may be formed
from its introduction, in which it is said, " He who sings and hears this poem
frequently, has reached the highest state of enjoyment, and will finally be
equal to the gods." This may seem extravagant ; yet the praise of a celebrated
French Sanscrit scholar, Professor Chezy, in a discourse on this language, deli-
vered to the Royal College of France, is not far behind it : " It is more espe-
cially/' says he, " in epic poems that the Sanscrit seems to bear the palm
from all other languages ; and among the Indian poets, the great Valmiki, in
his Ramayana, seems to have best understood the art of displaying all its
beauties. Under his magic pencil it becomes pliant, and yields, without effort,
to every variety of tone and colour. If he would paint gentle and affecting
scenes, this beautiful, sonorous, and copious language furnishes him with the
most harmonious expressions ; and, like a winding rivulet creeping softly over
banks of moss and flowers, it carries with it, imperceptibly, our ravished
imagination, and transports us into an enchanted world. Yet, in subjects
requiring energy and strength, as in martial combats, his style becomes rapid
and animated as the action itself. Chariots roll and rebound ; furious ele-
phants destructively move to and fro their enormous tusks ; neighing steeds
clash their metalled hoofs on the resounding plain ; clubs are violently struck
together ; arrows hurtle; confusion and death rage on every side : we no longer
read, we are transported into the midst of the terrible conflict."

The Death of Yajnadatta charms by its tender simplicity and the depth of
feeling with which it abounds. The story is as follows : Dasaratha, by the
arts of one of his wives, is obliged to send his victorious son Rama into banish-
ment on the day of his marriage with the beautiful Sita. The poem describes
the distress and* misery of the father deprived of his favourite son.

Scarcely is Rama departed, before king Dasaratha, sorrowing deeply at his
No. 8.— M.M. 2 D

210 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

absence, becomes conscious-stricken with the guifrof an old forgotten crime,
the punishment of which he now believes is come home to him. To his queen
Kaysaiya he now proceeds to give an account of the transaction, prefacing his
narrative with an assertion in favour of retributive justice in the present
world.

" Whatever deed, or good or ill, — by man, O blessed queen, is wrought,
Its proper fruit he gathers still — by time to slow perfection brought.

* * # * *

Kaysaiya, in my early youth — by my keen arrow at its mark

Aimed with too sure and deadly truth — was wrought a deed most fell and dark.

At length the evil that I did — hath fallen upon my fatal head,

As when on subtle poison hid — an unsuspecting child hath fed ;

Even as that child unwittingly — hath made the poisonous fare his food,

Even so in ignorance by me — was wrought that deed of guilt and blood/'

The king goes on to recount how, when he was yet in youth's delicious
prime, he had set out, in the joyous season of the year, on a shooting excur-
sion.

" In such a time, so soft, so bland — oh, beautiful ! I chanced to go,
With quiver and with bow in hand — where clear Sarayu's waters flow.
If haply to the river's brink— at night the buffalo might stray,
Or elephant the stream to drink — intent my savage game to slay,
Then of a water-cruse, as slow — it filled, the gurgling sound I heard,
Nought sought I but the sullen low — of elephant, that sound appeared.
The swift well-feathered arrow I — upon the bowstring fitted straight,
Toward the sound the shaft let fly — ah, cruelly deceived by fate !
The winged arrow scarce had flown — and scarce had reached its destined aim,
' Ah me, I'm slain,' a feeble moan — in trembling human accents came.
' Ah, whence hath come this fatal shaft — against a poor recluse like me,
' Who shot that bolt with deadly craft — alas ! what cruel man is he ?
' At the lone midnight had I come — to draw the river's limpid flood,
' And here am struck by death, by whom ? — ah, whose this wrongful deed of

blood?

' Alas ! and in my parent's heart — the old, the blind, and hardly fed,
' In the wild wood, hath pierced the dart — that here hath struck their offspring

dead ;

' Ah, deed most profitless as worst — a deed of wanton useless guilt ;
' As though a pupil's hand accurs'd — his holy master's blood had spilt.
' But not mine own untimely fate — it is not that which I deplore,
' My blind, my aged parents' state — 'tis their distress afflicts me more.
* That sightless pair, for many a day — from me their scanty food have earned ;
' What lot is theirs, when I'm away — to the five elements returned ?
' Alike all wretched they, as I — ah, whose this triple deed of blood ?
' Forwho the herbs will now supply — the roots, the fruit, their blameless food?'
My troubled soul, that plaintive moan — no sooner heard so faint and low,
Trembled to look on what I'd done — fell from my shuddering hand my bow.
Swift I rushed up, I saw him there — heart-pierced, and fall'n the stream

besidfe,
That hermit boy, with knotted hair — his clothing was the black deer's hide."

His victim looks piteously at him, and asks wherefore he had slain him,
and in him his aged and blind parents. Then presses him to hasten to his
father, and entreat his pardon, ere he should curse him in his wrath.

" ' Yet first, that I may gently die — draw fo
Allay thy fears ; no Brahmin I — not thine of

brth the barbed steel from hence :
Brahmin blood the offence.

MONTHLY UEV1LW OF LITERATURE. 211

My sire, a Brahmin hermit he — my mother was of Sudra race/

So spake the wounded boy, on me — while turned his unreproaching face.

As from his palpitating breast — I gently drew the mortal dart

He saw me trembling stand, and blest — that boy's pure spirit seemed to part.

As died the holy hermit's son — from me my glory seemed to go."

Dasaratha tells how he took up the vessel of the slain boy, and seeks the
abode of the bereaved parents. As he approaches their dwelling, the blind
old couple mistake his footsteps for those of Yajnadatta, whom the father
most affectionately proceeds to chide for his delay :

" ' Long on the river's pleasant brink — hast thou been sporting in thy joy :
Thy mother's fainting spirits sink — in fear for thee. But thou, my boy,
If aught to grieve thy gentle heart — thy mother or thy sire do wrong,
Bear with us, nor when next we part — on the slow way thus linger long.' "

The king continues : I, " My

" Throat thick swollen with bursting tears — my powers of speech that
seemed to choke,"

with quivering voice, recounted to them the fatal accident that had happened,
and described the last moments of their beloved son.

" The fatal shaft when forth I drew — to heaven his parting spirit soared,
Dying he only thought of you — long, long, your lonely lot deplored."

The father heard the dreadful tale and stood all lifeless, motionless ; then
deeply groaning, and gathering strength, thus addressed me, the suppliant,
who sued for his pardon :

" ' Kshatriya, 'tis well that thou hast turned — thy deed of murder to rehearse,
Else over all thy land had burned — the fire of my wide wasting curse.
If with premeditated crime — the offending blood thou'dst spilt,
The Thunderer on his throne sublime — had shaken at such tremendous guilt ;
Against the anchorite's sacred head — hadst knowing aimed thy shaft accurs'd,
In th' holy Vedas deeply read — thy skull in seven wide rents had burst.
But since, unwitting, thou hast wrought — that deed of death, thou livest still,
Oh, son of Raghu, from thy thought — dismiss all dread of instant ill.'"

The parents now pray to be led by the unwitting murderer to the doleful
spot where their son had fallen, that they may once more enfold in their arms
his gory corpse. Bitter lamentations do they here pour forth.

" Nor sooner did they feel him lie — on the moist herbage coldly thrown,
Both with a shrill and feeble cry — upon the body cast them down.
The mother, as she lay and groaned— addressed her boy with quivering tongue,
And like an heifer sadly moaned — just plundered of the new-dropped young."

The father breaks out too into a strain of the tenderest grief, mingling with
his sorrows heart-torn exclamations of their utter destitution, and running
over, with pathetic minuteness, all the little offices which Yajnadatta was in
the habit of performing for them. But their woes are consoled by a super-
natural comforter.

" So groaning deep, that wretched pair — the hermit and his wife essayed
The meet ablution to prepare — their hands their last faint effort made.
Divine, with glorious body bright — in splendid car of heaven elate,
Before them stood their son in light — and thus consoled their helpless state :
' Meed of my duteous filial care — I've reached the wished-for realms of joy;
' And ye, in those glad realms, prepare — to meet full soon your dear-loved
boy.

212 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

* My parents, weep no more for me — yon warrior monarch slew me not,
' My death was thus ordained to be ; — predestined was the shaft he shot/ .,
Thus, as he spoke, the anchorite's son — soared up the glowing heaven afar,
In air his heavenly body shone — while stood he in his gorgeous car."

The king continues to narrate how the father now told him that although the
dart by which his boy untimely fell was aimed in ignorance, yet that he shall
not altogether escape punishment.

" * As sorrowing for my son I bow — and yield up my unwilling breath,
' So sorrowing for thy son shalt thou — at life's last close repose in death/
That curse, dread sounding in mine ear — to mine own city forth I set,
Nor long survived that hermit seer — to mourn his child in lone regret.
This day that Brahmin curse fulfilled — hath fallen on my devoted head,
In anguish for my parted child — have all my sinking spirits fled.
No more my darkened eyes can see — my clouded memory is o'ercast,
Dark Yama's heralds summon me — to his deep dreary realm to haste.
Mine eye no more my Rama sees — and grief o'erburns — my spirits sink,
As the swoln stream sweeps down the trees — that grow upon the crumbling
brink/'

With resigned grief and pathetic lamentation the king continues to bewail
the beautiful — the banished Rama. He dwells with a kind of softened envy
upon the happiness of those who shall see his return :

" Dwelling on that sweet memory — on his last bed the monarch lay,
And slowly, softly seemed to die — as fades the moon at dawn away."

The other two pieces contained in this volume are, " The Brahmin's La-
ment " and " The Deluge," both extracts from the Mahabharata, a poem of
great antiquity, some carrying back its date to two thousand years before
Christ, and full of the most lively descriptions of old world life and manners
among the Hindoos.

The story of " The Brahmin's Lament" is soon told : while the sons of
Pandu dwelt in Eketshara, the neighbourhood of that city was haunted by a
terrible giant, named Baka, to whom a tribute of human flesh was daily paid.
After his ogre-appetite had been for some time satisfied by a succession of
meaner victims, it had at last come to the Brahmin's turn to furnish forth the
horrible repast. His family was composed of himself, his wife, a grown up
daughter, and a little prattling son, and one of these must be surrendered as
a victim to the giant. The contest which arises between them respecting who
shall have precedence in this act of self-devotion is highly affecting and pathe-
tic* In turn the father, mother, and daughter, urge their claims to become
the sacrifice, in what may be fairly called three beautiful Indian elegies. We
give some extracts from that of the wife, as a specimen.

" As of lowly caste, my husband — yield not thus thy soul to woe,
This is not a time for wailing — who the Vedas knows must know :
Fate inevitable orders — all must yield to death in turn,
Hence the doom, th' irrevocable — it beseems not thee to mourn.
Man hath wife, and son, and daughter — for the joy of his own heart,
Wherefore wisely check thy sorrow — it is I must hence depart.
'Tis the wife's most holy duty — law on earth without repeal,
That her life she offer freely — when demands her husband's weal.
And e'en now, a deed so noble — hath its meed of pride and bliss,
In the next world life eternal-'-and unending fame in this.
Tis a high yet certain duty — that my life I thus resign,
Tis thy right, as thy advantage — both the willing deed enjoin —
All for which a wife is wedded — long ere now through me thou'st won,
Blooming son and gentle daughter — that my debt is paid and done.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 213-

Thou may'st well support our children — gently guard when I am gone,
I shall have no power to guard them — nor support them, left alone.
Oh, despoiled of thy assistance — lord of me, and all I have,
How these little ones from ruin — how my hapless self to save :
Widow'd, reft of thee, and helpless — with two children in their youth,
How maintain my son and daughter— in the path of right and truth.
From the lustful, from the haughty — how shall I our child protect,
When they seek thy blameless daughter— by a father's awe unchecked ?
As the birds in numbers swarming — gather o'er the earth-strewn corn,
Thus the men round some sad widow — of her noble lord forlorn.
Thus by all the rude and reckless — with profane desires pursued,
How shall I the path still follow — loved and honoured by the good ? "

She thus concludes her forcible appeal :

" I've borne children, I am aged — in my soul I've all revolved,
And with spirit strong to serve thee — I am steadfast and resolved.
Offering me, all-honoured husband — thou another wife wilt find,
And to her wilt do thy duty — gentle as to me and kind.
Many wives if he espouses — man incurs nor sin nor blame,
For a wife to wed another — 'tis inexpiable shame.
This well weighed within thy spirit — and the sin thyself to die,
Save thyself, thy race, thy children — be the single victim I.'
Hearing thus hi's wife, the husband — fondly clasped her to his breast,
And their tears they pour'd together — by their mutual grief oppress'd."

We said above that there was a little prattling boy in the family ; and the
following extract, which concludes the poem, will show that the Indian poets
knew how to make him act a pretty part. The daughter has concluded her
detail of the reasons which should induce them to make her the victim ; and,

" As they heard her lamentation — in their troubled anguish deep,
Wept the father, wept the mother — 'gan the daughter too to weep.
Then the little son beheld them — and their doleful moan he heard ;
And with both his eyes wide open — lisped he thus his broken word.
' Weep not father, weep not mother — Oh, my sister, weep not so ! '
First to one, and then to th' other — smiling went he to and fro.
Then a blade of spear-grass lifting — thus in bolder glee he said,
' With this spear-grass will I kill him — this man-eating giant dead.'
Though o'erpower'd by bitterest sorrow — as they heard their, prattling boy,
Stole into the parents^ bosoms — mute and inexpressive joy."

The remaining poem, " The Deluge," which derives its chief interest from
being the oldest Indian tradition of Noah's flood, we must dismiss without
further notice, and with it the important volume of which it forms a part.
Our counter plea to the charge of not having done it justice must be the late
period in the month at which it was published ; and this apology, we trust, will
make our peace both with the public and its accomplished author.

Chronological Tables of Ancient History, synchronistically and
ethnographically arranged, compiled from the best authorities.
Oxford, Talboys, folio.

This is a very cheap and exceedingly useful work, and like all Mr. Talboy's
publications, beautifully printed. The merits of a book of this nature, of course
chiefly depend upon the authorities made use of, and the accuracy with which
they are used. From the preface of the present work we learn that Mr. Fynes.

214 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

Clinton's satisfactory and erudite treatises have been followed in Grecian
history, and all other as far as they go ; that professor Heeren's researches
have been referred to for what concerns the African and Asiatic nations ; and
that Mr. Wilson, the professor of Sanscrit, has superintended the columns re-
lating to India and the East. In the very important columns devoted to scrip-
ture chronology, Usher, Hale, and Fynes Clinton are the leading authorities,
and here the compiler has adopted the very sensible plan of giving the differ-
ent dates and the different authorities to all the principal events. We have
looked the work over very carefully, and can say, after an almost painful ex-
amination, that it is very correct.

It would, however, be an act of injustice on our parts, to dismiss this article
without alluding to the very convenient manner in which these tables are
arranged. In this respect they are every thing that can be wished for ; and
will prove equally useful to the juvenile and philosophical student of history.
At one view the state of the world may be seen during any particular period ;
while a succinct account is given of all the great revolutions and events of
every separate kingdom, forming, as it were, an analysis of its history. The
volume, moreover, contains a synchronistical sketch of the progress of ancient
civilisation, arts, science, and literature, in a way which we have never before
seen attempted, but which we think admirable. Genealogical tables of an-
cient dynasties, and a very copious index are appended.

Smith's Wealth of Nations, with a Commentary. By the Author of
England and America, Vol. I. Charles Knight, London, 1835.

The present edition of Adam Smith is worthy of the father of political eco-
nomy, and our anxiety to see the remaining volumes is heightened by the
importance attached, at the present time, to that science, of which, though
he did not complete it, he laid the foundations. The work originally
acquired its deserved popularity by the pleasing manner in which a subject,
apparently dry and tedious, was treated. Those who fail to derive instruction
from the work are invariably entertained by the stories with which its philoso-
phical author every where illustrates this science. The editor has most ju-
diciously prefixed Dugald Stewart's account of the Life and Writings of Adam
Smith, and, from what we have seen of his former work, we have no hesita-
tion in saying that this elegant edition will become a universal favourite.

Mechanics of Law Making, &c. By ARTHUR SYMMONDS, Esq.
Churton, London, 1835.

The absurd phraseology of lawyers, who, reversing the " Brevis esse labo-
ro," become obscure in their professional compositions, has long been ridi-
culed by one portion of the community, and grievously lamented by the other.
In their affected anxiety to attain perspicuity, they have encumbered plain and
intelligible words with all their synonimes, and, at the same time, have accu-
mulated upwards of two hundred words, that constantly hunt in couples,
which are more or less to be found in every clause of an act of parliament or
section of a conveyance. Mr. Symmonds points out the mischiefs as well as
the folly of this practice ; divests several recent acts of their superfluous ver-
biage ; and illustrates the modern mode of conveying an estate by the formal
donation of an orange, with its rind or peel, pulp and juice, and with full li-
berty to give, sell, bite, cut, or suck the same. " Such," says he, " is the
language of lawyers ; and it is very gravely held by the most learned men
among them, that by the omission of any of these words, the right to the said
orange would not pass to the person for whose use it was intended." The
lawyer, however, when desired to explain a particular passage, does it in a
clear and common-sense way ; and why should he be less explicit upon paper

MONTHLY REVIEW- OF LITERATURE. 215

or parchment ? There are thousands of conveyances in the government re-
cord offices, consisting of single slips of parchment of some ten or twelve
lines in length, by which whole towns and manors were as effectually and as
securely passed from one proprietor to another, as if they had occupied the
sixty or seventy skins required by the modern practice. The author, besides
exposing in a humorous mariner the evils of a redundance of unnecessary
words, recommends several judicious reforms in the style of our acts of parlia-
ment, which at present are such slovenly compositions, that if the authorship
were ascribed to any individual of the gentlemen, who do not hesitate to pass
them collectively, he would feel himself disgraced.

•
Jamaica, as it was, as it is, and as it may be. Hurst, London, 1835.

A great number of facts relating to the state of the negro population,
which are little known, are contained in this publication. The author re-
presents himself as a retired military officer, who resided in Jamaica during the
insurrection of 1831, of which he has given a minute, but interesting account.
It is, however, too much tinctured with party colour, and a lengthened notice
of it would involve us in a discussion, which we defer for the present. The
parliamentary debates on emancipation, in 1830, excited great attention, both
in the white and black population ; and we find that many of the latter,
" having, through the indulgence and zeal of their proprietors, received suffi-
cient education to admit of their perusing the newspapers, had become
capable of subsequently discussing the merits of the subjects expatiated on by
the different members of parliament," p. 160. If the negroes be capable of
even this small degree of civilization it is surely not very creditable to their
" proprietors" that they should merit the very immoral character ascribed to
them by this author, who charges them elsewhere with sullenness, indolence,
bare-faced falsehood, ingratitude, and treachery.

The Schoolmaster at Home. Shaw and Sons, London, 1835.

This is one of a series of nicely " got up" works, which the public have
favourably received, and which are part of the Library of Elementary Know-
ledge. The pressure of other matter has hitherto prevented us from doing
justice to those book,s of initiatory instruction. In the work before us the
schoolmaster appears in the character of an amusing and communicative friend;
the pedagogue is softened into the companion. He compendiously simplifies
the English Grammar, and therefore facilitates the acquisition of this preli-
minary and necessary branch of education. The History of England, em-
bracing the leading events of each reign to the accession of the present king, is
admirably calculated for a class book for the young, while it may serve their
elders for occasional reference. A compendious System of Geography is en-
titled to the same meed of approbation. The book opens and concludes with
two articles, in which the editor has evinced his judgment and taste in select-
ing many curious and important facts in science and literature, which he has
gleaned in the course of a wide range of study. The reading displayed in
these departments is extensive. On the whole, we conceive, that a book,
better adapted to the purposes of general instruction, has not for a long period
issued from the British press.

The Book for the Million. Shaw and Sons, London, 1835.

Nothing can be more interesting than this valuable manual — this " Book
for the Million," containing, besides an original English grammar, geography,
and History of England, a lively picture of the opinions and conversations oif
the most eminent scholars and most distinguished patriots whom England has

216 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

produced, at a period the most eventful of our history. There are few
volumes of its size and cheapness so pregnant with sense, combined with
learning ; it is impossible to open it without finding some important fact or
discussion, something practically useful and applicable to the business of
life : and it may be said of it, as of that exquisite little manual lord Bacon's Es-
says, after the twentieth perusal one seldom fails to remark in it something
overlooked before. We should state that " The Book for the Million"
forms the second volume of " The Library of Elementary Knowledge," — of
which series the Young Gentleman's and My Daughter's Books also form a
part. The public will assuredly evince their discernment by placing among
their favourite works this cheap and most agreeable production.

Poems on Scriptural Subjects. By a Lady. Expressly dedicated
to the Young. Tisdale, 164, Strand. Third Edition, pp. 140.

We are amongst those of our order who have, long since, joined the
" Movement party;" and have strenuously laboured to advance the pre-
tensions of woman, whether her religious, domestic, *or literary character.
We were almost the first, likewise, in the field, to present the world at
large, but especially the FEMALE WORLD — with anotice, cordially recommend-
atory of " My Daughter's Book :" for sure we are, that charming volume
will have the effect of emboldening many a lovely creature to step forward —
not only in vindication of her own cultivated and affectionate sex, but to res-
cue woman from the dishonourable and unmanly imputation flung upon her
by reckless and unthinking men — men whose hearts are not in the right place
— namely, that of inconsistency and crudeness — or, in other words, a want of
intellectual capacity. It is enough, we think, for us to say, of this so
interesting volume of serious poetry — that it has rapidly passed from a first to
a third Edition ; and that it abounds in beauties of no common kind. We
conceive the poem entitled "The Famine of Samaria," by far the most elegant
of the several compositions the work contains. We hope we have said enough
to ensure to the fair and accomplished authoress further success and additional
gratification. The Book is not well printed.

Rowbotham's New Guide to Spanish and English Conversation.
Cloth boards. Smith, Elder, and Co., Cornhill, pp. 172.

Mr. Rowbotham is too well known as a linguist to require for his various
elementary works any recommendation of ours : but our attention has been
directed to his Guide to Spanish and English Conversation, particularly in
connection with the SPANISH EXPEDITION. Officers, who are about to pro-
ceed to Spain, and who are unacquainted with the language of that country,
will find Mr. Rowbotham's book an invaluable " Guide," and an agreeable
companion, as it will enable them to acquire sufficient knowledge for all the
ordinary purposes of intercourse, without drawing largely upon their time
and attention — while the substance of the conversations introduced will fur-
nish abundance of materials for amusement.

Natural Theology. By HENRY LORD BROUGHAM, F. R. S. &c. &c.

Charles Knight. London, 1835.

Enough has been said, on all sides, to demonstrate the excellence and utility
of this magnificent work. It is already in the hands of most persons of taste
and literature. The third edition will, we are quite sure, be succeeded by
the fourth and fifth : and still the demand will continue asatfirst — to increase
rather than diminish. This is as it should be.

217

NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH.

WE are glad to notice the announcement of a Berlin publisher, a
German translation of Mr. Baines's History of the Cotton Manufac-
ture.

*' MEMORY.*' — The traces of some events of our lives are inde-
lible ; they would seem to have been burnt in. Those of an unplea-
sant character are most permanent ; and foolish actions, I fear, more
so than serious ones.

Liberty is not idleness— it is a free use of time to choose our labour
and our exercise ; in one word, to be free, is not to do nothing, but
to be the sole arbiter of what we do, and what we leave undone. In
this sense, what good so great as liberty ?

Governments depend far more than is generally supposed upon
the opinion of the people, and the spirit and the age of the nation.
It sometimes happens that a " gigantic mind" possesses supreme
-power, and rises superior to the age in which he is born ; such was
Alfred in England and Peter in Russia; but such instances are very
rare ; and, in general, it is neither amongst sovereigns nor the
higher classes of society, that the great improvers or benefactors of
mankind are to be found.

" OUR MOST RELIGIOUS KING." — This phrase was originally in-
troduced into a new Collect framed in the reign of Charles the Se-
cond, and then only conveyed the meaning of the Latin word Religi-
osus, importing the sacredness of the Royal person.

Lord Lowther has shown himself a sensible man of late : these are
stirring times; and ^ people" will not be insulted with perfect im-
punity. Lord Lowther knows the use of coals, as well, or better
than most dealers in that dangerous but useful commodity. His lord-
ship does not wish to heap coals ofjire, however, upon his own head.

The ex prime minister is for peeling without any delay. The fox
thinks he is under the vine, and can lay hold on the grapes. How
futile — how vain '.—yet, how portenteous ! semper idem is the fool's
motto — what is Proteus ?

JUNIUS AND THE TORY MASTERS. — The subjoined quotation, from
Junius's letter "to George III., is so applicable to the present
times, that it may not be uninteresting to those who regard that elo-
quent writer as an authority on great political questions: — "Is it
possible for you to place any confidence in men who, before they .are
faithful to you, must renounce every opinion, and betray every prin-
ciple, both in church and state, which they inherit from their ances-
tors, and are confirmed in by their education ? whose numbers are
so inconsiderable that they have been obliged to give up the princi-
ples and language which distinguish them as a party, and to fight
under the banners of their enemies ? Their zeal begins .with hypo-
crisy, and must conclude in treachery. At first they deceive — at last
they betray."

A certain lady of distinction is not in a state that ladies are said 4o

MM.— No. 8, 2 &

218 NOTES AND EVENTS OP THE MONTH.

be who love their lords— it is all fudge : and the John Bull falsifies to
no purpose. " The Fudge Family" are too numerous in England.
They are all of them subject to /its — an unconstitutional malady —
of the same kind as Mrs. Fitz-herbert's. Even common humanity
has been made to feelthe truth of this afflicting statement.

The su-m of " THREE MILLIONS" is ready to be advanced for certain
purposes. Apply at the W. Closet of the Garlton. Where the
driver of the dilly sits daily.

The writer in the Weekly Dispatch, who signs himself " Agri-
cola,'' it is reported, will be knighted as soon as possible. They say,
the present is not a dark age.

The duke, (said an honest, artizan in the crowd, the other day) is a

d n clever fellow— but Dr. W. W. W., will not much longer

trouble you, trouble you, trouble you : — nor is he king yet ! This was
said at Cambridge. Things in general are progressing. The Flying
Ship will certainly rise to— fall: — from Kensington.

His majesty was all bottom at Cain Wood — to Lord Melbourne.
This fact proves not only volumes but libraries. The king's favourite
daughter — not by the queen — will be sufficiently tickled at this " de-
claration of war'' against the PEOPLE. Fe, n, fo, fum : I smell the
breath of an Englishman. How very odd !

Young Dr. Douro, of Cambridge University, is what? Why Dr.
D. to be sure — i. e. he owes so much to the traffickers in letters ; and!
therefore stands on the Dr, side of the account. Nothing can be more

Lord Brougham has foretold the fate of the present administration !
Very remarkable, coming events cast their shadows before.

The lords have DECLARED against the Irish Church Bill. Is it
possible ? Very.

Sir Robert humbly conceives " that he is (absit invidia) the most
extraordinary politician in Europe. Paley, in his Natural Theology,
says — >4 A child learning to walk, is the greatest posture-master in
the world.'' Let us ap-peal to mathematics; — example I — take Sir
Robert from Metternich, and how mwch remains of the former ? —
nothing. Example 2. take Sir Robert — all that remained of him,
at least — from Prince Talleyrand, and how muph of the little that
was left of him remains? — A Tamworth spectacle. "There are
worse occupations in this world than feeling a woman's pulse,"
says Swift. Cicero says, that every client who applied to him for
LEGAL ASSISTANCE, uniformly misrepresented his own case. Not-
withstanding appearances, the " Family" have determined on holding
tip their — heads. Lord Melbourne has been voted a — " bore.'1 Lord
John, a Woburn Abbey"— " ugly little thing" Lord Palmerston—
*' an incorrigible person /''

MONEY. — Odart, a Piedmontese conspirator for Catherine, used
to say, " I see there is no regard for any thing but money, and mo-
ney I will have. I would go this night and set fire to the palace for
money ; and when I had got enough, I would retire to my own
country, and there live like an honest man." More than once the
empress offered him a title : " No, madam, I thank you," said
Odart ; ic money, money, if you please." He did get money, went
to Nice, and there he is said to have lived as became a gentleman.

NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH.

Antistheries, the founder of the sect of the Cynics, proposed to the
Athenians to elect asses into horses ; and when they cried out against
the absurdity, of the proposal, he replied, " And yet you choose
men for your generals who have no other qualifications for the office
than your votes." The same philosopher, in his book of Physics, as
quoted by Cicero, says, " The gods of the people are many, but the
God of nature is one."

BUONAPARTE'S ADDRESS TO THE MONKS OF SPAIN, WHO HAD MUR-
DERED A FRENCHMAN. — "Barbarians and hypocrites! who preach
intolerance, — excite discord and blood, — you are not the ministers-
of the gospel. The period when Europe beheld without indigna-
tion the massacre of Protestants celebrated by illuminations in the
great cities, can never be revived ! The blessings of toleration are
the first rights of man, — it is the first maxim of the gospel ; because
it is the first attribute of charity. If there was a time when some
false teachers of the Christian religion preached intolerance, they
had not then in view the interests of Heaven ; but those of their tem-
poral influence ; they wished to be powerful amongst ignorant people.
When a monk — a theologian — a bishop — or a pope, preaches into-
lerance, he preaches his own condemnation, — he gives himself up to
be the laughing-stock of nations."

The design of establishing a new English journal in Paris, to be
called the London and Paris Courier, has been well received by the
public ; within the last week a large proportion of the shares has
been taken. We recommend it to all who desire the continuance of
a good understanding between Great Britain and France.-

Laronciere has appealed to the Court of Cassation to reverse the
judgment often years' imprisonment. It is said his object was not
violation, but to obtain a frizly favour, which caused the punctures
by a scissors.

Liabilities and assets of the Bank of England, from /th April to
30th June :

LIABILITIES.

Circulation . . £18,315,000
Deposits .- . . 10,954,000

ASSETS.

Securities . . £25,678,000
Bullion .... 6,219,000

£29,269,000 £31,897,000

The General Steam Company's mail packet, the John Bull, from
Hamburgh, arrived off the Custom House, London, in forty-eight
hours.

The next meeting of the British Association for the Promo-
tion of Science, will take place in Dublin, on Monday, 10th of Au-
gust. Strangers are invited to attend.

The Paris Races for the present year will be held: — On Sunday,
September 6th, the two Arrondissement Plates of 2000fr. for three
year old colts and fillies, and of 3000fr. for horses and mares of four
years old and upwards ; on Thursday, September 10th, the Grand
Plate of SOOOfr.; on Sunday, the 13th, the Royal Plate of 6(K)Ofr. ;
on Thursday the 17th, the Grand Royal Plate of 12,000fr.; and on
Sunday the 20th, the Plates given by the King and the Prince
Royal.

•220 NOTICES AND KVF.NT* OF TH B MONTH.

The Cafe deFoy has overbid the Cafe de la Rotonde, and obtained
the exclusive right of letting out tables and chairs in the garden of
the Palais Royal. For this privilege a rent of 40,000fr. per annum
is paid to the king, whose private property it is.

There are now 124 Savings' Banks duly authorised. The sums
paid into the Treasury during June, amounted to l,844,000fr., and
on the 30th of that month, the balance in the hands of the Treasurer,
was 49,897,000fr,

Numbers are arriving in Paris for the fetes to take place on the
27th, 28th, and 29th inst. The amusements will be more varied and
attractive than on any former occasion. Besides the usual entertain-
ments in the Champs Elysees, the Jousts on the water, Concert at the
Tuileries, and gas illuminations in the Place de Greve, the whole of
the Champs Elysees will be illuminated by pilasters crowned with
ornaments in coloured lamps. A decoration will fill the side of the
place de la Concorde, towards the Champs Elysees, formed of painted
paper lanterns, rendered incombustible, and from the summit of
which there will issue at every part an infinite variety of fireworks.
Instead of booths in the side alleys of the Champs Elysees, the whole
of the line, as far as the Rond Point, will be filled with shops of dif-
ferent forms and designs, painted and ornamented with great taste.
An immense frame-work, representing three porticoes, in the style of
the middle ages, will be erected on the Place de Greve, about ten
feet from the front of the Hotel de Ville ; and at night will be all at
once illuminated by thousands of small gas flames, in straight and
spiral lines and girandoles, and exhibiting three statues in honour of
the three days. Thousands of workmen are now occupied on these
preparations

Arrivals, tonnage, and settlers in Canada, for the years ending:

May 29, 1834 309 vessels 87,693 tons 9025 settlers
1835 246 78,932 1489

Difference 60 8761 7536

MISERIES OF A BACHELOR'S LIFE. — Poor fellow! he returns to his
lodging ; there may be every thing he can desire, in the shape of mere
external comforts, provided for him by the official zeal of his house-
keeper ; but still the room has an air of chilling vacancy ; the very
atmosphere of the apartment has a dim, uninhabited appearance—the
chairs, set round with provoking neatness, look reproachfully useless
and unoccupied, and the tables and other furniture shine with imper-
tinent and futile' brightness. All is dreary and repelling. No gentle
face welcomes his arrival ; no loving hand meets his; no kind looks
answer the listless gaze he throws round the apartment as he enters.
He sits to a book — alone ; there is no one by his side, to enjoy with
him the favourite passage, the apt remark, the just criticism ; no eyes
in which to read his own feelings; his own tastes are unappreciated
and unreflected ; he has no resource but himself, no one to look up to
but himself; all his enjoyment, all his happiness, must emanate from
himself. He flings down the volume in despair ; buries his face in
his hands, and signs aloud— 0 I me miserum !

( 221 )

OUR SITUATION AND PROSPECTS.

ONE could really wish that the public mind might be diverted from
the popular subjects of the day, such as " THE TWENTIETH OF JULY/'
and the importance of registration — the humours of the court — the
" delicate " situation of the Premier — and the thousand and one spe-
culations or inventions of the loquacious press, in order that it might
gaze steadily on our real position as an enlightened nation, and our
prospects as a people determined to be-free. It is true, indeed, that as,
in theory, if we want to comprehend a subject, we must examine its
details, so in practice, if we want to carry out our plans into efficiency,
we must not overlook the most minute parts of the machinery. But
we may now, at least, take it for granted, that registration has been
attended to — that the caprice, or folly, or madness, of our high places
has been detected — and that we are in a situation to hope for the best,
and to provide against the worst.

The recognition of public principle, or, which is the same thing,
the development of the popular power, is sure to attract the opposi-
tion of error, with its legion of petty furies. Accordingly we find,
that commensurate with its progress is the array of prejudice by which
it is ever and anon assailed. The assurance to a blind man that it
is day, is but an assurance. It does not communicate to him percep-
tion. So, point out to the enemies of the people the elements by
which they are surrounded, and they will ask you in vain for a capacity
to unravel them. A writer before us* well remarks, " We have seen
enough of fatuity in our day, when those who felt themselves on the
brink of a precipice, and should have known better,, preferred an ex-
posure of their recklessness to a concealment of their insignificance.
If, with danger in the prospect, according to their own showing, they
obstinately refused to recede, preferring to rush headlong into the
vortex which they loved to depict in the tortuous colours of their own
imagination — what will be the tactics of these men, when the struggle

* In a Pamphlet entitled, " The Impending Struggle, in a Letter to Lord
Brougham."

M.M.— No. 9. 2F

222 OUR SITUATION AND PROSPECTS.

shall not only have commenced, but when its issue shall no longer be
doubtful, even to them ? "

This is true — but what is our situation ? We, professing to be the
children of light, can have no sympathy with them that walk in dark-
ness ; and we are persuaded that by far too much consideration has
been given to the suicidal tactics of the enemy, when our attention
ought rather to have been directed to the exercise of our own energies.

Accustomed, as we have lately been, to changes — and these in rapid
succession — it is difficult to speculate on what may be the state of
public affairs when this paper shall meet the eye of the reader. We
have talk of an unwillingness in a certain quarter to sanction the
changes which are contemplated by the Irish Church Bill — we have
talk also of kingly prejudices and partialities. Perhaps in no period
of our history have the prepossessions and antipathies of a court
been so freely proclaimed and discussed. For ourselves, we deprecate
the scandal, while we deplore the shame. The day has far receded
which recognized the " right divine of kings to govern wrong :" the
characteristic of our day is simply the impossibility of their governing
at all, unless indeed they govern for the people, aye, and with the
people. That any other principle, any one short of this, should be
avowed, is madness. The author of the pamphlet to which we have
just alluded, observes, that " a fatal mistake has been made by the aris-
tocracy, who have imagined that the only natural prerogative of the
people is obedience, while it remained with their rulers to fix the limits
of their independence. But it is time this delusion should be dispelled.
It is time the aristocracy should be told that the balance of inde-
pendence is in favour of the people. They, at least, have no political
confederacies, the object of which is to perpetuate a monopoly of
power : they have no hordes of ill-gotten wealth to defend from the
menacing attitude of invincible justice : they have no vices to screen —
no acts to palliate or justify, at the expense of every principle of
honour and equity."

And what is the motive which directs the opposition ? Let us sup-
pose that it is not the lust of power ; nor chagrin, nor disappointment ;
nor the love of display, nor the identity of partizanship. What, then,
is it ? Why, one would suppose, that if to none of these causes is to
be ascribed the cavil of the ci-devant Tories, the one cause must be a
derangement of their mental optics. They profess to aim at the good

OUR SITUATION AND PROSPECTS. 223

of the many : and yet how obliquely their shaft strikes home ! They
admit the necessity of alterations, but they cannot tolerate improve-
ments. This is seen in the speciousness of their professions, and the
folly of their acts. They labour to be thought patriots — but their
thorough knowledge of intrigue lets slip the courtier. Sir Robert Peel
is an apt illustration of this. Do you suppose that his speeches are
not intended to reach the people through the palace ? Can you imagine
him to be so disinterested a patriot that neither office, nor the smiles of
the court, are once suffered to enter into his calculation ? Sir Robert,
as a statesman, has this advantage over his superiors. He is aware
that there are those above him, not with whom he can sympathize (for
he is a man of talent), but who feel that he is the only man in the
kingdom who can rat from his principles with the best possible grace ;
and, by an affected concession to the signs of the times, obtain a short-
lived mongrel popularity. When appealed to by his sovereign, the
Duke of Wellington felt this. Sir Robert tried his every art and —
failed.

> It is not to be imagined, however, that in the event of any sudden
change in the administration, recourse will be had to pure Toryism :
for, besides the imbecility of the scheme, there is a point beyond
which forbearance itself cannot reach — and that forbearance has already
been sufficiently tried— that is, with safety to the commonwealth.
No — should the elements of the Melbourne cabinet again be dispersed,
Sir Robert will most likely feel no objection to unite with Ireland's
STANLEY and the Admiralty's GRAHAM ; and, perhaps, the latter will
feel themselves impelled, by their devotion to their country' }s interests —
to consent to so unnatural an alliance. Is it possible ?
• Yet such, for aught we know, are our prospects. The question,
therefore, to be considered, is this— Will the country lend its sanction
to so disreputable a job ? For, after all, of the three estates in the
realm, it is to the Commons we must look for the answer — and for this
reason among others, it is at all times, and in all emergencies, in their
power to check the fury of intolerance, and the recklessness of ambi-
tion. Let it never be forgotten that the right of granting money to
the crown is the point upon which the very existence of the Commons
depends ; and that their total exclusion from all share in the executive
power is the only security which the people have that, in electing
their representatives, they do not create tyrants. This is evinced in

224 OUR SITUATION AND PROSPECTS.

the uniformity with which every public struggle in England has
ended — not in personal aggrandizement, but in popular advantage. It
will be remembered that such was the case at the accession of James I.,
and that at the accession of Charles I. the first serious discontents
terminated in the Act called the PETITION OF RIGHT. The king may,
indeed, inflict upon us a Tory Government, but the representatives of
the people still have in their hands, now that the constitution is so
fully developed, the same powerful weapon which enabled their an-
cestors to establish it. " It is still,'' says Junius, " from their liberality
alone that the king can obtain subsidies : and now, when every thing is
rated by pecuniary estimation — when gold is become the great moving
spring of affairs— it may be safely affirmed, that he who depends on the
will of other men, with regard to so important an article, is, whatever
his power may be in other respects, in a state of real dependence. The
king of England," continues this eloquent writer, " has the preroga-
tive of commanding armies, and equipping fleets : but without the con-
currence of his parliament he cannot maintain them. He can bestow
places and employments ; but without his parliament he cannot pay
the salaries attending on them. He can declare war ; but without
his parliament it is impossible he can carry it on. In a word, the
royal prerogative, destitute as it is of the power of imposing taxes, is
like a vast body which cannot of itself accomplish its motions ; or, if you
please, it is like a ship completely equipped, but from which the par-
liament can, at pleasure, draw off the water, and leave it aground —
and also set it afloat again, by granting subsidies."

These maxims are especially worthy the attention of the electors of
Great Britain at the present crisis. The English constitution will pro-
bably never more be attacked in front, or its demolition attempted by
striking at the authority of the laws : and, if such an attack should be
made, their foundations are too deeply laid, and their superstructure
too firmly cemented, to make us apprehensive as to the event of the
contest. But this is not enough. The sentinels must not sleep. The
authority of the laws themselves may be turned against the spirit which
gave them birth, and the Government may be dissolved with all the
legal solemnities which its outward form prescribes for its preservation ;
and this mode of attack seems the more probable, as it affords a certain
degree of respect and safety to the besiegers of our liberties, although
infinitely more dangerous to the people, because the consciences of

OUR SITUATION AND PROSPECTS. 225

even good men may be lulled by it. It is possible that many an honest
voter, looking up to the banners of authority, may believe that he is
defending the constitution and the laws, at the very moment he is
trampling down every principle of justice upon which both are founded.
The importance, therefore, is equal to the necessity, of every member of
the community keeping his eye steadily fixed on the spirit of the con-
stitution, as the polar star of his political course — not the constitution
as encumbered by the abuses of ages — not the constitution as impaired
by the venal breath of profligates and traitors — not the constitution as
defaced by the encroachments of tyranny on the one hand, and servility
on the other: but the CONSTITUTION as developed by the glorious
REVOLUTION. The importance, we say again, is equal to the necessity,
of every elector taking care, that while he pays the tribute of obe-
dience to the government, he may know when the reciprocal duty is
paid back to the public and himself.

Whether his Majesty be favourable or not to the plans of Reform
introduced by lord Melbourne's government, we, of course, have not
the means of ascertaining : and, indeed, as a matter of fact, it appears
to us of very little consequence. The constitution of our government
will admit of no arbitrary tyranny : nor is it an oligarchy, where the
great may, with impunity, prey upon the less : nor is it a democracy,
or popular state : much less is it anarchy, where all is confusion. But
it recognizes a qualified monarchy, where the king being invested with
high prerogatives, is yet restrained from the power of doing himself or
the people harm. In France, formerly, and in other nations, the
mere will of the prince was the law : but — electors of England ! re-
member— with us the law is both the measure and the bond of every
subject's allegiance. At the present moment, the patriotic language
of FORTESCUE, Henry Vlth's. Chancellor, cannot be out of place. He
says,* " The king of England cannot alter nor change the laws of his
realm at pleasure ; because he governeth his people by power, not only
royal, but also politic. If his power over them were only regal, then
he might change the laws of his realm, and charge his subjects with
burdens without their consent : and such is the dominion that the civil
laws purport, when they cry, Quod principi placuit legis habet vigor em —
the prince's pleasure has the force of a law. But from this much

* De laudibus Legem, Anglice, cap. 9.

226 OUR SITUATION AND PROSPECTS.

differeth the power of a king, whose government over his people is
politic ; for he can neither change laws without the consent of his
subjects, nor yet charge them with impositions against their wills,'' &c.
The disposition of the Lords is well known. They, at least, do not
mince the matter. Their shameless disregard of the demands of the
people is only equalled by their wanton recklessness of their own
danger. Lord Melbourne, over and over again, with a straightforward
honesty which cannot be sufficiently admired, has warned them of the
fate which must ensue from their blindness and obstinacy. What a
contrast do the speeches of the noble viscount present to the flippant
ebullitions of Tory lords and lordlings ! Having, by a disgraceful ruse,
deceived him on the proposal for admitting evidence on the Municipal
Corporation Bill, how nobly does the Premier comport himself ! No
one could discover the least symptom of personal mortification. There
was no attempt to retaliate, save by a solemn denunciation of such
deliberate fraud — a denunciation from which even the conspirators
themselves shrunk back aghast, and which must ring in their ears to
the last moment of their existence. Even as lately as the 12th of
August the noble lord addressed them in the following strain : —

" It was impossible not to feel that it was a great misfortune when the
three branches of the legislature did not act in union — when they were not
actuated by a community of feeling ; for their alienation long continued must
make every one entertain the most lively apprehensions for the state of the
constitution and the country. Their lordships, it was clear, were not in
unison with those who constituted the majority of the other House of Parlia-
ment, who had passed the Bill after it had undergone the scrutiny of the
Committee, and after all the amendments had been negatived in the Com-
mittee. Their lordships would therefore consider (he did not speak this by
way of menace or intimidation, or to fetter their lordships' judgment on the
principle and provisions of the Bill) that, if they refused to go into Committee,
they were setting themselves in opposition, not only to the majority that sup-
ported Ministers, but almost to the whole House of Commons — they were
setting themselves in opposition to the opinions of the people of England,
collected not from public meetings or petitions, to which objection might be
made, but declared through the legitimate organ of their Representatives in
Parliament."

Such sentiments — so boldly avowed — reflect great credit on the first
minister of the crown, and cannot fail to attract not only the admiration

POLAND. 227

but the unreserved confidence of the people of England. In the hour
of danger they are especially animating, and, whatever might have been
the public apprehension on the acceptance of office by the successor of
Lord Grey, there can be but one opinion now. For integrity of cha-
racter, respectability of talent, ingenuousness of disposition, and deter-
mination of purpose, we believe Lord Melbourne has not his superior in
the assembly of which he is so bright an ornament ; while, for the equal
distribution of each of these elements in a mind of no ordinary excel-
lence, he certainly has not his equal.

In all probability the Corporation Bill will be so mutilated in Com-
mittee that the Ministers will not adopt it. Certain it is, should such
be the case, the House of Commons will withhold their concurrence.
The people, therefore, must once more buckle on their armour, and
fight the good fight, relying no less on the certainty of ultimate
triumph, than on their own invincible strength.

POLAND.

UP for Poland! Arm for Poland!

England, France, Iberia, Spain :
Wilt thou Ireland ? wilt thou Scotland ?

Tamely echo Poland's pain ?
England looks, with eyes askance,
On chivalrous — while-liver'd France !
Arm for Poland ! god-like Poland !
From the Saracen's dark shore —
From America and Finland,

To Sobiesky's soil of yore !
Hoarse barks the wolf— the bark of war ; —
The blood-stain'd vulture screams from far !
Arm for Poland! prostrate Poland !
Basely laid by Freedom's grave !
She who scorns the tyrants' band —
Bleeding, drooping — ever brave !
Shall human nature see her quail —
Siberian perfidy prevail ?

Arm for Poland! Memory'' s Poland !

If she be laid on Freedom's bier,
And buried — not by Heaven's command —

While mourning patriots kiss the tear.
Arm for the WIDOW'D, England's England!
White-live r'd France hath " murder'd" Poland !

( 228 )

"THE COLTON PAPERS."

No. 2.— THE REVOLUTION OF JULY.

I MUST now transfer my readers to the Place de Greve, on the
eastern side of which stands that venerable building, the Hotel de
Ville, or Town House. This place, so celebrated in history as the
scene of many terrific combats during the former revolution, was
again destined to become an Aceldama ; for in no part of Paris was
the combat carried on with more determined resolution, amounting
to desperation, than on this fated spot. The possession of the Hotel
de Ville seemed to be a point of honour for which both parties
eagerly struggled, and three several times during this eventful day
of the 28th did it yield to the attacks of the citizens, although de-
fended by a numerous force of gendarmes and Garde Royale, aided
by six pieces of artillery, the first discharge of which, loaded with
grape and cannister, took place upon a dense mass of the populace,
who crowded the square almost to the cannon's mouth. The effect
was terrific; heaps of slaughtered citizens on every side told with
what fatal accuracy each gun had been directed. This severe
check, instantly followed by vigorous and well-sustained volleys of
musketry from the troops, for a moment produced hesitation, and
signs of irresolution became visible on the side of the populace. It
was at this decisive crisis that a young man, whose name, which
merited immortality, unhappily perished with him, waving the tri-
coloured standard, which he had carried all the morning, cried out
to his associates, who had already begun to retire in some confusion,
' ' My friends ! my friends ! it is necessary we should learn how to
die !" With these words, worthy of Leonidas, he again rushed for-
ward to the attack several paces in advance of his companions, and
fell, pierced with a hundred bullets. This glorious lesson of self-
devotion was not lost upon the gallant band to whom it was ad-
dressed ; but the artillery again performed its deadly work, and the
citizen soldiers were at length obliged to retire to the shelter of the
surrounding streets, from the ends of which however they kept up
so constant and well-directed a fire upon the artillery-men and other
troops, that victory again became doubtful. The soldiery were now
in possession of the Hotel de Ville, but the fire they had for some
time kept up from the windows began gradually to decline, the
people having thrown themselves into the houses opposite, from the
roofs and windows of which they could partly command that edifice,
and every shot was returned with murderous interest. In the mean
time a galling discharge was kept up from the opposite side of the
Seine, particularly from the further end of the suspension bridge.

THE COLTON PAPERS. 229

which crosses the river, from the Greve to the Quay de la Cite.
Here about twenty young men, including a few of the National
Guard, sheltered by the parapet wall, kept up an incessant fire. At
length a small body of Swiss were ordered to cross the bridge, to
put this little band hors de combat. On their approach these citizens,
who in all probability never saw blood shed until this dreadful day,
with the intrepidity of ancient veterans, left their protecting parapet,
and placed themselves at the head of the bridge, where they re-
ceived their adversaries with so well-directed a fire, that three of
their number were killed, and several wounded, and after a hasty
discharge the remainder retreated to their former position. We
must not here omit to mention an extraordinary act of gallantry per-
formed by one of these soldiers of a day, who, amid a shower of
bullets from the retiring enemy, ran upon the bridge, and taking the
arms and cartouche-boxes of the three fallen Swiss, returned unhurt
to his companions, exclaiming, " Amis ! Void des armes et de balles."
We should here observe that there was a lamentable deficiency'of
both arms and ammunition on the side of the people, a fact almost
incredible, when the unparalleled results of their exertions are con-
sidered.

The conflict now raged in the Place de Greve with increased
violence. A cannon, pointed against a house at the corner of the
quay (a wine-shop), would .have razed it to the ground, the shore
having been nearly shot away, had not a vigorous charge of the po-
pulace forced the royal troops to consult their safety by preparations
for retreat. This they effected along the quay, firing by files and by
platoons, succeeding each other with astonishing rapidity. They
were speedily reinforced by fresh troops of the Royal Guard and of
the Swiss, together with a hundred cuirassiers, and four pieces of
artillery, each of them escorted by twelve cannoniers on horseback.
With this terrible addition they again advanced on the Hotel de
Ville, and a frightful firing recommenced on all sides. They suc-
ceeded in driving the citizens into the Rues de _'la Vannerie and du
Mouton, and again entered into possession of the Hotel de Ville.
But they did not keep it long, for they were again attacked with a
courage truly sublime and almost irresistible. Their artillery, now
ranged before the Prefecture of the Seine and the Hotel de Ville,
threatened death to thousands. The repeated charges of the cuiras-
siers were murderous, but the citizens did not give way. Immove-
able in their position, they expected, and received death, with cries
of Vive la Liberte ! Vive la Charte ! Their heroic and generous ef-
forts proved fatal to many. The heaps of dead bodies showed a
sensible diminution of the combatants; still the contest might be said
to rage with desperate fury, the successive capturing and recapturing
of the Hotel de Ville awakened the sanguinary reminiscences of
Hougomont. But, while every moment added to the confidence of
the people, consternation began to be more and more visible even
in the firmest battalions of France. It was in vain that discipline
closed her serried files, or opened her chevaux de frise of bayonets,
only to give scope and efficiency to discharges of grape-shot still
more murderous. The Place de la Greve, the Pont de la Greve

M. M.— No. 9. 2 G

230 THE COLTON PAPERS,

and the Pont Neuf, with the quays, were enveloped in one lurid
cloud of sulphurous smoke, pierced by the flashes of the cannon, or
the fusillade of the musket. The continuous tiraillage of the citizens
filled up the pauses that intervened between the platoon firing of the
troops and the sullen roar of the artillery. The Seine might now be
said without a metaphor to " flow purple to the sea." The dead
bodies of horses and of soldiers were visible in its stream, carried
down in a tumultuous mass to St. Cloud, shortly to announce to the
royal tenants of its chateau the discomfiture of their proudest hopes,
by the dismal evidence of this floating wreck.

The Hotel de Ville, which, during the conflict I have above
described, had been the scene of such carriage and heroism, was
doomed at length to become a sanguinary trophy of the popular
triumph, and on its third capture it was destined to remain in pos-
session of those who had so gallantly stormed it, and become the
seat of the Provisional Government, and the head-quarters of the
National Guard; and once more, as in 1789, it had the honour to
receive within its walls the venerable Lafayette as the commander.
The loss was dreadful on the part of both people and soldiers, during
the ten hours this determined combat took place ; cart-loads of dead
were taken away, and in all the neighbouring streets the wounded
were seen on hand-carriages and beds, on their way to the different
hospitals. The cause of liberty had triumphed, but it had cost the
country much precious blood. Twelve hundred men were either
killed or wounded, of those who had taken up arms in defence of
their liberties. The troops lost on that scene of slaughter about six
hundred men, four pieces of artillery, and forty horses.

The tri-coloured flag was now proudly displayed from the towers
of Notre Dame, which are conspicuous from most parts of Paris and
the surrounding country. Many were the telescopes directed to
these towers, and the sight of the national flag, once more floating
in the wind, cheered the hearts of many at a distance, who were
suffering the most intolerable suspense as to the result of the arduous
struggle. Many a tender mother, many an affectionate wife, who
had sent forth their sons and husbands, like the Spartan women of
old, to combat for their dearest rights, and whose situation precluded
them from any other effort in the general cause than their prayers
for the safety and success of those they held dear, were animated
with fresh hope at this convincing sight ; while, at St. Cloud, the re-
sidence of HIM whose fatal obstinacy had caused this accumulation of
bloodshed and woe, the same object, distinctly visible, must have
struck despair to his heart, and those of his pernicious and flattering
councillors. The tocsin pealed through the air from many of the
churches, and the perpetual roar of musketry, and the thunders of
the artillery, re-echoed by the houses on the quays, would induce
the belief that the city had been stormed by some foreign enemy,
and not that it was attacked by parricidal hands.

Hitherto success was doubtful, alternate triumphs and defeats pre-
vailed at different parts ; and it was evident that the contest had only
begun. A strong body of men formed themselves on the Place of
the Odeon, under the command of M. Joffres, a distinguished avocat,

THE COLTON PAPERS 231

who led them to the attack of the Abbaye, a military prison, where
they released all the soldiers under confinement for insubordination,
who instantly joined their compatriots. This body, supported by
many others from the southern side of the Seine, attempted to cross
the river by the different bridges, to the support of their brethren in
arms, but every bridge bristled with the flower of the troops, and
was commanded by a numerous and well-served artillery at every
point. The Pont Neuf was literally covered with soldiers, and the
utmost that the brave citizens of the Fauburg St. Germain could
effect, was to content themselves with keeping in check the troops in
their division of the capital, and maintaining a constant fire across
the river, on the quays de 1'Ecole and the Louvre, which were filled
with soldiers, ensconced behind the parapets, and the low wall which
supports the iron railing of the palace ; through which railing they
kept up an incessant fire upon the columns of citizens on the left
bank of the river. The gate of the Louvre, opposite to the Institute
and the Pont des Arts, was closed, a party of Swiss guarded it, and a
piece of artillery was placed before it, which, directed upon the
multitudes assembled near and upon the steps of the Institute, was
discharged with murderous effect. The troops, forced to retreat
from the Place de la Greve, had retired slowly upon the Louvre, with
part of their cannon; and from this point the guns were so disposed,
that, from the quay of the Tuileries, they seemed to sweep the en-
tire line of quays, as far as the Pont au Change, and completely
commanded, by their range, that important pass. The different
streets leading to the river had pickets at about fifty yards before they
joined the quays, and from their elevation they kept up an occa-
sional fire, when any of the column on the opposite side was visible.

In the Rue St. Honore the combat began about three o'clock.
The Place du Palais Royal had been occupied by strong detach-
ments of infantry and gendarmerie, mounted and on foot. The
Place du Carrousel was occupied by the grenadiers a cheval, and
the lancers of the Garde Royale, waiting for orders. Their ap-
pearance was most imposing, and their numbers seemed to laugh
to scorn any effort of an undisciplined mob, however numerous.
About forty pieces of field artillery were all in readiness for action.
The contest began by the people seizing the corners of the nume-
rous small streets leading into the Rue St. Honore, from the church
of St. Roch to the Rue de 1'Arbre Sec, on both sides of the way, firing-
as tirailleurs, and retreating to shelter while they loaded. Many
were posted at the different windows, and the piles of stones heaped
up in every story to the very garrets showed plainly the reception
the troops would meet, should they move from the open space, and
attempt to dislodge their antagonists, who annoyed them at every
point, but retreated with such rapidity that they could scarcely get a
shot at their unseen and harassing enemy ; while, on the contrary,
almost every discharge took effect upon a body of men, who were
compelled to show two fronts, the one up, and the other down the
street. This desultory mode of warfare was dreadfully harassing to
the soldiers, who maintained their post with firmness indeed, but
without producing any effect. It was easy to see that many of

232 THE COLTON PAPERS.

these skirmishers, though clad as masons, or carpenters, from the
skill and activity they displayed, had not on that day for the first
time cultivated an acquaintance with a musket; many seemed to
recall to mind the days when they had assisted in spreading terror
through Europe, and snuffed the sulphurous air with every mark of
recollection and satisfaction. The firing continued long after dark,
gradually slackening. The troops bivouacked on the spots they
occupied, in many places stained with the blood of their comrades.
No kind hand administered to their wants : where were their royalist
friends, who had spurred them on to the massacre of their fellow-
citizens? They forced them into the struggle, and then abandoned
them : many were without food for twenty-four hours. To this
there was one exception, the 55th regiment of the line, which had
the whole day shown the most laudable reluctance to fire at all, and
when they were compelled, the elevation of their muskets was such
as to render the discharge innocuous. They bivouacked that night
on the Place Vendome, where they received the most generous hos-
pitality from Mr. Roberts, of the London Dispensary, whose as-
sistants, with himself and servants, were employed the whole night
in supplying the wants of both officers and men with wine and other
refreshments. The amiable Bishop Luscombe was equally conspi-
cuous in these acts of Christian kindness. When darkness had com-
pletely thrown her veil over all, the tired citizens withdrew from the
varied scenes of action, some to gain by repose strength for the
deciding conflict of the ensuing day, but many to cast balls, sharpen
weapons, or add otherwise to the means of resistance ; and many, it
is to be feared, to shed the bitter tear of regret for the brother or
parent, whom that day had for ever snatched from their eyes. These
tears added to their determination to take a deep and bitter revenge
on the morrow. Their grief nerved them for the next day's fight ;
and vengeance, added to patriotism, made the most timid a hero.

In casting a retrospective glance over the hurried scene that has
passed so rapidly before my eyes, it is quite evident that, on this de-
cisive day, namely, the 28th, the government had put forth the whole
of their strength. Paris had been declared in a state of siege,
and Marshal Marmont, Duke of Ragusa, who had been invested
with the absolute command of the armed force, had himself on this
day headed the troops in the Place des Victoires, where he passed
some time giving instructions to his officers, and afterwards per-
sonally led on the attack in the Rue Montmartre ; from whence he
made a precipitate retreat, in consequence of the noble resistance of
the citizens at the corner of jthe Rue Joquelet. Fresh regiments
had been marched into Paris during the night of the 26th, and the
whole of the gendarmerie had been put in motion. A strong
muster had been made of all that was efficient of the Swiss Guards
and the Garde Royale, both horse and foot; they had been strength-
ened and supported by" cannon, and even bombardment had been
resorted to on more than one occasion. The adherents of the court
could not but admit that the whole of this formidable force, if not
defeated, had at least been checked, and driven in at all points, by
the population of the city. These disciplined warriors had even

THE COLTON PAPERS. 233

abandoned their posts in some instances, or had retained them
with the greatest difficulty in others. Although much determination
was still visible amongst the surviving gendarmerie, the foreign mer-
cenaries, and the greater portion of the Garde Royale, yet much
hesitation had begun to manifest itself in the line. Three regiments
had already shown the greatest reluctance to fire upon the people,
and in some instances positively refused ; this circumstance tended
very much to increase the confidence of the one party, and the con-
sternation of the other. In fact, it might be affirmed that, from
this moment, the king possessed only the form and the body, but not
the soul or the spirit of an army. The telegraphic communications
had been cut off by the citizens, so that no summons for additional
troops could be transmitted by that mode. The moral of the troops
had been shaken by circumstances more appalling than danger itself ;
and the obstinacy with which the people defended their rights, com-
bined with the justice of their cause, begot a still stronger disinclina-
tion in the soldiery to persist in those murderous measures, which
alone could confer victory on their arms, — a victory which many of
them had begun to contemplate even as more disgraceful than a
defeat, because it could only be purchased by the costly sacrifice of
whole hecatombs of their countrymen.

The eventful day of Wednesday had now completely closed, and
with the exception of the neighbourhood of the Louvre, where the
firing can scarcely be said to have ceased during the night, the streets
of Paris were comparatively tranquil, at least they were no longer
the scenes of conflict and slaughter. That day however was followed
by a night still more glorious. On Wednesday, and even on Tuesday
evening, a few barricades had been hastily erected, to arrest the pro-
gress of the royal troops, and to afford shelter to the half-armed
citizens against their well-appointed antagonists. The powerful utility
of this species of defence was evident during the obstinate contests of
that day, and gave rise to those measures that have eventually saved
France from the excesses of an exasperated soldiery, her citizens
from butchery, her liberties from tyranny, and her laws from viola-
tion. It was on the night of the 28th that those measures were
adopted, which, from the unanimity of their design, the rapidity of
their execution, and the ingenuity of their construction, are without
a parallel in the annals of history. To do ample justice to the Her-
culean prodigies of this eventful night would require the pen of a
Livy, and the pencil of a Salvator. Neither the wand of Prospero,
nor the lyre of Orpheus, could have produced such rapid combina-
tions as now developed themselves throughout the whole of this vast
capital. Things inanimate seemed almost to partake of the general
enthusiasm, so instantaneous was the movement by which they were
rendered subservient to all the necessary purposes either of defence
or of aggression. Men of every trade and calling lent themselves,
as by one common instinct, to that peculiar department, in this gene-
ral division of labour, with which they had been rendered most con-
versant by their previous habits and pursuits. The plumber betook
himself to the casting of balls; the sawyer to the felling of trees ; the
paviour to the throwing up of stones, as materials for the barricades;

234 THE COLTON PAPERS.

the water carriers and hackney coachmen might be seen busily em-
ployed in drawing up and overturning vehicles of the largest size,
and in obstructing every communication of street with street, by
means of these ponderous and massy impediments. The carpenter
went to work in his vocation, and every species of timber, or of
scaffolding, was put into immediate requisition, to strengthen and fill
up the intervals left in the stockades, and which were alternately
completed by the ponderous materials torn up from the streets. Thus
it was that the population of Paris, fertile in expedients, and exhaust-
less in resource, had, in the course of twelve hours, placed the whole
city in so imposing an attitude of preparation, and almost of defiance,
that even the practised eye of the most war-worn veteran could
hardly have pointed out a blunder, or suggested an amendment. A
considerable part of the following day was occupied in completing
and strengthening those barricades, on the keeping possession of
which the success of the popular cause must chiefly depend. The
gigantic efforts of the population of Paris on this night, after such a
day, seemed totally to set at defiance the common wants of our na-
ture. Their labour was carried on throughout the night no less than
the day, impeded at times by repulse, at others invigorated and
triumph. Under a cloudless sun, with a thermometer ranging from
80 to 90 degrees, exposed to the murderous fire of an artillery dis-
charging showers of grape and langridge, neither the enthusiasm of
the attack, nor the Herculean efforts necessary for defence, were re-
mitted for an instant. All classes, high and low, not excepting ever
women and children, assiduously and cheerfully lent themselves tf
this most necessary task ; hands, hitherto unused to any species of
toil or drudgery, might be seen wielding, for the first time, the shovel
and the pickaxe, and zeal was found sufficient to supply the place of
strength and of skill.

From the nature of the barricades, it was evident that one arm of
war was rendered from this moment inefficient. The cavalry could
no longer act. With respect to another species of force still more
formidable, the artillery, every minute was throwing fresh impedi-
ments to render its operation less destructive to the populace, and
more dangerous to those by whom it was directed. Every voiture
and vehicle had been put into requisition, the pavement had been
torn up, wine-shops supplying thousands of empty hogsheads, which
were filled with the largest stones from the streets, and the majestic
trees on the boulevards now fell, to protect that city they had so long
adorned. It was evident, from the ingenuity and soldier-like con-
struction of these formidable defences, that many survivors of the
siege of Saragossa, though debilitated by age, and in the unassuming
costume of common labourers, had not been inactive spectators o
the scene.

But, before I entirely withdraw myself from a review of the
night of Wednesday, it may be interesting to the reader to be
put in possession of the then forlorn and melancholy situation of the
royal troops. The setting sun of this day had left the patriots in
possession of the far greater part of the city. At eight o'clock

THE COLTON PAPERS. 235

the royal troops, driven from their regular posts, occupied only a
circumscribed and contracted portion of Paris, on the right side of
the Seine. Their line might be said to commence at the Louvre,
which they still held, in conjunction with the Tuileries. The Place
of St. Germain 1'Auxerrois and the Place of the Palais Royal was
also occupied by them, together with those parts of the Rue St.
Honore leading to the Market of the Jacobins and the Rue Neuve
des Petits Champs. From these places their lines continued so as
to keep up a communication with the Place Vendome, the Rue
de la Paix, and the Boulevard of the Madeline, extending them-
selves down the Rue Royale to the occupation of the Place Louis
XV., and the entrance of the Champs Elysee?, and holding pos-
session of the bridge opposite the Chamber of Deputies. After so
much boasting and so much bloodshed, this position left them little
to be proud of; in fact it was a position tantamount to a defeat.
The royal troops were no longer in a situation to attack, and it
was with difficulty that they could act on the defensive. They
were surrounded by an immense population in arms — a population
constantly on the alert, indefatigable, fearless, and encouraged on
all sides by their friends, who at this period occupied themselves in
supplying all their physical necessities. But the case was entirely
different with respect to the troops. Their selfish and ungrateful
rulers cared not how much they suffered from famine or thirst.
Their object had been to provide them with arms, under the dis-
appointed hope that they would be enabled to provide themselves
with nourishment. Such was the improvidence of the party of the
Court, that they had not adopted a single measure necessary in case
of a reverse. They had provided neither bread, nor meat, nor
wine ; a little brandy had been served out to them, and this was all
they received. If a few were so fortunate as to obtain any little
assistance, it was from the commiseration of those whom they came
to massacre. In consequence of this neglect, the greatest confusion
reigned throughout the different regiments. Harassed not only by
inanition, want of sleep, and all other physical privations, their moral
courage also was shaken. They found that neither the King, nor
the Dauphin, nor any of the leading men of the Government, either
countenanced them by their presence, or solaced them by their aid.
They saw themselves deserted by the higher orders, and assailed at
all points by the lower. This complete insulation, even in the midst
of society, convinced them that the cause they were defending was
that of One Man, and that which they were opposing was that of a
whole Nation. Furthermore, the unexpected resistance, and un-
looked-for determination displayed by the citizens, completed their
discouragement ; every thing about them and around them was
either menacing or gloomy ; they had heard themselves on all sides
accused of supporting "the cause of despotism" — their consciences
told them that the accusation was more than just.

( 236 )
LINTON— THE VALLEY OF ROCKS.

'Tis eve ! 'tis fading eve ! how fair the scene,

Ting'd with the soft hues of the glowing west !
Dim hills afar, and happy vales between,

With the tall corn's deep furrow calmly blest !
More near the sea by eve's mild gale caress'd,

And groves of living green that fringe its tide,
White sails that gleam on Ocean's bounding breast,

And the light fisher-barks, that homeward glide,
To seek Clovelly's shores of beauty and of pride !

And hark ! the mingling sounds of earth and sea !

The pastoral music of the bleating flock,
Blent with the sea-bird's uncouth melody ;

The wave's deep murmur to th' unheeding rock ;
And ever and anon th' impatient shock

Of some rude billow on the echoing shore.
And hark ! the rower's deep and well-known stroke !

Glad hearts are there, and joyous hands once more
Weary the whitening wave with their returning oar !

But turn where Art with graceful hand hath twin'd

The living wreath for Nature's placid brow, —
Where the glad wand'rer's joyous footsteps wind

'Mid rock, and glancing stream, and waving bough, —
Where scarce the valley's leafy depths allow

The lingering sunbeam in their shade to dwell :
There might the Naiad breathe her softest vow,

Or the grim Triton sound his wreathed shell,
Lur'd from their azure home by scenes they love so well !

A softer beauty floats along the sky,

And moonlight dwells upon the heaving wave :
Far off the night- winds fade away and die ;

Or, murmuring, slumber in their ocean cave.
Tall oaks, whose limbs the giant-storm might brave,

Bend in rude fondness o'er the silvery sea ;
Nor can the mountain-ash forbear to lave

Her blushing clusters where the waters free
Murmur around her feet such soothing melody !

Beautiful valley ! in thy shades of rest,

When timid Spring her pleasant task hath sped,
Or Summer pours, from her redundant breast,

Her fruits and flow'rs along the vale's deep bed ;
But most when Autumn's golden glories spread,

And half forget rude Winter's withering rage.
What fairer path could woo the wanderer's tread,

Soothe wearied Hope, or worn Regret assuage ?
Lo ! for firm youth a bower ! a home for lapsing age !

( 237 )

SOPIIENE AND SOPHOCLES.

A TALE OF ANCIENT GREECE.
(Continued from page 139.,)

IN the mean time the shades of night had given way to Aurora,
who, fearing- in her turn the looks of the god of night, fled into the
arms of the mortal she loves.

I repaired to the apartment of Imlacca : we stepped into the garden
together, and thence into the hall. Those pictures which the pre-
ceding day had appeared so dangerous to me, no longer answered
the idea I had till then formed of love. Their expression was
weak, inanimate. He that had drawn them was unacquainted
with love, otherwise he would have given that god more grace,
more fire, more charms. The slaves around him had not that lan-
guishing, ecstatic expression, which proceeds from the heart, and
works upon that of a true lover; but, exclaimed I, among so many
beautiful objects, I do not find Sophene ! Did they not dare to draw
her ? Did they know that sometimes nature goes far beyond the
limits of imagination, and that art may improve what it fancies,
though it is always inferior to reality? No, no, they did well to
leave out Sophene. How would they have painted Love ? She would
have embellished the triumph by eclipsing him who triumphs.

Suddenly changing the discourse, I addressed to the god these
words, which struck Imlacca with amazement ; It is done, Love :
thou prevailest. Eurycone now is nothing to me. Sophene's country
becomes mine. I am a citizen of Aulycone ; thus then, interrupt-
ing me with a stern look, Sophocles does not recollect that he is the
envoy of Jupiter, and, running into extremes, he gives himself
entirely up to a passion that he lately dreaded so much. Sophocles,
citizen of Aulycone ! Gods ! Is it true that I heard those words ?
Are you forgetful of all you owe to the tender affection of your
father? Do you consider no more that your distracted mother longs
for your return ? All their love is centred in you, and will you break
their hearts? Who will receive their last breath ? Who will close
their eyes ? Imlacca, cried I, you have smoothed for me the way to
perdition; I wished to flee ; it was yet time : you opposed my wish.
What a moment do you now take to tear me from myself! O The-
manteus ! O Dianthes ! your unhappy son is no longer strong enough
to follow the dictates of his duty; a fatal passion renders him insen-
sible of your tenderness, of your tears, of all that is not Sophene.
It is in vain that the imperious voice of honour insists upon being
listened to ; that honour formerly so prevalent with me, has now but
impotent accents, that scarcely reach my ears. So speaking I looked
at Love. He was proud of my weakness, and I praised myself for
the shameful sacrifice I made to him of my reason.
M.M.— No.9. 2H

238 SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES.

Imlacca was exasparated at it; I own, said he, that I foretold
you would love ; I went further ; I opposed your scruples ; I dis-
posed your heart to receive the impressions that Sophene ought to
make on it : I saw from the sensibility of its bias that you resisted
only through shame, and timidity. Is that to be the cause of your
ruin ? Could I foresee that love, which makes virtue flourish and
improves it in an honest heart, should destroy yours? No, dear
Sophocles, I had a better opinion of you, and I still preserve it. You
must use your best endeavours against yourself. The struggle is
hard ; but glory is the reward of it. Love, Sophocles, do ; I give
my consent to it ; but love her in a manner worthy of her. Mystery
ought to be inseparable from love. The smallest indiscretion would
undo you both. You are a lover; but you are a minister of Jove.
Ulysses is the object of your admiration; let him be the model of
your conduct. He preferred his country to a goddess and immor-
tality. Does not that example inspire you with emulation? Do you
want a more powerful incitement ? I find it in Ismene herself.
Learn to dive into the hearts of women. They love glory. It would
be vexatious for the most impassioned among them to see her lover
miss the opportunity of acquiring it. She murmurs at the cruel
deity that severs her from the object of her affection, she sighs, she
groans, she melts into tears ; she will have him sigh, and weep with
her ; but she will have him go away. Consult Sophene, and you
will see if I deceive you. I was sensible of the truth of the argu-
ments he enforced upon me, but, through weakness, I did not agree
to them. My silence was painful to him; but he pitied me, and
seeing Sosthenes coming up to us, he apprized me of it, just time
enough to recover myself in some degree.

Sosthenes, though he could not but suspect my passion for his
daughter, and the return with which she was likely to repay it,
nevertheless entertained far different intentions from mine as to her
settlement in life; but the gods would not allow them to take place.
Being within hearing, Sosthenes informed us that all was ready for
the sacrifice which the next day we were to offer up to Jupiter.
After having taken a turn and spoke together about matters of no
concern, we entered the hall of entertainment.

I think it was still more splendid than those which went before ;
but let Imlacca be judge of it. For my part I was wholly taken
up with Sophene ; I committed all the follies that a youth who
loves for the first time may be supposed guilty of. The less I wished
them to appear, the more I repeated them. Sophene's prudence
prevented their being noticed : if my hand touched hers, she drew
it back in a modest and unaffected manner. If I was looking at her,
she turned her eyes from me. If my words, my gestures, had any
thing suspicious in them, a glance from her eyes warned me that I
was watched. I constrained myself, at least I thought I did so,
and was mightily pleased with my discretion. I flattered myself
that the secret of my heart was known only to Sophene. How fool-
ish are lovers! They fancy, even at the time they betray themselves,
that, with his veil, love blinds such as might observe them, and that
he is the only witness to their actions.

SOPHEME AND SOPHOCLES. 239

Supper ended, I know not whether 1 ate or not, and had not my
hand met Sophene's, when she presented me with the cup, I should
not remember that I had drank ; but I never shall forget that I got
a look from Sophene. Goddess whose tender sentiments master my
heart ! O Venus ! whose lively and nattering expressions move the
immortals as much as thy charms. Ismene looked at me. Thou
hast rendered me sensible of the sweetness of that look, teach me to
express the value of it. Sosthenes took me by the hand, and spoke
to me in this manner : — $

Sophocles, you have been here the prescribed time. Our custom
is to employ it in paying to the ministers of the gods tj^e honours due
to their persons and their office. Overjoyed to possess you, believe
me, we wish we could always keep you among us ; but the pleasure
of hospitality ought to yield to the duties of religion. Let us set out
to-morrow for Eurycone. There the sovereign of the gods requires
a sacrifice from us. Go to rest with Imlacca ; he said and left me
alone. When the thunder-bolt falls with a rattling crash at the feet
of a traveller upon whom darkness comes unawares, he is less terri-
fied than I was when I heard those fatal words. I remained
deprived of voice and motion. I thought that, with a blow of his
scythe, Death had hurled me headlong into the abyss of Tartarus.
To that mute anguish succeeded groans and grievous accents. No ;
cried I ; I will not forsake Sophene ; rny life depends upon her
presence, I will live and die with her.

In the mean time she was walking; I perceived her, and
when I was confident she was alone, is it you, said I, dear Sophene ?
She went off without answering me. I caught her by her gown,
and endeavoured to steal a kiss from her ; Sophocles, said she,
smiling, respect your ministry, or at least the sacred garments of it
which you wear. Nothing restrains you ? Is a kiss worth the
danger to which you expose us both? We are watched, perhaps we
are seen.

Sophocles, you do not hearken to me. How different you are
from what you were yesterday. Modest, even shy, you durst not
look at me. While she was speaking thus, I held, I pressed her
hand, I kissed and bathed it with tears. Alas ! said I, fetching a
deep sigh, How dear will this moment of pleasure cost me ! I shall
see you no more after to-morrow ; I return to Eurycone. And so
do I, answered she, bursting from me. I heard a noise, and I did
not dare to follow her. It was Imlacca, who lying under a thick
myrtle tree, had moved the branches of it. Darkness hindered me
from recollecting him, and fearing lest he should be some slave of
Sosthenes, I shunned him. How now, said he, in a jest, are you
afraid of the shaking of a leaf? You are too ready to part from a
mistress whom perhaps you are doomed to see no more. Partake
of my joy, replied I, taking him about the neck, Sophene goes
along with us. I know it from herself ; help me to find her again ;
perhaps she is in the garden yet. No, said he, I will not follow
you ; you love ; your business is to sit up, and mine to sleep. I
leave you with a better assistant, Love... So saying, he parted

240 SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES.

from me. I ran over all the walks, all the windings ; I stopped, I
listened, I heard nothing. I called upon Sophene, but she answered
not. I grew anxious and impatient.

I had seen her just the moment before ; but can one see too much
of her we love? I was to depart with her the next day; but that
day seemed to be too far off.

I accused the gods, I accused Sophene, but soon in order to clear
her, I said to myself, She knows not that thou art looking for her ;
but at the same moment I said again, Ought she not to guess it?

At last, after many useless complaints, I thought she had retired
into the house ; I was mistaken ; she told me since she had heard
me ; but, though she was conscious of the purity of her heart, never-
theless, fearing me and herself, she so far got the better of her
inclination as to withstand the hints of Love, who might have
proved a dangerous adviser.

I did not close my eyelids all night,

A confused noise of voices warned me that it was time to rise.
Sosthenes, entering my chamber, started at finding me still in bed.
Sophocles, said he, all is ready for your departure ! Put on your
clothes, and come to the temple. I found the inhabitants of Auly-
cone waiting for us at the gate of it. We went thither amidst uni-
versal acclamations. The solemnity of this day was equal to that
of our arrival ; I received the same honours ; they could not be
greater: Sophene had no possibility of speaking to me ; but I read
her content in her eyes, and that she appropriated those honours to
herself. Love makes all common between lovers.

The sacrifice being over, we embarked ; the navigation was
happy. Our citizens discovered our ship from afar. Sophene
excited the surprise and admiration of all that saw her.

I presented my guests to my father, and with an expressive look,
I told him how welcome I had been to them. Themisteus thanked
them for it in so pathetical a manner, that they thought he did more
for them, than they had done for me.

Dianthea made much of Sophene ; she could not forbear kissing
and caressing her ; I was jealous of it ; but she was only the
momentary trustee of those kisses ; I took them all from her.

While I was complimented on my return, my father showed
Sosthenes his house and garden. The models of them both were of
his own composition. In them were not to be found those striking
beauties which we admire in those magnificent palaces wherein the
voluptuous Greek equals, if not surpasses, the luxury of the kings of
Asia. Every thing there was plain and convenient, without either
ostentation or prodigality. The taste and wisdom of the proprietor
made up for the want of ornaments. Sosthenes, accustomed in his
own abode to stateliness and marvellous pomp, sighed at his mistake.
O Themisteus, said he, how many treasures have I lavished in
building a house infinitely less pleasant than yours ! That reflection
gave room to many others which deceived the time till supper.
They sat down to table. I shall not describe the entertainment.

The austerity of Themisteus' manners had banished profusion

WOMAN'S EYES. 241

from it ; but it had preserved delicacy in the meats, and cleanliness
in the mode of serving them. As we endeavoured to omit nothing
that friendship and hospitality required of us, so were we successful
enough to see our guests sensible of, and thankful for, our efforts to
please them.

WOMAN'S EYES.

% the Author of" Songs of Switzerland,1' $c.

Away, away! I'll drink no more —

Let's join the minstrel throng ;
Away, where voice and lute outpour

The dulcet tide of song.
But let it be where Beauty's bower

Its sweetest theme supplies ;
Song loses half its magic power

Unblest by Woman's eyes.

The warrior's lance, the poet's pen,

May win immortal fame ;
As ocean cave and mountain glen

Are taught each glorious name.
Yet is there still than fame, perchance,

A prouder, richer prize ;
Who values not the sunny glance

Whose home is Woman's eyes?

There is an hour when words are vain,

An hour twice known to none;
It is when hearts, that once were twain,

First feel they are but one.
E'en then when sense appeals to sense,

And passion speech denies;
What then is Love's best eloquence ?

'Tis that of Woman's eyes !

I've drained the cup on Rhine's proud hills,

I've drank, Garonne, to thee ;
Where laugh the snow-alps' thousand rills,

I've quaiPd to liberty.
But oh ! of all the bacchant stores,

Garonne or Rhine supplies,
Give me the cup that, mantling up,

Is drained to Woman's eyes.

July 21st, 1835. H. B.

( 242 )

ON THE FALSE ESTIMATE OF THE MILITARY
CHARACTER.

PEOPLE judge very inaccurately of the mental endowments of
soldiers, especially of those belonging to the highest class, whom
the world in general agree to call heroes. By parsons, squires, the
less thinking part of shopkeepers, and some poets, they are regarded
as huge mental colossi, who bestride the world by dint of genius
almost super-human ; whilst by philosophers, and moral poets, they
are stripped not only of the adventitious glory reflected from their
mighty deeds, but of the ordinary mental attributes of humanity, arid
are held up to scorn as mere brainless asses, fit only to crack skulls
arid having skulls fit only to be cracked. In the opinion of an indi-
vidual who is neither parson, squire, shopkeeper, poet, nor philo-
sopher, but one who has had much experience of war and the men
who wage it — myself, the worshipful company of heroes deserve
" ni tout d'honneur, ni tout d'indignite ; " but the opposite errors into
which different classes of persons have fallen respecting them admit,
as it appears to me, a ready explanation.

Alexander subverts the Persian monarchy at Arbela ; Hannibal
scales the Alps and makes the mistress of the world tremble on her
seven hills ; Caesar crosses the Rubicon, and this same mistress must
bow her neck to the yoke of a master ; Napoleon subjugates Europe
at Austerlitz ; Wellington wrenches this immense empire from his
grasp at Waterloo. Such is the game at which warriors play ; all is
rapid, sweeping, and magnificent ; and realms and nations are the
stakes played for. Can we wonder, that those who look at the war-
rior only through the prisms of gazettes and histories should see
him invested with a halo of glory, and that even with those who
regard him, from a conscientious conviction of the sinfulness of his
trade, as a sort of Satan, he is Milton's Satan ? Observe, that from
what ordinary readers know of war, all that is sordid is excluded.
The doubts and hesitations of leaders; the fears of subordinates, the
famine, the murmur, and the wretchedness are not there. 'Tis a
picture by Newton, wherein we are astounded by the mountain,
the torrent, the lightning, the pyramid, and the palace ; but where
we see not the furze-bush, the cabbage-garden, the pig-sty, the
hosel, and its wretched inmate. It is forgotten, too, that war, if
correctly represented, must show weakness as well as power, for if
there is a victor there is necessarily a vanquished ; and we know not
how much of the appearance of power is owing to the opposing
weakness : the strife may in truth be but a conflict of two weaknesses,
in which the less weakness triumphs. " You committed but a hun-
dred faults, we committed a hundred and one, and you are the
conquerors," said the Frenchman to the Englishman after the battle
of Hochstet. Even of the power employed, if we consider how much

ON THE FALSE ESTIMATE OF THE MILITARY CHARACTER. 243

is purely physical, and how large a portion is related rather to the
animal than the intellectual part of our nature, we shall leave but
little scope for the claims of genius. This seems to have been the
opinion of a consummate master of war, and one not likely to depre-
ciate the art to which he owed his all, his fame, his fortune, and even
his fall : " Le genie," said Buonaparte, " est le beau idtal de la
guerre, la force en est le vrai."

Those, on the other hand, who like Pope in his well-known lines
on " Macedonia's madmen," &c., regard warriors as mere unre-
flecting brutes, *' ne'er looking forward further than their noses," or,
Irishmen in a row, mere givers and receivers of hard knocks, have,
though styling themselves philosophers, reasoned most unphiloso-
phically. Finding in all wars much of evil inflicted and received ; —
wrong often triumphant ; right often prostrate ; — that where right is
triumphant, it is so through an amount of evil which makes it ques-
tionable whether tolerance of the wrong would not have been better
than its redress by the means employed; — these dark views of war
and its results are reflected on the warrior, whom they regard as a
senseless demon, a mere impersonification of brute force. This
opinion, however dignified by the name of philanthropy or philoso-
phy, is, like all views of one side only of a picture, erroneous. If
war is blackened by the ferocity of its Attilas and its Genserics, it
can likewise boast of its *' patriot Tell, its Bruce of Bannockburn"
Even the estimate between the evil inflicted and that averted by a
just war, is inferior to the warrior armed in a righteous cause, if it
be formed solely from a survey of the circumstances of the immediate
conflict. The influence of a noble and successful resistance to tyranny
and oppression is not limited to the result of the present warfare, or
history is indeed a dead letter. Did the Waldenses, did the Dutch
in the war of the Duke of Alva, did the Covenanters bleed in vain ?
Did not rather a holy incense arise from the blood of these martyrs
which has sanctified the cause of civil and religious liberty, has made
tyrants fearful openly to assail it, and armed the virtuous of subse-
quent ages in its defence ? Has not the truth of the beautiful line of
Southey,

" Those who bravely suffer save mankind,"

been forcibly exemplified by their courageous resistance to oppres-
sion ?

From the multifarious interests, commercial and political, by which
nations are now intertwined, the differences arising among them are
rarely distinguished by broad characters of right and wrong : to use
the expression of a celebrated legal personage respecting cases in
courts of justice, they are not black and white, but gray. In the
settlement, however, of these mixed cases by the " lex ultima re-
gum," other qualities than mere brute force are brought into action,
as any one may be convinced who will afford himself the gratifica-
tion of reading Colonel Napier's admirable history of the Penin-
sular war. He will there learn that prudence; the adaptation of
means to ends ; knowledge, geographical, moral, and statistical, of the
country in which he is engaged ; wisdom in council, and skill and

'-244 ON THE FALSE ESTIMATE OF THE MILITARY CHARACTER.

promptitude in action, are necessary to form the successful soldier.
He will find, moreover, that the predominant characteristic of the
warrior, who occupies a large space in the eye of the world, is in-
flexible tenacity of purpose — what the French call " une volonte
forte." I believe, indeed, that were psychological (phrenological,
if you will) maps formed of all great warriors, from Alexander down
to Napoleon and the Duke oif Wellington, this faculty would be
found to occupy the largest space in their mental territory. Alex-
ander's early-born and never-forgotten resolution to destroy the Per-
sian monarchy ; Hannibal's unflinching adherence to his infantile
dedication to hatred and persecution of the Roman name ; Caesar's
long-prepared, well-matured, and successful determination to sub-
vert the power of the Senate ; the manifest predominance of this
quality in the character of Charles the Twelfth, which led to his
ruin at Pultawa and procured for him the appellation of Iron-head
from the Turks at Bender; various passages in the life of Buona-
parte, among others his persisting in the endeavour to subdue the
Peninsula, and the Duke of Wellington's equally pertinacious and
more fortunate resolution to frustrate his design, all tend to evince
the accuracy of the opinion expressed. This pertinacity of will
(which when directed to unattainable or pernicious objects is called
obstinacy) is not characteristic of warlike individuals only ; but is
likewise manifested by warlike states. France, under Buonaparte,
is an apparent but not a real example of this, for Buonaparte was, in
a moral sense, France. He was absolute master of the mind of the
country and swayed it to his will ; and hence her adherence to the
project of universal dominion, — an adherence which produced the
destruction of the imperial power, — was but an instance of individual
pertinacity. Not so with conquering Rome. Her rulers, be they
who they might, were the organs of the will of the state, and that
was steadily directed to the aggrandizement of Rome and the thral~
dom of the world; purposes which, from the then condition of man-
kind, were crowned with ultimate accomplishment.

Exclusive of this determined adherence to a purpose, which though
a moral cannot be regarded as an intellectual attribute, the mental
endowments of even distinguished warriors will not, I believe, be
found to be greater than the average amount possessed by useful
practical men in civil departments of life, such as successful mer-
chants, lawyers, and physicians; and these, if they have raised them-
selves from small beginnings to comparative greatness, may vie with
the soldier in the quality by which he is pre-eminently distinguished.
Whence then arises this difference, that whilst the man in civil life is
scarcely known beyond a small circle of acquaintance, the soldier's
name fills all the gazettes of Europe, and is transmitted to posterity
as that of the hero of the day? Simply from the relative magnitude
of the objects with which each is respectively conversant. But this
is by no means a fair measure of the mental power employed in
wielding them. Because one object is larger than another, it does
not necessarily consist of a greater number or of more intricate
parts. Besides this, the chief captain is not taxed with the regula-
tion of subordinate details, any more than the merchant of Leaden-

ON THE FALSE ESTIMATE OF THE MILITARY CHARACTER. 245

hall Street superintends the navigation of the argosy which conveys
his wealth from the " Ormus or from Ind." However inaccurate
this very physical method of measuring mental power may be, per-
sons of genius have adopted it, and been of course deceived. A
somewhat amusing instance of this occurred in the case of Madame
de Stael, and the Duke of Wellington. In this celebrated lady's
work on Germany, published before the peace of Paris, when she
had not seen the Duke, and took the magnitude of his exploits as the
gauge of his mind, she eulogises his character and genius to the
skies. On closer acquaintance in the saloons of Paris, her opinion of
this demi-god was, that " hors les affairs militaires, il ri'avait pas
deux idees," — excepting in military matters he had not two ideas.
There can be no doubt that both these opinions of this highly-
gifted, but excessively imaginative writer, were extravagant, and
that the second extravagance was a sort of re-action from the dis-
appointment occasioned by the first. The god of her idolatry had
proved an ordinary mortal, and in her vexation she pronounces him
a brute. The anecdote is, however, a good illustration of the error
in the ordinary method of appreciating the military character ; and
the distinguished object of it is as good an example as can be
found of this character when fairly depicted. In him, no one now
sees, since he has displayed his powers in another sphere, the high,
commanding genius ; but a man of plain, practical intellect, acting
successfully within a limited range, and supported by great firmness
of purpose. He has propped thrones and dynasties, and the people
have quailed beneath his frown; but the world now sees that these
things were accomplished not by the misdirection of gigantic in-
tellect, but by the force of squadrons and battalions wielded by a
man of firmness and ordinary good sense.

After thus doing even-handed justice to the gods of war, I in-
tended to sketch the character (if a character in common can be
possessed by so miscellaneous a body) of the subordinates — those
men whom Byron, somewhat uncourteously, calls " battles' minions ;"
but, conceiving that they will be better understood by representin
them in action than by any general terms which can be employed,
shall crave the reader's attention to

The Events of a Day on the Field of Battle.

At eight o'clock of the evening of the 9th of November, 1813, a
single tap of a drum was heard in the small town of Mayu, situated
on the Spanish side of the Pyrenees, at the entrance of one of those
many mountain-passes, little more than goat or sheep tracks, by
which, besides the roads at the north-western and south-eastern ex-
tremity, and the central pass of Jaca, this mountain barrier is tra-
versed. At short intervals another and successive taps were heard,
and every officer and man of the brigade of British infantry sta-
tioned in the town became aware that it was necessary to accoutre
and prepare to march. Knapsacks were thrown on ; arms were
seized ; mules were loaded with private baggage, surgical instru-
ments, and commissariat stores ; and in a quarter of an hour the bri-
gade with all its equipments was formed in order of march in the

M.M.— No. 9. 21

246 ON THE FALSE ESTIMATE OF THE MILITARY CHARACTER.

street. The word being given, we were speedily treading the
mountain pass — the moon shining brightly above our heads, the
snow, which reflected her light like myriads of diamonds, crackling
crisply under our feet — we were enlivened by jokes at the little
disasters the slipperiness of the ground occasioned, and cheered by
the reflection that the morrow would plant us on the soil of France,
where better quarters and fare were expected than had been pro-
cured in the country we were quitting — it was hoped for ever. In
this way we marched all night, sometimes two abreast ; but more
frequently, from the narrowness of the path, in what military men
call Indian files. We were certain of fighting in the morning, but
being equally certain of victory, this consideration rather raised than
depressed our spirits; whilst the splendour of the scene, every snow-
clad pinnacle shining in the full effulgence of the moon on her
midnight march through a cloudless sky, contributed to render this
one of the most joyous of our campaigning nights. Just as the
moon's light was yielding to the gray dawn, we emerged from the
mountain gorge. As the morning's mist slowly rolled away, we
saw spread beneath our feet a country, champaign in comparison of
that which we were just quitting, but with a surface sufficiently
varied to be pleasing, well wooded, and intersected by a stream, the
Nivelle, whose course we could trace by the silver haze still hover-
ing over it, after the sun's beams had swept it from the adjacent
lands. Our view, from the eminence on which we were moving
across this plain, towards the north and north-west (our left), was
bounded by the horizon only, and looking in this direction we could
catch an occasional glimpse of the light reflected from British
bayonets moving in lines parallel to our own. To the east and
south-east our view was bounded by a ridge of hills, at some distance
in our front — one of those intermediate steps by which mountainous
districts unite with the flat country beneath — low in comparison of
the mighty mountain chain we had traversed, and projected from it
in a direction oblique to its general course, so that one extremity of
the plain I am describing lay in the angle formed between this off-
set and the parent range. Towards this hilly ridge all eyes and
sundry telescopes were speedily directed, for there, the rumour ran,
was the enemy under Marshal Soult expecting our approach. As
we neared it in our march across the plain, we could see by the aid
of our glasses that its summit was covered with huts, constructed of
branches of trees, &c., between which the enemy's bayonets were
here and there visible ; but by far the greater part of their force
was concealed. It was evident that they were on the alert and ex-
pecting us.

We moved across the plain with as much rapidity as the nature of
the ground would permit, till we reached the Nivelle, which was found
to be a more considerable stream than had been expected. It was
brawling tumultuously in its course to the Adour, wherein it termi-
nates, between banks considerably precipitous, and was unfordable,
so that our only means of passing it was a small wooden bridge, little
more than a plank, without parapets. Over this the troops filed
without difficulty; but the mules, scared with the sound of their

ON THE FALSE ESTIMATE OP THE MILITARY CHARACTER. 247

hoofs on the wood, were less tractable, and some fell into the water,
among others that bearing the surgical equipment, which I had
taken pains to arrange as perfectly as possible, in anticipation of the
arduous duties of the day. Shortly after we crossed the river, a halt
was called near a small village. Wood was gathered ; kettles were
boiled ; breakfasts prepared ; and I applied myself to correcting any
mischief that the water might have occasioned to my surgical in-
struments. I found this less considerable than I had anticipated —
indeed I had ample time during the halt, which lasted fully three
hours, to repair it all. The weather was beautiful ; the sun shone
brightly upon us ; the temperature, now that we had quitted the
Alpine height, was mild; and we spent the period of repose allowed
us in jocular prophecies of the events of the day.

About ten A.M. we could see the British troops winding up the
base of the hill, which formed the northern extremity of the enemy's
position. If the reader has understood the description of the ground,
he will know that this point was occupied by the right of the enemy,
and consequently that the attack was begun by our left. The bri-
gade to which I belonged formed the right of our army ; conse-
quently the action commenced at the point most distant from us, in-
deed at the distance of nearly four miles. We could, nevertheless,
see the British troops advance up the hill in a winding course, so as
to elude its steepness, and in unbroken order, though under a brisk
fire from the enemy's sharp-shooters. The fire of our troops was
reserved till they formed on the top of the hill. One tremendous
volley, an irregular fire of a few minutes' duration, and those three
deep-toned hurras, which practised military ears recognise as the
prelude to a charge, settled the question : the enemy had fled, the
British were masters of the ground. Instantly another body of our
troops commenced the ascent of the second hill, which was similarly
assailed and won. Other hills were successively attacked and car-
ried, the army continuing to move to the attack in echelons (as the
military phrase is) from their left. About one o'clock our brigade
began to march rapidly from its halting ground to the scene of its
conflict and its triumph. On our way to the foot of the hill we
reached a farm-house, surrounded with ample gardens and enclo-
sures. These were filled with the enemy's light troops, and were
sharply contested. After a fire brisk, but of short duration, in
which we suffered little or nothing, we again advanced. In passing
through the enclosures to the foot of the hill, I was struck with the
superior effect of our fire, for several dead bodies lay extended on
the ground. Seeing that the house was just suited for a field hos-
pital, I halted the mule with the surgical equipment, leaving the
sergeant attached to the sick and two orderly men with it, and pro-
ceeded myself with the troops up the hill. They moved silently,
briskly, and steadily, without firing a gun, the enemy's shot rattling
among the trees with which the face of the hill was covered, but
with little other effect at first ; when, however, we gained the middle

of the ascent our men began to fall. Major was killed on the

spot, Colonel , the commanding officer, was wounded through

the shoulder, and others were falling killed or wounded near me.

248 ON THE FALSE ESTIMATE OF TUB MILITARY CHARACTER.

Our adjutant cried out, " Doctor, this is no place for you," a remark
of which I felt the truth, for where I was I was useless ; therefore
gathering together, with the assistance of the band and drum-boys
(the regular auxiliaries of the surgeon on the field of battle), those
who had already fallen wounded, and directing those who should
subsequently fall to be conveyed to the farm-house, already selected
as a field-hospital, I proceeded thither, supporting with my arm
the colonel, who was able to walk, though faintly and feebly, fol-
lowed by my bleeding cortege.

Of the scene at the hospital a technical description would be mis-
placed. From circumstances, I was the only medical officer with
the small brigade (for in the immediate attack on the enemy we
were separated from the larger body with which we originally
moved from Mayu), whose share of the day's conflict I am describ-
ing. It consisted of a strong regiment of infantry and of three or
four light companies of other regiments, and amounted to about a
thousand men. From this number, hotly and closely engaged for a
considerable time, the proportion of casualties was very great. The
duty I had to perform was arduous, and I felt it so ; but five years'
experience of fields of battle had rendered me familiar with the in-
juries which occur there, and endued me with that technical quality
termed tact, which practice alone bestows. Wounds were dressed,
balls were extracted, operations were performed, and some were for
an instant considered and omitted ; and it was afterwards satisfactory
to me to know that the accuracy of my prompt decisions was jus-
tified by the result of the cases. The deportment of the wounded
of all classes was, as I have ever observed it, characterised by an
absence of all selfishness : in battle, and immediately after it, the
well-being of a comrade is preferred to one's own. " An old sol-
dier " is a proverbial name in the service for a cunning, selfish man ;
and, I am afraid, like other proverbs, has a broad foundation of
truth ; but the field of battle is a scene of enthusiasm, the character
is raised above its ordinary level, and the baser feelings find there
no place.

After between three and four hours of unremitting exertion my
office was completed. Waggons had been sent for to convey to the
village, near which we had halted in the morning, such of ,the
wounded as could bear immediate removal. Those, whose state
would not admit of this, were supplied for the night with straw to
repose upon, or such other materials of military comfort as the place
furnished. I had a moment to look around me. The sun was just
sinking in majesty behind the Pyrenees, and, as it sunk, dyeing their
snows with hues of exquisite beauty. The intervening country wore
that evening tint, approaching to " twilight gray," which softening
into harmony every harsher outline, gives such shadowy and indis-
tinct— and the greater because shadowy and indistinct — beauty to
the scene. The stillness was perfect, except when broken at inter-
vals by the echoing amid the hills of the British artillery cannonading
the rear of the flying enemy, and this sound, being now distant,
added to the solemnity of the scene. After enjoying for an instant
the distant landscape, 1 looked immediately around me. What a

MY MOTHER. 249

contrast was there ! A few hours before all had been beauty and
plenty, for in this southern clime nature in November sports in a
second summer ; but, under the ruthless foot of war, all was desola-
tion and ruin, — every trim enclosure was levelled, every out-house
was shattered, and the late smiling orchard and garden were a
wilderness strewed with slaughtered Frenchmen. Until this mo-
ment the owner of the house had escaped my observation. I now
saw him in the garden. He was a fine-looking Basque peasant,
wearing the Alpine features of his race : the lean, but active and
sinewy form, the fair skin, the light hair, the gray eyes, the high
cheek-bones, — the whole crowned with a bonnet of the same shape
and colour as that worn on the blue hills of Scotland, gave me to-
wards him, besides the common sentiment of humanity, the feeling
with which one regards a countryman met unexpectedly in a distant
land. I spoke to him in French, he understood it not ; in Spanish,
but of this he was equally ignorant; — the Lengua Bascuenza was his
only tongue, and with this / was unacquainted. But what need was
there of words ? The mournful look he cast on the scene of desola-
tion, and on his blue-eyed children clustered around him in speech-
less amazement and terror, spoke far more eloquently than words.
There was that in his heart which no tongue could utter. My own
thoughts and feelings at the moment I will not attempt to describe,
excepting so far as they are embodied in these lines of Byron : —

" O ! monarchs could you taste the mirth you mar,
Not in the toils of glory would you fret,
The hoarse, dull drum would sleep, and man be happy yet."

H.N.

MY MOTHER.

MY Mother ! Oh, what tenderness appears
In that loved name ; nurse of my infancy !
(Soothing my cries through many an anxious day,)
Guide of my youth ! friend of my riper years !
My Mother, well my song may be of thee, —
For thou didst lead my infant steps to God ;
Strewing with Love's sweet flowers the narrow road
That leads from time to blest Eternity.
Though now my home is distant far from thee,
And other ties are twined around my heart ;
Yet thy dear image never shall depart :
Thy looks of love live in my memory ;
Still I retrace them with a fond delight, —
Thou art my thought by day, my dream by night.

( 250 )
SIR PAUL BAGHOTT'S LETTERS FROM SPAIN.— No. 1

Torla in Aragon, Spain. Sept. 18, 1834.
DEAR SIR,

I ENTERED this romantic valley yesterday, after crossing the gigantic
barrier which connects the peninsula with the continent, just as the
dusk was creeping into the dark denies leading to the little town of
Torla in Aragon.

The Alcaldy having inspected my passport, I hastened to the church,
the chiming of bells calling the inhabitants to evening vespers, and
found the congregation in communion with the priest, assisted by a
tolerably good organ. It was dimly lit up, and cast a dizzy curtain over
the altar and various chapels, ornamented by clumsily carved figures of
the Santa Patrona, and other apostolicos, generally deposited in Spanish
churches.

The service being concluded, I introduced myself to the cura, an
affable and pleasant man, who informed me he had been a prisoner
during the French war in 1823, and could speak French; this led me
to conclude he was a Liberal ; and I ventured to engage in conversation
with him, although the Proverb says, " En boca cerada no entra moscas,"
viz. in a shut mouth no flies enter.

The object of my journey being confined solely to observation, I
said, " Hay Carlistas aque Senor ? " Are there any Carlists here ? (< No,
we are tranquil, but how soon the thunder may be heard in this pro-
vince I know not," was the reply of the pastor. I then informed him
of their queen's death ; it made a deep impression on his mind ; he
silently breathed, " Que Castima !" what a pity ! He wished to know
my employ, and whither I was going, I told him to Sarragossa, and from
thence into Navarre. " Be cautious what you say," observed he ; " there
is a mixed political party in that city : independent of that dreadful
scourge the cholera." I thanked him for his friendly advice and bade
him adieu.

Having an hour or two to spare and an opportunity of conveying this
letter to France by a muleteer, perhaps it will not be deemed unin-
teresting to give you a brief narration of my journey of yesterday over
the Pyrenees, the road I ventured to go into Spain being seldom used,
but by avaros or muleteers, nor has it ever, I think, been described by
any English traveller.

I shall avoid saying any thing of the picturesque and romantic
scenery of the Haught Pyrenees in France, whither I had been so-
journing for some time, and enjoying the waters at Baniers Canteris,
and that memorable little place San Savour, with their glaciers, cas-
cades, cataracts, lakes, and lofty mountains, whose summits are covered
by eternal snow, but commence my description at Gavernie, the last
village in France, the highest inhabited, the Pyrenees on the Spanish
frontier.

SIR PAUL BAGHOTT'S LETTERS FROM SPAIN. 251

I entered Gavernie as the sun had descended below the horizon, and
procured a bed, not in the house, but in a habitation appropriated to
herdsmen, and, occasionally, muleteers : the doors had once locks and
bolts, but now they had no fastenings. Having examined my dormitory
I returned to the inn to dinner, and partook of the izzard or chamois
of the Alps (I believe it to be the same animal), and a ptarmigan which
had been shot by a gentleman who had been residing in the house for
the last few days, enjoying the mountain sports with considerable
success. The game is here plentiful : a Frenchman had that morning
killed a brace of izzards, and the day previous four brace of ptarmigans,
and two brace of the cocq de Bruyere. I afterwards learned there were
two other English gentlemen in the house on a visit of curiosity,
accounting for my being deprived of a good night's rest. In the act of
mounting my horse at sun-rise the following morning, the English
gentlemen made their appearance. "Are you going into Spain, gentle-
men," said I ? " It is impossible," was the reply, "we are not provided with
passports." I proposed to obviate this difficulty by obtaining permission
from the Maitre de Hotel, who was the chief officer here to permit
these gentlemen to accompany me to the first village Bajarculo, escorted
by two gendarms, who would return with them the same evening to the
inn; this was consented to by the landlord, and we engaged three
other men who were armed with muskets and pikes to accompany us,
and commenced our route by winding up a zigzag path, until we reached
the amphitheatre, into which falls the cascade 1260 feet, supplied by
those eternal snows from the glacier called the Pass de Holland. We
still ascended a more misshapen track for some miles, until we gained
the summit, and entered on a plain of grassy down, on the centre of
which there is a stone which terminates the continent.

Here, perhaps, I may never again gather such a subject or picture
to awaken my interest as presented itself to our view at that moment.
The " wonder" burst upon us instantaneously. Spain, which had been
concealed, was ready to receive us. We stood on the brink of a
crater of immense amplitude. Mountain rose on mountain, and ap-
peared to rival each other in majestic grandeur, separated almost by
impassable ravines, and rocky excrescences. The sun shone in re-
splendent blaze on the variegated hues of strata which composed these
scirros, while cararias of sheep, containing many thousands, were seen
in the distance feeding on carpets of grass, and golden verdure dispersed
in the hollows, and small plains guarded by the pastor and his faithful
dogs ; a string of mules which came winding up the narrow mountain
track laden with wool, appearing to approach us, animated the scene,
and stagheaded pines were growing out of a range of craggy misshapen
rocks near the summit of the mountain on which we stood. Forests
of firs were at the declivity of the hill stretching forward into a region
unknown to us. The many tributary streams that fell from the glens
had formed a brawling river at the foot of these enormous ranges,
which flowed in capricious windings, terminated the picture we had
been so enchanted with.

At length we began to descend by steep unshapen paths for many
miles, till we reached a small hamlet containing a chapel and four or
five houses. Here we halted and fed our horses, and procured some

252 IMPROMPTU.

trout, which had been soused in oil, and although highly flavoured
we made a good repast. I enquired if the stream produced any other
fish. The posador replied only two sorts, "trucias y ranas," trout
and frogs. We were told these forests and sierras were the habitation
of bears, wolfs, izzards, wild-cats, &c. ; and every other game of the
feathered tribe which the eagle and vulture foretold by their haunting
these wilds.

My road lay through the gorge half-a-mile from the venta leading
into the forest, and it was with great regret I took leave of my com-
panions. Uselessly we endeavoured to persuade our conductor to
permit them to extend their journey, and we parted.

I took the " mule track'' towards the dark forest, accompanied by my
servant and one guide by the side of the stream, confined by lofty per-
pendicular rocks, enriched with various shrubs and plants by an ir-
regular line through which the current had forced a passage, on a ravine
of a more distant era, had made way for those mountain torrents. I
then entered the gorge and could not help following its circuitous
direction. Often the road was diverted by large masses of stones that
had been washed down the forest slopes and ravines till they were
arrested by the river. Here and there we caught a glimpse of a moun-
tain which winter snows had separated, and the avalanche had swept
away the pine-trees in its course to the bed of the stream.

Cascade followed on cascade, and vented their waters near a thousand
feet into a bason which led to the turbulent river beneath ; cataract
succeeded cataract occasioned by the storms and tempests in this region
whose effects block up the blue waters with the hideous stones which
obstruct their course. After travelling this singular road for some miles,
climbing and scrambling to find a track or road, we mounted to an
elevation of 1000 or 1200 feet, hanging over a fearful precipice
guarded by a low wall, over which were the remains of a small round
town, sufficiently large for a sentry, and beneath was the river; this
was used in 1823 as an out-post by the French. I could not avoid
remaining here some minutes, gazing on one of the most sublime
and beautiful features in romantic scenery.]

The gorge now terminated and expanded into two arms, one still
leading to deep recesses, stretching forward towards the mountains to
the north, the other advancing to the road I was about to go, embrac-
ing in its prospect enclosures of vineyards and meadow-land, which
announced I had nearly completed my day's journey and had crossed
the Pyrenees.

P. B.

IMPROMPTU.
On seeing a beautiful French Girl whose Mother was English,

No wonder that her cheeks disclose,
A blush so crimson and a skin so fair,

England has lent her loveliest rose.
To blend with France's lilies there.

( 253 )

THE PROSCRIBED;

Translated from the French of M. De Balzac, by Margaret Patrickson.

' Lives there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said —
— This is my own my native land ?"

Walter Scott.

Ha ! banishment ? be merciful, say death :

For exile hath more terror in his look

Than death, much more : do not say banishment."

ShaJcspeare.

FEW houses were to be found in the year 1508, situated on the
soil formed by the sand and alluvions of the Seine, above the city,
and behind the church of Notre-Dame. The first, who ventured to
build himself a dwelling on this treacherous flat, subjected at all times
to be inundated by the rising of the river, was a sergeant of the city of
Paris, He had rendered some trifling services to the canons of the
chapter of Notre- Darn e, in recompence of which the bishop let him
on lease twenty perches of ground, dispensing, in consideration of
the buildings he engaged to erect, with all service or quit-rent.
Seven years before the period at which this history commences,
Joseph Tirechair, one of the roughest and sharpest sergeants in
Paris, as his name indicates, had, thanks to his rights in the fines
collected by him for offences committed in the streets of the city,
built his house on the edge of the Seine, exactly at the extremity
of the street called Port Saint Landry. In order to secure from all
damage the articles of merchandize deposed upon the wharf, the
authorities had constructed a species of pier in mason's work, yet to
be seen on some of the old plans of Paris ; which resisted, at the
extremity of the land, the force of floods and ice, and preserved the
piles of the port. The sergeant had taken advantage of this circum-
stance, and founded his dwelling upon it, as ensuring stability; so
that it was necessary to mount about half a score of steps to come at
him. Like all the houses of that date, his paltry dwelling was sur-
mounted by a pointed roof, which displayed above the front, the
upper half of a lozenge, and of which, to the great regret of historio-
graphers, there exists, at present, scarcely more than two or three
models in Paris. The rude pediment formed by this species of roof,
was adorned with a circular opening which gave light to the garret,
in which the sergeant's wife dried the linen of the chapter, 'for she
had the honour of washing for Notre-Dame, and it was no trifling
business.

M. M — No. 9. 2 K

254 THE PROSCRIBED.

On the first floor were two chambers, which, taking good years
with bad, were let to strangers upon an average of forty Paris sous
each. This exorbitant price was justified by the luxury with which
these two apartments were furnished. The walls were hung with
Flemish tapestry. An ample bed, adorned with curtains, whose
scanty dimensions admitted not of folds, in green serge like those of
our peasants, was honourably furnished with mattresses, to which
were added equally respectable sheets of pretty fine texture. Each
room had also its chauffe-doux, a kind of stove of which it would be
useless to give a description. The floor, carefully rubbed and kept
in order, by the apprentices of Tirechair, shone like the wood-work
of a shrine. Instead of stools to sit on, the lodgers were accommo-
dated with chairs of walnut-tree, carved ; the plunder no doubt of
some noble castle. Two coffers, covered with leather, and incrusted
with pewter, and a table with legs like twisted columns, com-
pleted an apartment, worthy the most topping knight-baronet who
might be led by their affairs to Paris. The windows of these two
chambers looked upon the river. By one of them you could only
have seen the banks of the Seine and the three desert islands, the
two first of which have since been united, and form, what is now
called, the isle of Saint-Louis ; the third is the island Louviers.
But, from the other, you must have perceived through an interval
in the Port Saint Landry, the quarter of the Greve, the bridge of
Notre-Dame, with its houses, the high towers of the Louvre recently
built by Philip Augustus, and which overlooked that Paris, so poor
and mean in reality, of which the imagination of our poets leads
them to relate, in our days, such false wonders. The lower part of
the maison d Tirechair, to employ an expression then in use, was
composed of a large room, where his wife carried on her operations,
and through which the lodgers were obliged to pass, in order to
gain their own apartments, to which they were conducted by a stair-
case resembling that of a mill. Behind this, were the kitchen and
bed-chamber, which had a view over the Seine. A little garden,
won from the waters, exhibited at the foot of this humble dwelling
its squares of green cabbages, its onions, and a few stunted rose-
bushes, all defended by stakes forming a hedge or fence. A shed,
constructed of wood and mud, served as a kennel for a large dog, a
necessary guardian to so isolated a dwelling. At the kennel com-
menced an enclosure, in which resided the poultry, whose eggs sup-
plied the tables of the canons. Here and there, upon the soil,
muddy or dry according to the caprice of the Parisian atmosphere,
arose some small trees, far from enviably situated, incessantly beaten
by the winds, twisted and broken by passing idlers ; in mournful
contrast with their happier neighbours, vivacious willows, flourishing
rushes, tall weeds, and rank grass. This piece of land, the house,
the Seine, the Port, were framed or tacked, to the west, by the
immense church of Notre-Dame, which projected, at the sun's
pleasure, its cold shadow over the whole scene. Then, as now,
Paris possessed not a spot more solitary, a landscape more solemn
or more melancholy. The grand voice of the water, the chant of
the priests, or the whistling of the wind alone breathed through this

THE PROSCRIBED. 255

species of grove, where sometimes an amorous couple would meet
by previous consent, to confide to each other their secrets, when the
hours of public prayer retained in the church the members of the
chapter.

It was on an evening- in the month of April, in the year 1508,
that Joseph Tirechair returned home particularly out of humour.
During three days, he had found every thing in order in the public
ways. In his quality of policeman, nothing affected him more than
to see himself useless. He threw hastily aside his halberd, and began
grumbling with little connection in his words, while he despoiled
himself of his party-coloured jacket of red and blue, in order to
replace it by an old shabby camlet surtout. After helping himself
at the bread-chest to a slice of bread, over which he spread a tole-
rably thick coating of butter, he settled himself on a bench, examined
his fair whitewashed walls, counted the joists of the ceiling, or
rather inner roof, took the inventory of his housekeeping utensils,
suspended on nails, and then, almost cursing a care and cleanliness
which left him nothing to find fault with, he inspected his wife, who
went on ironing the aubes and surplices of the sachristy without
opening her lips.

" By my faith," said he, in order to bring about the conversation,
" I know not where thou goest, Jacqueline, to fish for thy appren-
tices, and here is one," added he, pointing with his knife to a female
who was folding, with no great address, one of the napkins for the
altar ; " truly, the more I consider her, the more I think she re-
sembles a girl in love with her oiun pretty person, than a good stout
country wench. Her hands are as white as a fine lady's! Blood and
fury I I believe her hair smells of perfumes. And her stockings
are as fine as a queen's ! By the double horn of Mahomet, there is
something under all this which is not as it should be."

The female blushed, and looked at Jacqueline with an air of
mingled pride and fear. The washerwoman answered the look by
a smile, left her work ; and addressing her husband in a tone both
tart and quick, said to him, " Ho, there ; don't put me in a passion !
Thou art going it seems to accuse me of some cunning intrigues,
art thou not ? Trot upon thy pavement as long as thou wilt, and
do not take it into thy head to meddle with what passes here ; — If
thou wouldst sleep in peace, drink thy Suresne wine, and eat what I
set upon the table before thee. If not, I no longer engage to keep
thee in health and joy. Find me in all the town a man better off
than this ape here ?" she went on, making a face at him, pretty
expressive of her discontent. " He has money in his purse, he can
look from his own gable-end upon the Seine, a virtuous halberd on
one side, an honest wife on the other, a house as bright and clean
as my eye ; and there he grumbles and groans as if he were scabbed
with St. Anthony's fire !"

— " Ah ! but Jacqueline," replied the sergeant, " dost thou believe
that I have any great desire to see my house razed to the ground,
my halberd in the hands of another, and my wife in the pillory '?"

Jacqueline and her delicate assistant turned pale.

— " Explain thyself then," cried the washerwoman, with vivacity,

256 THE PROSCRIBED.

" and let us see what thou hast in thy budget. I have seen, my lad,
for some days, that some crotchet was out of tune, that thou hadst
taken some maggot into thy poor brain. Come then, let us see !
unthread me thy chaplet, wilt thou ? Why, thou must be a coward
indeed to be afraid of getting into any scrape, when thou carriest
the halberd to the citizens, and when thou livest under the pro-
tection of the chapter. The canons would put the diocese under
an interdict if Jacqueline carried a complaint to them of the
slightest affront."

And so saying, she went straight up to the sergeant, and took him
by the arm : — *' Come along then," said she, obliging him to rise,
and leading him out upon the steps.

When they were at the water's edge in their Lilliputian garden,
Jacqueline cast upon her husband a glance of mockery : — " Learn,
old good-for-nothing, that when this fair lady goes out of our house,
a good bit of gold will go into our stock of savings."

— u Oh ! oh !" observed the sergeant, who remained pensive and
still before his wife. He soon, however, resumed the conversation :
— f< Ah ! then, we are lost ! Why does this lady come to our house ?"
— " She comes to see the very pretty little clerk that we have up
there ;M replied Jacqueline, pointing to the chamber, the window of
which looked out upon the vast extent of the Seine.

— " Malediction !" cried the sergeant ." For a few false crowns,
thou hast ruined me, Jacqueline. Is that a trade for the strict and
circumspect wife of a sergeant ? But, were she even Countess or
Baroness, this lady would not be able to get us out of the trap.
Shall we not have besides a great and powerful husband against
us ; one, too, highly offended ? for, there is no denying it, she is
wonderfully handsome. ''

— " Oh ! yes ! to be sure ! but she is a widow, villainous gos-
ling ! Darest thou suspect thy wife of infamies and follies ? This
lady has never spoken to our pretty clerk. She contents herself
with seeing him and thinking of him. Poor child! If it had not
been for her he must long since have died of hunger. She is
almost a mother to him ! And he, the cherubim, it is as easy to
deceive him as to cradle one newly born. He believes that his little
stock lasts still, and he has already exhausted it twice in six months."
— u Woman 1" said the sergeant gravely, pointing to the place of
the Greve, " dost thou remember to have seen from hence, a few
days ago, the fire in which the Danish sorceress was burned ?"
— " Well, and what then?" asked Jacqueline, somewhat alarmed.
— " Well then !" replied Tirechair, " the two strangers that we
harbour, smell of the faggot. There is neither chapter, nor coun-
tess, nor protection which is secure. Easter come, the year is
finished, we must get rid of them soon and sudden. Wilt thou
teach an old sergeant to detect a gallows bird ! Our two lodgers had
dealings with the Porrette, that Danish heretic whose last cry thou
heardest from this place. It was a bold and fine she-devil after all !
She never so much as bent her brows when at the stake, which
proved satisfactorily enough her familiar acquaintanceship with
Satan. I saw her there as I see thee now. She still continued

THE PROSCRIBED. 257

preaching to the multitude, saying that she was in Heaven and saw
God. Well, from that day I have never been able to sleep in my
bed. The old gentleman who sleeps above me is certainly more a
sorcerer than a Christian. I feel, upon the word of a sergeant, a cold
shudder when he passes by me. He never sleeps during the night.
If I awake, his voice sounds like the humming of bells at a little
distance, and I hear him making his conjurations in a diabolical
language. Hast thou ever seen him eat an honest crust of bread, or
a cake made by the hand of a Catholic pastry-cook. That brown
skin of his has been dried and tanned by the fires below. There is,
by the light of Heaven, a charm in his eyes like that of a serpent.
Jacqueline, I will not allow these two men to remain in my house.
I live too near to Justice not to know that one ought never to have
any dealings with her. Thou wilt dismiss our two lodgers, that is,
turn them out of doors, if they are not disposed to go ; the old one,
because I have a suspicion of him ; the young one, because he is too
delicate and engaging. They certainly are not at all like us, and
do not live after our manner. The young one is always looking at
the moon, the stars, and the clouds, like a sorcerer on the watch for
the hour to mount upon his broomstick. The other, a sly old fox,
certainly makes use of this poor child for some necromancy or sor-
cery. My dwelling is already on the sands, and it is a sufficient
prognostic of ruin without attracting to it either fire from Heaven,
or the passion of a Countess. I have said it. Stumble not! Fail
not!"

In spite of the domestic despotism which she so uninterruptedly
exercised, Jacqueline was struck dumb and stupified on hearing the
sort'of indictment fulminated by the sergeant against her two lodgers.
At this instant, she cast her eyes mechanically towards the window
of the old man's chamber, and shuddered with horror, when they
encountered, at the very moment, the sombre, melancholy counte-
nance, and profound glance, which made the sergeant tremble, all
accustomed as he was to look upon criminals. At this epoch, little
and great, high and low, clergy and laity, all trembled at the idea of
supernatural power exercised by men. The single word of magic
was sufficient, like that, in ancient times, of leprosy, to crush every
kindly feeling, break all social ties, and congeal the sentiment of
pity in the most generous hearts. The sergeant's wife remembered,
in an instant, that she had never seen her two lodgers engaged in
any act immediately belonging to human creatures. Although the
voice of the younger of the two was soft and melodious as the tones
of a flute, she had heard it so rarely, that she was then tempted to
consider its charm as the effect of sorcery. In bringing to mind the
unusual style of his beauty (that of the rose and lily blended ); in
imagining that she saw again his fair ringlets, and the humid bril-
liancy of his sparkling glance, she imagined that she recognised the
artifices of the arch-demon. She remembered to have remained
entire days without having heard the slightest sound from the apart-
ments of the two strangers. Where could they be during these long
periods ? In an instant, the most extraordinary circumstances pre-
sented themselves in crowds to her memory. She was completely

258 THE PROSCRIBED.

possessed by fear, and even sought a proof of magic in the affection
that the rich lady bore to Godfrey, a poor orphan, come from Flan-
ders to Paris to study at the University. She put her hand abruptly
into her pocket, and drew thence quickly four pieces of the manu-
factory of Tours; that is, of twenty livres of Tours (of twenty sous
the livre), and looked at them with a feeling- where avarice and
fear were singularly opposed to each other. " This, at least, is not
bad money," she said, while she exhibited the richer coins to her
husband. " But it is not possible," she added, " to turn them out of
doors, after having received in advance the rent of the ensuing year."

— "Thou wilt consult the dean of the chapter," replied the ser-
geant. " Is it not his business to tell us how to conduct ourselves with
such extraordinary people ? "

— " Oh yes, extraordinary in truth," cried Jacqueline. " And it
is truly a malicious thing on their part to come and sit themselves
down in the very lap of Notre-Dame ! But," added she, " before
consulting the dean, why not inform this noble and worthy lady of
the danger which she runs ?"

As she finished these words, Jacqueline and the sergeant, whose
teeth had not lost a single bite at his provender, returned to the
house. Tirechair, like a man grown old in his trade, pretended to
take the unknown lady for a real laundress ; but through his apparent
indifference it was easy to detect all the fear of a courtier who
respects a royal incognito. Just at this instant six o'clock struck from
the steeple of Saint-Denis-du-Pas, a small church situated between
Notre-Dame and the Port Saint Landry, the first cathedral built at
Paris, and erected, according to the chronicles, on the very spot where
Saint Denis was placed upon the gridiron. Immediately the hour
flew from steeple to steeple through all the city. All at once con-
fused cries arose on the left bank of the Seine behind Notre-Dame,
at the part where the schools of the University collect their swarms.
At this signal, Jacqueline's elder lodger was heard to walk in his
chamber. Soon afterwards, the sergeant, his wife, and the unknown,
heard a door abruptly opened and shut, and the heavy foot of the
stranger resounded on the steps of the stair-case ascending to his
apartment.

The suspicions of the sergeant had invested the very appearance
of this personage with so high a degree of interest, that his counte-
nance and that of Jacqueline, presented on the instant so strange an
expression that the lady was struck by it. Referring, like all those
who love, everything to the object most dear, the unknown attributed
the visible terror of the couple to some cause connected with her pro-
tegee; and awaited with considerable uneasiness the solution of the
mystery. The stranger remained an instant on the threshold of the
door examining the three persons who were in the room, and appear-
ing to seek his companion there. The glance that he cast upon them,
however unthinking it might be, agitated every heart. It would
have been truly impossible, even to the firmest mind, to deny that
nature had bestowed extraordinary powers upon this awe-striking
being, super-human in appearance. Although his eyes were
deeply set below the grand arches described by his eyebrows, they

THE PROSCRIBED. 259

were, like those of a kite, incased in eyelids so large, and bordered
by a black circle so decidedly marked upon the top of his cheek, that
their orbs seemed to project. The fire of this magic eye had an
indefinable something of despotic and piercing, which seized upon the
heart. It was a glance weighty and full of ideas, a glance brilliant
and lucid as a bird's or a serpent's, but which stupified, which over-
whelmed by a too lively communication of an immense affliction or
of some super-human attributes. But then, in this man, all was 'in
harmony with this glance, leaden and flashing, fixed and mobile,
severe and calm. If in his large eagle-eye, terrestrial emotions
seemed in some degree extinguished, the visage bore also the traces
of unhappy passions and great events accomplished. He was lean
and dry. The nose fell straight, and was so prolonged that it appeared
as if retained by the nostrils. All the bones of the face were clearly
defined, and the fleshless cheeks were furrowed by long, straight
wrinkles. You might have described it as the bed of a dried-up
torrent, where the violence of the hurricane was attested by the
profundity of the channels, which betrayed some horrible and eternal
struggle. Large folds proceeding from each side of the nose, like
to the traces left by the oars of a bark upon the waves, accented, if
one may so say, powerfully his countenance, by giving to his mouth,
firm and without sinuosities, a character of bitter sadness. In fine,
all which was hollow in the face appeared sombre ; but his tranquil
forehead stood boldly and nobly forward, and crowned the rest as
with a cupola of marble. He preserved that intrepid and serious
air and demeanour contracted by men accustomed to misfortune,
formed by nature to confront with impassibility a furious multitude,
an imminent danger, and to look all perils in the face. He seemed
to move in a sphere of his own, from whence he hovered above hu-
manity. His gestures, equally with his looks, carried with them
irresistible power. You must have lowered your eyes had his
poured their rays upon them ; you must have trembled had his
words and his motions addressed themselves to your soul. He
walked surrounded with a silent and terrible majesty. His thin and
sinewy hands were those of a warrior, and you might have taken
him for a despot without guards, for a deity without rays. His
costume also contributed to the various ideas which the singularities
of his manner or of his physiognomy gave rise to, and was in ad-
mirable keeping with the whole appearance of this extraordinary
being. The mind, the body, and the dress, harmonised together
in a manner to produce an impression on the coldest imagination.
The stranger wore a kind of surplice, made of black cloth, without
sleeves, which fastened in front, and descended mid-leg, leaving the
throat bare and without a band. His closely-fitting coat, or just-au-
corps, and boots were all black. Upon his head he wore a calotte of
black velvet, similar to a priest's, and which described a circular line
above his forehead, without a single hair being suffered to escape
from its strict confinement. It was the most rigid mourning and
the most mournful habit in which a man could be clothed. But for
a long sword suspended at his side, supported by a leathern girdle,

260 THE PROSCRIBED.

seen through the opening of the black surtout, an ecclesiastic might
have saluted him as a brother. Although he was but of the middle
height, he appeared tall, especially when one looked only at his face.

" The hour has struck, the boat waits; will you not come?"
These words, spoken in bad French, resounded in the solemn silence
which reigned at the moment. As soon as they were uttered a
slight fluttering was heard in the other chamber, and, all at once,
the young man descended with the rapidity of a bird. When he
appeared, the lady's face flushed to purple, she started, trembled,
and made *a hasty veil of her white hands and taper fingers. Few
women but would have shared her deep emotion in contemplating
a young man of about twenty, but whose form and proportions were
so slight, that, at the first glance of the eye, you might have sup-
posed that you saw before you a youth still in his boyhood, or a
young girl in disguise. His black hood, like the biset worn by the
Basques, exposed to view a forehead white as snow, where grace
and innocence shone, and where was stamped an expression of
angelic softness, the reflection of a soul full of native good faith. A
poet's imagination would probably have led him to search there for
the star which, in I forget what tale, a mother supplicates the fairy
god-mother to imprint upon the brow of her infant abandoned, like
Moses, to the caprice of the waters. Love dwelt in the thousand
golden curls that fell in wanton luxuriousness on his shoulders. His
throat was white and admirably round, a veritable swan's neck ! His
blue eyes, full of life, swimming in softness, seemed a reflection of
the azure of the heavens themselves. His glance alone was en-
chantment. Then the features of his face, the turn of his forehead,
were of a fineness and delicacy to raise the enthusiasm of a painter
or a sculptor. That bloom of beauty which affects us so powerfully
in the faces of women, that exquisite purity in the lines, that lumi-
nous glory spread around the head of the adored one, were united
to a manly complexion, to a strength and firmness which formed
delightful contrasts. It was, in a word, one of those melodious
visages which, mute, speak to us, attract us towards them. This
youth was one of those gifted and privileged beings on whom nature
has bestowed the power of pleasing by the sight of them alone.
Nevertheless, after contemplating him with a little attention, there
might be perceived some of that blighting influence, the effect of
passion, or the too strong exercise of the mental powers, in the virgin
whiteness of the skin, and in a sort of dead verdure which gave to
his charming countenance some resemblance to a young leaf un-
folding its tender lineaments to the sun.

Thus, never was opposition more decided nor more lively than
that which was offered by the union of these two beings. It was as
if one looked upon a graceful and feeble shrub, born in the hollow of
an old willow, which time has shorn of its leafy honours," ploughed
into furrows by the thunder, yet still, storm-stricken and decrepit,
one of those majestic willows, the admiration of painters and poets.
The timid shrub clings to its noble trunk as a shelter from the
tempest. The one was a god, the other was an angel — this, the

THE PROSCRIBED. 26 t

poet who feels, that, the poet who translates ; a suffering prophet,
and some Levite at prayers. They passed in silence, and without
saluting-.

— " Did you notice how he whistled him on?" cried the sergeant,
the instant that the steps of the two strangers ceased to be dis-
tinguishable on the beach. " Can it be any thing but a devil with
his page ?"

— " Ouf !" puffed Jacqueline, " I was suffocating. I never exa*
mined them so closely before. What a misfortune for us poor wo-
men that the demon can take such a lovely countenance T'

— " Yes, but throw a little holy water over him," cried Tirechair,
" and thou wilt see him changed into a toad. I'll go and tell all to
the officially."

On hearing these words, the lady raised herself from the reverie
into which she had been plunged, and looked towards the sergeant,
who was already investing himself with his blue and red coat of office.

— " Where are you running to ?" she asked.

— "Just to inform Justice that we are harbouring sorcerers;
truly in our own defence."

The unknown smiled.

— " I am the Countess Mahaut ;" said she, rising with a dignity
which set the astonished sergeant all panting. " Take care how you
cause the slightest trouble to your inmates. Honour most especially
the elder. I have seen him in the presence of the king, your master,
who received him courteously. You must be ill advised indeed if
you cause him the least embarrasment. As to my sojourn in your
house, let not a whisper of it pass your lips if you wish to live in
peace."

The Countess was silent and sunk again into meditation. She
soon raised her head, made a sign to Jacqueline, and both ascended
to the chamber of the young man. The beautiful Countess looked
at the bed, the bright wooden chairs, the coffer, the tapestry, and
the table, with a feeling of happiness resembling that of an exile who
contemplates on his return from banishment the clustering roofs of
his native town, seated at the foot of a hill.

— " If thou hast not deceived me," said she to Jacqueline, " I
promise thee a hundred golden crowns."

— " Look here, Madam," replied the hostess, " the poor dear
angel is free from all distrust, and see, here is all his wealth !"

And, while so saying, Jacqueline opened one of the table-drawers
and pointed out some parchments.

— " Oh, God of mercy and goodness !" cried the Countess, seizing
upon a contract which immediately attracted her attention, and where
she read : — Gothofredas comes Gantiacus! She let the parchment
fall, passed her hand over her forehead ; and feeling, doubtless, that
she was compromising herself by suffering her emotion to be seen
by Jacqueline, recovered her composure.

— " 1 am satisfied!" said she.

And descending, she quitted the house. The sergeant and his
wife placed themselves on the threshold of their door, and saw her
take the way to the port. A boat was moored almost close to it

M.M.— No. 9. 2 L

262 THE CROSS EXAMINATION.

As soon as the light footstep of the Countess could be heard by an
attentive ear, a mariner sprung up, assisted the fair assistant of the
washerwoman of Notre-Dame to spring in and seat herself upon a
bench, and then plied his oars so as to make the boat fly, like a
swallow, down the Seine.

— " Art thou a fool, then?" said Jacqueline, striking the sergeant
familiarly on the shoulder. " We have gained a hundred crowns of
gold this morning !"

" I am not much fonder of lodging lords than conjurors. I know
not which of the two is the readiest way to the gibbet," replied
Tirechair, taking his halberd. '* Well ; I will go," he resumed,
" and make my round on the side of Champlain. Ah! may heaven
protect us, and grant that I may meet in rny road some light damsel
decked out in her golden rings and trinkets, glittering in the dusk
like a glow-worm !"

To be continued.

THE CROSS EXAMINATION.

Silly Maiden ! tell me why

Grows your cheek so red,
When young Henry passes by ?

Silly, silly Maid !

Witless rustic ! what is this
Turns your cheek to pearl ?—

Has he stol'n your fancy ? — " Yes ! " —
Witless, witless Girl !

Simple Lassie ! where and when

Did it come to pass ?
" While he woo'd me in the glen.'' —

Simple, simple Lass !

Thoughtless Fair one ! — So the Youth
Vow'd ?— •" O yes ! and sware ! " —

You believ'd him ? — " Ay, in sooth ! " —
Thoughtless, thoughtless Fair !

Hapless Victim ! — better dead
Than be love-lorn for life ! —

" Yes — but we have just been wed." —
Happy, happy Wife !

( 263 )

THE LOYAL AND FAITHFUL MINISTER
MEI-KWEI.

Translated from the Chinese, expressly for this Number.
BY P. P. THOMS.

IF, in the remotest ages of antiquity, men of eminence were born,
Who, loyal to their prince, nobly fought for their country,
And with pure hearts and chaste bodies maintained the government,
How know ye, that Heaven will not exterminate the wicked !

When ambitious ministers oppose the kind intentions of their prince,
And the blood of virtuous statesmen flow down our streets ;
Be it known — in legible characters it is written — they shall be cut off.
Then will it be apparent, who are men of valour and renown !_.

MEI-KWEI, the subject of this narrative, lived during the Tang
dynasty. He was a native of Chang-chow of Kean-nang province, a
man of unimpeachable integrity, who was otherwise called Pih-kaou.
His lady was of the ancient family Kew. They had a son named
Leang-yiih, ' Valuable Pearl,' whom in his infancy they betrothed
to How-yih, whose father filled a public situation ; as yet these
young persons were not married.

Mei-kwei's first appointment was that of a Che-heen Magistrate,
presiding over the city Lee-ching of Tse-nan in Shan-tung pro-
vince, which appointment he filled with the greatest integrity for
upwards of ten years, not receiving from the people over whom he
was placed, the value of a mite, or even a cup of water, beyond hia
annual income. He had often heard of one Loo-ke, a venal
minister, who, by means of money and valuable presents, formed at
the capital an influential body of persons of mean birth, the mere
peel of the earth. Every thing occurring to their wishes, and promo-
tion succeeding promotion, in a very few years they were raised
to the highest rank. As regards the independent and virtuous
ministers, who merited the imperial favour, or such as were desirous
of taking office, when such were had before them and interrogated,
they might well be pitied, for disgrace on disgrace befel them,
while the number of those who lost their lives on account of their
principles cannot be known.

It was fortunate for Mei-kwei, that he kept up an intimacy with
several officers at the capital, whose appointments were of the same
date as his, and had it not been for their influence, it is uncertain
whether he would have retained his situtation these several years.
Is it asked who these friends were ? One was a native of the district
Keang -too, of the city Yang, in Keang-nan province, whose name
was Ching-shing, otherwise called Tung-tsoo, president of the Le-

264 THE LOYAL AND FAITHFUL

poo board, who superintends the whole of the civil department of
the government ; another, a native of the district Shang-yang, of
the city Wei-gan, whose name was Lo-teen, one of the public
examiners, and member of the superior privy-council ; a third was a
native of the district Heang-ching, of the city Kae-fung, in Ho-nan
province, whose name was Tang-tun, one of the professors of
literature, at the celebrated college Han-lin ; a fourth was a native
of the district Tse, of the city Tung-chow, in Shan-tung province,
who was called Fuh-tse, and held the office of supervisor at court.
The strictest friendship existed between these distinguished persons
and Mei-kwei, and as they all lived at the capital Loo-ke and his
adherents durst not attempt to injure Mei-kwei.

It occured one day, that as Mei-kwei had no official business to
transact, he thus addressed his wife : " While Loo-ke and his partizans
promote and censure those who exert their utmost abilities for the
royal house, it is indispensable that all who hold office should aid the
government, thus manifest consideration for the black-haired people
(the Chinese), and recompense the royal munificence. Large gifts
of gold, silver, jewels, and other valuables, are requisite to obtain the
favour of Loo-ke and his cabal (before any one is promoted to an
important appointment) ; but, alas ! how few of all those that acquire
degrees possess a thousand pieces of gold! Imagine a poor scholar
sitting for ten whole years at his lonely window grinding his ink, how
could he obtain this wealth! If after receiving his first appointment
he is desirous of being promoted, he must doubtless abstract from the
people all they possess, merely to open a road to promotion, thus the
people are made to suffer; but I apprehend Shang-teen (God), will
not be insulted. You see, I possess only this Ting-sha-maou, cap of
crape, with low rank, and have endured deprivations for these ten
years, but I am grateful for the favour of Whang-shang-teen (the
Almighty), and the altars of my blessed ancestors, that while re-
siding here I have been enabled to preserve the people from plunder.
How could I imitate those avaricious officers, giving to their su-
periors a handful of gems ; does such become the dignity of a
minister of state ? I, relying on Heaven's blessing, remain here
discharging my duties, and at the close of each day retain my
integrity. When unable to discharge those duties I will return to
my family, with my wife and son, and, living on a few acres of poor
land, enjoy happiness in my native village the residue of my days.
Never will I do that which is wrong, or destroy the noble feelings
of my heart, which have been given me from heaven."

On another day of vacancy from business, Mei-kwei in conver-
sation with his wife said, " Time has flown with the rapidity of an
arrow; for I find I have held my present office upwards of ten
years, during which period I have known no cessation ; I am happy
to-day that I have no business, and, as your natal day is at hand, I
am desirous that an extra dish of vegetables (food generally) may
be prepared that we may observe your birth-day." The lady replied,
"As you, Sir, have seen many more years than I have, why not ob-
serve it in honour of yourself?" Mei-kwei then called for the
servant, and told him to order the compradorc to purchase the vt'ge-

MINISTER MEI-KWEI. 265

tables. The servant in reply said, "I understand;" and making out
a list of the articles necessary, he gave it to the mae-pan or compra-
dore. It was not long before the compradore re-entered the house
with his purchases. Do you ask what they were ? They proved
to be two bundles of spinage, eight slices of pulse, a pound and a half
of pork, and two pints of wine. The servant was sent to call his
young master. The young gentleman, as soon as he had adjusted
his attire, ordering his attendant to lock the study door, entered the
hall. On seeing his father and mother engaged in conversation, he
said, "As you, father and mother, are sitting in state, your son pays
his respects." Mei-kwei and his lady with a smile requested him
to sit down, when the former addressed him, " As I am at leisure to
day, and to-morrow is your mother's birth-day, I have sent for you
to present the congratulatory cup." The son in reply said," I under-
stand." In a short time the servants brought in four plates of vege-
tables, and two dishes of pork, two dishes of spinage, and pulse,
with three glasses for the wine. The husband and wife sat at the
head of the table, and the son on the side. Mei-kwei addressing
his lady said, " Had not you and I some one to depend on in the
evening of life, even this entertainment would by no means be agree-
able. As our son violates not the principles of decorum, hereafter,
doubtless, he will be of great service to us. But the ancient adage
says, ' The tutor that flatters his pupil cannot be a good tutor ; so the
father that flatters his son cannot be a good father.' Now as I am
his father, and not altogether destitute of talent, and my son's bosom
is filled with talent, although I am unable daily to read with him,
our son should apply himself to an acquaintance with the classics,
and occasionally let his father see the result of his studies." The
lady with a smile remarked, " Your son studies with a determination
to obtain fame ; should he some morning pluck the green bays and
deprive you of your fame, what would you then say?" Mei-kwei re-
plied, " Though you are an intelligent woman, you are unacquainted
with the affairs of life. The sages say, ' The virtuous adhere to
what is correct, while the ambitious minister seeks power.' Since
his majesty is surrounded by the traitorous minister Loo-ke and his
adherents, no one can approach the throne, much less ascend the
golden steps to petition for the removal of those traitorous persons,
or reward the virtuous. Loo-ke and his faction are rebels, arid his
majesty ought to be petitioned concerning them ; his majesty would
then extirpate Loo-ke and his adherents ; if petitions be not sent
against them, those who serve under them will experience calamity,
and have their lifeless heads exposed in the market-place. Could I
accomplish my wish, in death I would close my eyes, and smile in
hades that I had left behind ine a good reputation, that would be
transmitted to posterity. Thus in the first place I should not be un-
grateful for his majesty's kindness, which even a faithful minister
cannot recompence ; and in the second place, rny rnutulated body
would be said to live for a thousand ages. Then I, Mei-kwei, should
be able to meet my ancestors, and make known the motives that in-
fluenced my conduct. Should those menials say to my son, ' That
they fully comprehended the extent of his powers, and cause his

;266 Tin: LO\.VL AND FAITHFUL

name to be recorded on the golden list, I am fearful lest that herd
of foxes and greedy dogs, who cause commotion at court, would
induce him to associate with such as are void of talent, seek power,
oppress the indefatigable officers of government, and thereby slay
both reputation and fame ; how would he not then bring disrepute
on my spotless life, disgrace my ancestors, and in death be by them
railed at. The poet says,

' Far preferable is that man who, receding from fame,
In maintaining just principles, delights in cultivating the land.'"

The lady replied, " You, Sir, have instructed your son in that which
is correct." Thus the husband and wife continued conversing to-
gether till the sun sunk in the west ; on the table being cleared
they retired.

It is said, that three days after this conversation, while Mei-kwei
was dressing himself to enter the court to attend to public business,
the servant advanced and said, " Two persons have come ex-
press, who stated that his majesty has appointed you, Sir, to aid him
in the government at the capital, and they are desirous of seeing
your worship." Mei-kwei, after pausing a little, bade them enter.
On their holding up in their hands the despatch, kneeling at the vesti-
bule and observing the ko-tow ceremony, i.e. bowing to the ground,
they said, " We have been sent express from the office of the presi-
dent of the Le-poo board of magistracy, to announce to your
worship, that you are promoted to the highest rank in the state."
Mei-kwei, on hearing what was said, could not refrain from laughing
aloud, then bidding them to rise, he said, " I will ask you a question.
As I am advanced in years, and have remained here for ten years a
poor officer, how happens it, that F, who have not taken the people's
wealth, nor associated with the wealthy, and have no one at the ca-
pital to recommend me, nor am able to bribe the higher officers, am
promoted ? Are you not in error ?" The bearer of the despatch
kneeling said, " How can this be an error? see it bears the imperial
signet. I beg that you, Sir, will examine it; though I am ignorant
with which of the higher officers this affair has originated, it is ap-
parent that his majesty has been graciously pleased to appoint you
a member of the Le-poo board." Mei-kwei then looking at the
despatch, read, " I the emperor, being applied to by Ching-shing of
the Le-poo board, order a letter to be sent to Mei-kwei, knowing that
he has held for a long time an appointment remote from the capital,
and administered pure government, he is therefore required to re-
pair with all speed to the capital. Seeing that he Mei-kwei pos-
sesses noble principles, he is in consequence raised to be a member
of the Le-poo board. Respect this! " Mei-kwei, after reading the
document again and again, desired the bearers to withdraw, when he
would presently reward them ; and forthwith he entered the inner
apartments. The lady meeting him smiling said, " Sir, I congratu-
late you on your promotion.'* The son advancing towards him
bowing said, " Father, father, I congratulate you on receiving an ap-
pointment at the capital." Mei-kwei said, with a sigh, " My wife,
this despatch may cost me nly life." The lady and son, greatly

MINISTER MF.I-KWEI. 267

surprised, said, "Sir, since you are promoted, you must rely on your
ancestors for a blessing-, and consider your talents as a mere spring.
His majesty has thought correctly on the subject. Why, Sir, do you
say that your existence depends on the appointment? " Mei-kwei
said, "How should you be acquainted with the private affairs of the
state ? when I have dismissed the bearers of the express I will re-
turn and converse with you." Mei-kwei hastened into his bed-room,
and on weighing a few leang of silver, taking with him some gilt
paper offerings, he hastened out and called for the bearers of the
despatch, and thus addressed them, " As I am a poor officer of the
government, and have occasioned you trouble in bringing the in*
telligence of my promotion, I present you with four leang of silver,
a mere trifle, that you may regale yourselves." The two persons
bowing in reply said, " How may we presume to receive of you, Sir,
such a present ! But as you, Sir, have at the capital many relations, if
you will address them a line, we will deliver such letters free of ex-
pense." Mei-kwei said, " How can I, a poor scholar, have many
relations, those that I have are mere farmers, and reside at a village
at Lo-shan-shwuy, I therefore need not trouble you."

Mei-kwei on leaving these persons entered the inner apartment, and
ordered wine to be prepared; then addressing his wife, he said, "As
you and my son will take leave of me to-day, we know not when we
shall meet again." The lady replied, " Sir, what do you say ? Is it
your intention to repair to the capital without taking me and your
son to accompany you ? Why this ceremony of separation ? Mei-
kwei answered, " You will not accompany me to the capital, but
you will, both mother and son, proceed to your native village, where
there is land enough to support you. As soon as I arrive, I shall
prefer charges against Loo-ke and Whang-kaou, and their partisans.
If I am not the death of them, they shall be the death of me. I ex-
ceedingly regret that I cannot reduce their bones to powder. Since
his majesty has been pleased to confer rank on me, I dare but be
loyal to the state, and how, then, may I look on that pack of raven-
ous wolves ! What need of regret, were this life of mine brushed
away ! Should I be beheaded, and you, my wife and son, be at the
capital would Loo-ke and his adherents compassionate you? He would
not only cut down the grass, but tear up the roots, that he might
put an end to the family of Mei. While residing at Chang-chow
you will hear whether affairs are prosperous or otherwise ; but it
will be necessary for you to change your name and surname, and
live concealed. When our son is grown up, and has caused his
name to be recorded in the hall dedicated to eminent statesmen,
you will then have something whereon to depend. Recollect how
many mysterious years passed before the ancient minister Pih-shim
could petition his majesty. The man that cannot foresee probable
events is not fit to aid in the government. You must return to cul-
tivate the soil, and take care of your person. Where would be
the good of your accompanying me to the capital?" The lady re-
plied, " Since neither mother nor son is to accompany you, be it
so ; but when you have entered on your office, who will wait on you ?
and as you are advanced in years, with whom will you associate ? '*

268 THE LOYAL AND FAITHFUL

Mei-kvvei replied, " I have but one word to say, I rely on you my
wife complying with my wish. As soon as I arrive at the capital I
shall accuse these traitors; should his majesty receive my statements
and cut them off, I will then despatch a person without delay to con-
duct you and my son to the capital." While conversing, the servant
entered to announce that the gentry of the district had come to con-
gratulate him on his promotion, and were now waiting to know
whether he would receive them or not. Mei-kwei replied, "I cannot
receive visitors day after day, but since they are waiting I will see
them." As the servant was retiring, Mei-kwei bid him wait, when he
wrote down the hours he would be at home to receive visits ; staling
at the same time, that none to whom his card was presented would
be required to repeat the visit; for he intended leaving the follow-
ing day. Mei-kwei, on changing his dress, ordered the gates of the
public office to be thrown open, when he entered the hall, where were
waiting a few of the gentry in full dress, who instantly advancing to-
wards him, in a body exclaimed, c< We congratulate you, Sir, on your
being called to aid the government — a happy omen of prosperity to
the nation." On Mei-kwei modestly declining the compliment,
they seated themselves as guests and visitors, when the gentlemen
said, " From the time that you and your lady came to preside
over us, we have known nothing but felicity ; hearing that you are
about to leave us, since his majesty has sent for you, we hope here-
after you will be raised to be one of the San-kung (three chief
ministers oPstate), and that you and the higher officers of govern-
ment will be as brethren." Mei-kwei replied, " Here there is a
distinction, but there petty distinctions do not exist. I am grateful
to his majesty for the favour he has conferred on me. As a minister
how may I not strive to expel traitorous ministers ! Gentlemen, I
expect that you will assist me with all your souls. "

It is said, that on lady Mei-kwei ordering her servants to pack
up a few light articles, she thus addressed her son, " My son, as your
father has made up his mind, and is determined to unite with the
royal house to expel the rebels, the destruction of our family is not
remote.5' The young gentleman replied, " What you say, mother,
is correct. Father does not give it a thought whether he lives or
dies, being intent on acquiring the reputation of a good minister ;
should he lose his life for the good of his country, it is only what
others have been called to endure.'' During this conversation, Mei-
kwei took leave of the gentlemen, having shut the gate, and thrown
off his upper dress. On seeing the servants busy packing, in deep
thought he said io himself, " Ah, it is either fame or gain that
influences man through life, and the cause of all the trouble and
vexation that occur." On perceiving his wife and son in the hall,
distressed conversing together, Mei-kwei, on approaching, asked
her what they were conversing about. The lady replied, " I and
your son were conversing about your proceeding to the capital ;
your son remarked that such was the object of all those who held
office." Mei-kwei replied, " Just think on that," when, stroking his
beard, he burst into a loud laugh, and said, " Excellent! excellent!
the object of all who hold office ! My lady, from that remark I am

MINISTER MEI-KWEI. '269

satisfied that our son is ambitious to be a minister of state, and that
hereafter he will resent my death. At present the blood of the
inferior officers of the government is trampled on, and no one re-
gards their persons." Mei-kwei, on taking- the lady by the hand, went
forth, and bade their son enter the hall, who brought in the several
boxes and trunks, which he himself unlocked, when the lady and
son sorted and arranged the several articles of dress, which consisted
of only a few shirts, and long and short dresses, besides his official
dress. On opening his writing desk, he found about three hundred
tales of money (about £100), but possessed no jewels of any kind.
Mei-kwei, on taking out fifty tales, delivered the desk with its con-
tents to his lady, when he said, " Though I have held office these ten
years, this is all I have been able to save; when you have finished
packing, you will repair to Chang-chow. Having ordered a vessel,,
you will leave to-morrow. On thus speaking, he assembled his
servants to receive their instructions, when he said, " To-morrow you
will see my lady and son safe to her native village ; on the
following day you will accompany me to take leave of my senior
officers and the gentry, and then wait till I give over my seal of
office to my successor, with the standard measures, when I shall
proceed on my journey. You will now procure a light sedan chair,
and two horses, which will be enough to accompany me on the
road."

Mei-kwei next required the presence of those who attended at
the court, with the three constables, and the six public clerks (who
sometimes act as a kind of attornies, and at times render the magis-
trate considerable assistance in difficult matters). On their entering
they formed two rows. Mei-kwei on noticing that none of them
were absent, asked if they were all willing to serve him in his new
appointment. They replied, kneeling, " that they were." Mei-
kwei said, " I, the been magistrate, am now appointed to the
capital, are you of the same mind as I am ? " They responded,
" Glory and promotion await your Excellency, accompanied with
rank, which is indicated by the gold and silken band that surrounds
your waist." Mei-kwei replied, " I have filled this appointment
upwards of ten years, and should have had no trouble, were it not
for those mean persons who purchase rank, at the exclusion of the
virtuous. When I have left, each of you should retain your good
reputation, and forget not to walk in the same path. Should you
attempt to impede me in the discharge of my duty, you will prove
yourselves disloyal. Though there may have been flaws in my con-
duct— will you be able to escape the power of the law ? It is impe-
rative on you to be dutiful to your parents. The ancients have a
saying, ' If dutiful to one's parents, such are loyal to their prince.'
Such conduct bestows on man a reputation through life. If you can
prove yourself dutiful and loyal, the approbation of Shang-te (God)
will rest on you and your children's children. In this life you will be
blessed in your person with length of years, and hereafter be for
ever happy." They all replied, " We will act in accordance with
Venerable Father's (your Excellency's) luminous instructions," and
bowing they each took their leave.

M.M.— No. 9. 2M

270 THE LOYAL AND FAITHFUL MINISTER MEI-KWEI.

As M \vei-kwei was about to enter the hall, he saw the porter
approaching-, who announced, " that several persons were waiting to
congratulate your Excellency, and are desirous of presenting a
written document." Mei-kwei asked the number of those who were
waiting. The porter replied, " The officers of the city, with their
associates, they are come to present a letter or memorial to your
Excellency ; in consequence of the orders that you have issued, they
do not presume to enter the hall." Mei-kwei replied, " You will go
and tell each of the gentlemen, that it is not necessary for them to
present the document, therefore they will now retire, and some other
day I will return their visit. Tell them also, that when I arrive at the
capital, it shall be evident who are the virtuous, and who are traitors,
for I will accuse such before the Emperor, and he himself shall
decide ! Of what use is their document !"

The porter went out and communicated Mei-kwei's answer.
These persons, by their countenances, indicated their disappointment,
or making a ceremonious bow, retired. This deputation, who were
inhabitants of several districts, were sent by a self-constituted body,
to deliver a document and offer congratulations to Mei-kwei, on
his Majesty having called him to aid in the government, not know-
ing how he might hereafter be disposed towards them, expecting that
on his arrival at the capital, he would reply to their document. Mei-
kwei, by this decisive step, at once put a stop to any further inter-
course : had he granted them an interview, they would out of that
interview have preferred some charge against him, then those
ministers before whom the accusation would be brought, might not
see the extent of the evil that was in their hearts. Thus he gave them
not an opportunity of writing to the disaffected at the capital.

Mei-kwei having dismissed them, laughing, said to himself,
" They will now know that there is an independent person in the
world, who will not suffer a day to pass without using his influence :"
when he entered the apartment, to see if his wife and son had
finished packing. The lady, on seeing Mei-kwei, asked with
whom he had again been conversing? Mei-kwei replied,
" Just as I had done giving my instructions to the several officers,
and was coming into take some refreshment with you, unexpectedly,
that shameless corrupt Shang-sze officer, has sent persons to offer
congratulations, and to deliver me a letter or document. You know,
as I lightly esteem him, I never wished to visit him. I could but
laugh at them, for an independent man must daily maintain his
character ! " The lady asked, " How he had terminated it ? '' Mei-
kwei replied, " Why, I sent the letter back unopened, and said that
I would return the visit." The lady said, " It is quite a laughable
affair."

While the husband and wife were conversing together, the ser-
vant communicated that wine was on the table, when Mei-kwei
ordered his son to be called to partake of it. On being seated,
Mei-kwei, addressing his wife, said, " When you both arrive at the
end of your journey, and have got settled, you will diligently
apply yourself to cultivating the ground, and he to his studies.
Think not, because I am at the capital, that I am at a distance.

TO MY ABSENT LOVE. 271

Daily instruct your son, and suffer him not to rove about. When he
has a little leisure, let him enter the different public courts. You
know through life I have always been diligent ; now, though I am
fifty years old, no one has ever preferred a charge against me. On
your return home, see that you wound not my reputation." The
lady replied, " We will strictly obey Laou-yay's instructions, but
when you arrive at the capital, lay your plans of proceeding, and be
patient in all your affairs, suffer not pride to enter your heart. The
ancients say, ' Think thrice before you act, which may be repeated,
then you will never be a disgrace to your species,' — consider Loo-ke
and Whang-kaou as foolish persons, and do not from pride per-
secute them. I hope, Sir, that you will consider what I have
said." Mei-kwei on hearing what she said, stroking his eye-brows,
and striking the table, replied, " Woman, what do you say ! I
exceedingly regret that I am not at the capital ! that I have not
seized those traitors ! that I have not with my own hands terminated
their existence ! have not eaten their flesh. Why talk about thrice
considering and then acting ? As you and I seldom converse toge-
ther, I regret exceedingly that we have not now time. Does not
Heaven respond to man's desires! and is not the holy Emperor's
favour immense as a mountain! — since I, the Che-heen magistrate,
have been selected to fill an important situation ? — On arriving at
the capital, and receiving a sword, will I not then behead these
traitorous ministers !''

To be continued.

TO MY ABSENT LOVE.

I crossed the stream, I passed the hill,

On yester morn,
I gazed again upon the scene,
Where oft my willing step had been,

Where Joy was born !
A sight that more befitted spring

I have not known :
The little birds sang sweet and clear,
And the mild primrose stooped to hear

The brook's low tone.

The place was still a pleasant place,

It showed no change,
And yet my restless heart had not
The same enjoyment in the spot —

I thought it strange.
I asked me how this thing could be,

If it were Care

That clouded Nature's charms, or wo
That dulled the sense of good, — Oh ! no,

THOU wert not there !

M.

( 272 )

A HUMAN HEART.

"Me voici done seul sur la terre ; n'ayant plus de frere, de prochair,
d'ami, de societe,^ que moi-meme. Le plus sociable et le plus aimant des
humains, en a etc proscrit par un accord unanime."

Les Reveries du Promeneur Solitaire.

THIS memoir was discovered by accident — in fact, a child was
the origin of the discovery. The spot distinguished by it is in Cum-
berland— a wild, weedy, untrodden spot, bounded on one side by
the sea, and in other directions by ravines, morasses, swamps rather
than lakes, and surmounted by the peaks of a succession of bleak,
lofty, verdureless hills. None would penetrate to it by choice — few
could by chance. To horse-feet it is impervious, and the pedestrian
pilgrim would turn aside from it owing to the thickness of the under-
grass, briars and impenetrability of the tract generally. In other
respects also it is unattractive. Its scenic character is cold, without
promise, or power to allure. Wild, without the picturesque, it is
solitudinous without grandeur ; neither sublime nor beautiful, but in
the highest degree harsh, unlovely, unrecompensing, and from which
the pencil of Salvator or of Claude would equally turn dismayed.

On this spot — in the bosom of a hut on this spot, the memoir here
entitled " A human heart!'' was found.

But the locality is nothing, nor the memoir itself, possibly, any
thing to the accompanying event by which the discovery was signal-
ised, and which the introducer of the document to the public can
have no hesitation in pronouncing interesting and remarkable, and
surprising beyond whatever has transpired in the world whether of
history or romance, science, literature, or philosophy.

It is hinted, a child was the medium of the discovery, a boy, a
mere child in search of eagle-eyries, among the cliffs on the sea-
shore of Cumberland. In his excitement he descended the cliff, to
whose summit (with hands and feet he had clambered by an un-
known chasm. The circumstance involved him in perplexity ; he
lost his way, preserved no knowledge of his route, and, consequently,
during many hours, was compelled to adopt at random any passage
or pathway of any wood, cavern, or glen which presented. Sud-
denly, from a distance, he thought he discovered an angle of a rude
deeply- embosomed habitation. So far was it buried among trees
and long waving grass, that it was scarcely distinguishable. Yet he
resolved to pursue the direction in which he imagined it to rise ;
naturally supposing it to possess inmates, through whose agency, ex-
tricated from the wilderness which enclosed him, his embarrassment
would be relieved. He proceeded in the direction, reached the

A HUMAN HEART. 273

spot ; it was a hut, and at once he was relieved from his embarrass-
ment. He called loudly several times, but without meeting with
response, so at length he pushed gently against the door, which at a
second effort opened, and he saw what appeared to him a figure
over a table asleep. Obeying a first impulse, he entered the hut and
with that fearless frankness which so peculiarly and beautifully cha.
racterises the innocence of childhood, approached and took the
figure by the hand, but no sooner had he done so than he let it fall —
it was so terrifically cold !

Upon this he hastily emerged from the hut, and without account-
ing for it, felt an intolerable horror even of the face of the hovel, and
he ran from it as speedily as he could.

In the meanwhile, his absence from home became a source of
alarm, and a party of us volunteered our services in his pursuit. His
usual haunts were familiar to us, and we ascended this steep and
came down that descent — penetrated to the bosom of the most silent
valleys, and paced the dark margins of innumerable lakes — con-
suming the hours of the longest mid-summer day in a fruitless search,
when from an assemblage of craggy heights, his delicate form in the
duskiness of the increasing twilight struck our observation, and
hence to our satisfaction, we were enabled without delay to convey
the young tenant to the arms of his distractedly awaiting mother.

The words with which he greeted us were the hut and its sleeping-
inhabitant. He spoke, could speak of nothing besides — the subject
engrossed his thoughts : day and night he seemed inspired with —
haunted by it.

We laughed and flung jibes, but to no avail, he would not relin-
quish but even clung to his account with augmented pertinacity.
Then, what we commenced by pronouncing incredible, we concluded
by deeming strange, or at least, resolving to put its verisimilitude to
the test. In furtherance of the project we embarked on an exploring
expedition ; the child of course being our escort — guide. For hours
we perforated pathway after pathway among the rocks, dells, &c.
but to no purpose. We espied — no hut was visible. We renewed
the laugh — again, the youthful Columbus incurred our utmost sar-
casm. However, he was not thus to be disconcerted, and he entreated
us for the fewest steps — for a step — but one step more on. His own,
glance was the quickest, and he first descried and pointed out to us
in exultation — the hut. We were all stimulated to arrive at it, and
like birds attracted as to a common centre by a particular instance
of prey, in irregular flights we came up to it.

Precisely as the child recounted — in an attitude apparently of
sleep, a figure leaning over a table was there. The form was a
woman's form, attired in black — to the heart motionless — dead !
We gazed at the figure, then at each other,- then at the figure again,
and we gazed because we had ceased — had found it impossible to
speak. For some minutes we stood congealed !

When our first horror subsided we pursued a closer inquisition.
Raising for a moment, we supported the drooping head, and scruti-
nized its facial lineaments. They were aged— evidently stamped
with the finger of age, but of the most noble contour and beauteous

274 A HUMAN HEART.

regularity ; they were attenuated — the whole form was attenuated,
and probably had wasted from inanition as much as from natural
decadence. Also, the limbs in their outline attracted us, which
were, or in youth had been, of a remarkable symmetry ; they were
now stiff, and the flesh upon them indurated to the degree of iron.
In one hand, or near the fingers of one hand, on the table, was a
pen, close to it paper, and a stand, in which once had been ink, but
which now merely contained its sediment — dried. We seized
eagerly upon the paper, which we perceived was traced with cha-
racters in writing; but, scanning it devouringly, were disappointed
on finding it to include only two sentences (the last of this volume).
They served, however, to stimulate our curiosity in search of more.
Seeking around the cabin, we observed that it was divided into two
compartments, small, miserable, dilapidated. The feature by which
we were most struck was the multitude of books, scattered, or rather
heaped in profound disorder, and in the most profuse quantity.
Looking a little further, we saw a mirror, with a covering, which
once it was intended should conceal it, half torn from it; subse-
quently we saw a guitar, the chords snapped, and finally a ponderous
chest. The last now was the most interesting object. It was se-
cured with a strong fastening, but to us it was but a slight obstruc-
tion^we surmounted it, prosecuting the work of enquiry. It con-
tained three portraits and a manuscript, which we have here termed
memoir. It presented little besides a scanty assortment of wearing
apparel : the faded remnant of a shawl, a brooch, a ring formed the
total.

The manuscript, doubtless, above all rivetted us. The hand-
writing was delicate, but so small, so obscure, that it required study
to decipher it. It was not on full sheets, but the minutest divisions
of letter-sheets, and the most costly description of vellum. It ap-
peared to comprise much — a lengthened history ; but as in result
it proves merely passages of a history, for the most part incomplete,
unperfected details. It ceased, however, to occupy us longer at
that moment ; our whole thoughts directed themselves to the dis-
posal of itself — the figure. We consulted, and unanimously it was
resolved, the most fastidious respect should attend its obsequies, and
there was a general feeling that, in accordance with the classic so-
lemnities of the ancient Greeks, it shonld be consigned to the flames
of a funeral pile — burned, and its ashes decorously gathered and de-
posited in a marble urn. The portraits we regarded as too sacred
for our cold and uninterested affections, and decreed them therefore
to a participation in the same destiny. In one flame ascended, in
one vase mingles the dust of all — of Aer, and of the images of those
who to her were as the springs of life — the fountains of immortality
— and in dedication to their memory, the pilgrim, who by the ten-
derness of his sensibility shall be drawn thither, may see, denotive
of the spot whence that flame ascended, an uninscribed, simple,
white monumental spire.

There remains little to add. The memoir, as it i? here presented,
is in that state — scrupulously exact — in which its present possessor
found it— not a line altered — a syllable erased* As a literary pro-

A HUMAN HEART. 275

duction, it must of course at once and without hesitation be pro-
nounced valueless, but, like other things, intrinsically destitute of
merit, may be thought to be endowed with interest extraneously
derived.

I HAVE brought myself to a strange task. How inconceivable
that above all even I should sit down to lay bare the secrets of a
heart! Of a heart, oh, what a heart! but — for I will ponder no
more.

There are many who cannot understand the motives of Jean
Jacques. I understand them — alas, the day! I am solitary, and a
wretch. How can I better dispel the horrors of the present, than
by calling up those of the past ? To the work ! I have spent years
in musing over them ; they are engraven on the tablets of my brain ;
how easy to trace them before me on the parchment ! Visible to the
sense, they may become less instant to the mind. The experiment,
at least, I will try. Who knows? it may calm this inward hell.
What I shall write, shall be as the transcript of my inner soul. No
eye can ever survey it. Like my thought it will be unseen, un-
imagined. I will, then, write all ! It is myself I should deceive by
suppressing or disguising truth. It is the problem of my own
nature I wish to solve—the history of my own heart I wish to re-
duce to the characters of the human pen. The occupation may
divert my pain, while the result may teach me certain secrets of my
breast I wish to know. Do I falsify? it is myself I delude; do I not
lay open my heart to its inward core ? it is myself I mock. For
the scroll to which these things shall be committed mortal can
never behold, with my spirit in the kindling of its own flame it shall
ascend, as this breast exhales its final sigh it shall moulder to its last
crumbling dust. In life, I will wear it next what it shall be the
living emblem of — my heart! in death, like the hand which now
traces it, it shall be no more ! Farewell, then, deceit! thou wilt not
answer now. To the task, the task of unveiling a human heart, —
a beating, throbbing heart, in all the appalling hideousness of truth!
Oh, the work is dread! On the threshold I feel the overwhelming
power of the sanctuary I would enter, The heart — the human
heart ! my vision is already scared at its images.

For years I have inhabited this spot. My abode is a cabin with
two chambers — what a contrast to the splendour that once I have
dwelt amidst! This cabin is on the declivity of a hill. No footstep,
I am aware of, ever penetrated to it ; no eye, I imagine, ever rested
on it. It is not embosomed, but lost amid high forest trees, shrub-
bery, and grass, which have been allowed to grow wild like over-
grasses. The scene has not its equal in England, nor on earth, of
which I have any idea for dreariness; it is desolation personified —
an abode for the witches in Macbeth, a place of storms and wailing,
solitude, and woe. Even now, as I write, comes the blast sweeping
down the misshapen gorges of the mountains. I see the ocean in
the distance, and it is its surge raging everlastingly over rocks and

276 A HUMAN HEART.

against the beach (of which I am so completely in the vicinity) that
prevents my slumbers, or in pity disturbs them in the moment of
some horrible dream.

Here I have dwelt for years ! here I will dwell till this frame
shall sink- -till this heart— ah, this heart ! shall be scathed in form
as it is now in spirit, till it shall be pulseless, passionless, cold.

I have books. I read much ; but, for the most part, my hours—-
there are no hours to me, it is either daylight or darkness ; exist-
ence, then, is spent in a kind of muse, a something between scrutiny
of my present thought and recurrence to the events of my past life ;
from the vivid portraiture of these, I sink gradually into a torpor,
resembling the unconsciousness of death. The period this may con-
tinue I cannot determine. I have neither watch nor timepiece of
any description. I take but little exercise; rny frame is too feeble
to admit of distant rambling; besides, I have other reasons. In the
day-time I seldom venture out; it is then, if I can accomplish it, I
lull myself to sleep. My slumbers are so light, that the mere sigh-
ing of the wind has awakened me ; they are disturbed, too, by ter-
rific dreams, so that I have become careless of encouraging sleep at
all. My favourite hour is the depth of midnight ; then I clothe my-
self in black, and wander forth. Then the stars are generally con-
gregated in the far blue : the stars ! it is the stars I worship beyond
the light even of the moon. I know of none who may be near, yet
I creep so stealthily that I should by necessity be taken for a shadow.
I wander on till I reach the beach. I descend so low, that my feet
are often wet from the tide as it rolls in. The view hence is bound-
less, and, in tempestuous nights, sublime. For miles I watch the
billows writhing and tossing to the clouds. It is amidst this uproar
of the elements I live. It is the turmoil of the world, the splendid
distractions of that world whose precincts I shall never enter more,
in allegory. At least, so to me it seems, and it is the fancy of this
which, though it cannot radically alleviate, diverts my grief. The
weather, too, is almost always tempestuous. The coast rises sud-
denly, at frequent intervals, into abrupt head-lands; these to ma-
riners, at least is known, are the minister?, or rather cradles of strong
and impetuous winds. My view is to the direct east, so I see the
approaches of the first rays of the sun. These are the signal for my
departure homewards. There is neither domestic, nor dog, nor any
thing breathing to welcome my return. My heart has cherished too
much ; let me not speak of affections ; I have not a care to bestow
now save on the dead. This is the hour my bodily frame suffers
most. I throw myself on a rough-hewn figure of a couch, ex-
hausted. I take three tea-spoonsful of wine, and, after some time,
I partially recover. I then rise, and, while my mind retains the first
purity of its midnight meditations, I unlock a large sea-chest, and
from its furthest depths, enrolled in the thickest folds of alternate
wool and crimson satin, draw first one portrait, then another, and,
finally, a third. My tears never sully them, my lips never approach
them ; but, as I gaze, a heavy dew breaks over my forehead, my
knees clash, and, did I not instantly enclose and put them back, they

A HUMAN HEART. 277

must doubtless fall from my grasp and be smashed. After this, I
sit for hours motionless, like a statue in marble. External objects
make no impression on me; there are images before me, but they
are of the rnind — of the rnind ! and, when they vanish, then my con-
sciousness returns ; and often a fever has burst out over me, my
cheeks are flushed, my temples seem on fire, and my forehead is
indented, against which it would appear my fingers had been madly
pressed. I have a guitar which I then seize. Nothing soothes me
like music, and, after forming a few chords, I am lulled into un-
speakable peace. It is by this time broad day, and I now provide
my very simple, and, to me, most insipid repast. Even after years
my palate has not lost its preference of those choice delicacies to
which it had long been accustomed. I prefer game to a collation
of herbs, and turbot to the poor and plain diet I arn obliged to be
contented with. The inconvenience to which I am most exposed is
the preparation of these necessary supports. Beyond any, the culi-
nary art is tthat I can least exercise a knowledge in ; its secrets I
never understood, and could least bring myself to study. On this
head I have a further difficulty to contend against — the means of
procuring those necessaries. As I live at a distance from any ha-
bitable place, the difficulty is prodigious ; but, in a measure, I have
overcome it, by the simple process of curtailing my wants. A trifling
modicum of bread and wine ; fruits, vegetables, when in season ;
dried substances in meal or rice, when they are not, supply the re-
quisites to my physical life. These, I confess, sometimes are nau-
seous to me ; I say, sometimes, for there are lapses of days when I
partake of no nourishment whatever.

The irregularity of my former habits, I have carried with me even
into this retreat. I have no fixed occupation, no periodical pursuit.
Such, my soul could not endure, — the thought would be sufficient to
give a term to my existence. To be constrained by duties, governed
by formal rule, — oh, it is not for one of my unfortunate temperament
to be guided through such an orbit I My course, like to a comet's —
as it has been — uncertain, burning, rapid, eccentric — oh, how could
I be chained to axiom ! Folly ! fires ; — let me perish — my soul be

annihilated ! After partaking of refreshment,

I fall asleep. When I awake, it may happen, I am in darkness. I
have said, that my abode is lost amid the foliage of trees, conse-
quently, the last setting rays of the sun cannot penetrate to it, and
my chamber becomes enshrouded in the shades of premature night.
I have a dread in darkness ; there is a fearfulness about it, that in-
spires me with a degree of inexplicable awe. I have irritable
nerves, and a leaf falling to the earth will sometimes sound to me
like the approach of footsteps. On these occasions, the pain I suffer
is beyond conception. I have lain on my couch, perhaps, for hours,
till the throbbing of my heart has become audible to my own ear.
This terror, however, leaves me on gaining the open air. I am a
being of some extraordinary peculiarities, and when abroad beneath
the heavens, inhaling the cool fragrancy of the breeze, my courage
rises to heroism, and I seem to have acquired intrepidity with«my
situation of greater freedom. I can then return dauntless to my

M.M. — No. 9. 2 N

278 A HUMAN HEART.

home ; my emotions seem to have changed their channel, and from
the haggardness of fear, my countenance returns to the placidity of
its settled woe. I barricade the windows and the several apertures
through which light may escape ; I, then, produce fire from flints,
and illume my dwelling with the fitful lustre of an ill-tended lamp of
oil. If the season be winter, or the weather raw and inclement, I
prevail on myself, at intervals, to kindle a fire on the hearth. I have
an oaken table, small, round, and apparently very ancient, which,
after overlaying redundantly with books, I draw to the vicinity of
the embers. I then allow myself to sink in a huge elbowed chair,
occupying the left corner of the fire-side, and directly in front both
of the window and the door. I muse more, much more than I read,
but still there are passages of my favourite authors that serve wonder-
fully to charm away time. I can read Homer ; and Tully and
Tacitus are familiar to me. To whom do I owe this felicity ? Alas,
let me not darken the faint gleam of happiness that remains to me ;
let me not sink into utter despair ! The silence which dwells around
me in these hours is intense, unutterable. Imagination can form no
semblance of it. Sometimes, my thoughts are troubled by it ; its
effect is appalling ; I should go mad did I give myself to its in-
fluence. But I fly from it. It is then I rush outward, and take
my station on the cliffs looking down upon the open sea.

The roar of the waters, the bellowing of the winds, the crashing
of the branches of trees —any thing, any thing is preferable to this
silence, — this silence so emblematic of death, so horrible — unen-
durable ! The question very naturally presents itself — In the midst
of what is thus so terrible, and contrary to the capabilities of nature
to endure, why cut not at once the thread of life ; why not escape at
a single bound ? I have dwelt on this thought ; it has haunted me ;
I have risen from my sleep, — sprang, leaped frantically from my
resting-place, the thought vivid to my imagination — the resolution
strong in my heart. I have clenched the horrid form of a rusty
knife — a knife huge enough to strike terror to a butcher, — I have
drawn it wildly across my throat, pointed it against my breast; but
it has fallen as though my arm were sinewless, as if suddenly it were
deprived of life or the power of action. The situation must be
frightful that can plunge one in such a purpose ! think, if it be not
blasting like the agonies of the damned ? I cannot die ; no, I cannot.
Even in madness, of my life I am tenacious. I would not tamely
yield it ; no, to the last I will struggle for it. Its charm I do not
know, yet still it has a charm. I am besieged by horrors, aye, such
as it has never been the lot of mortal to experience ; yet my life has
a charm ; a charm I have no power over, a charm that is a mystery,
a mystery I can neither dive into, nor dispel. Let me not repeat the
question. I cannot reply to it — question it must remain : I am a
pitiable being. My brain reels with distraction. I am in the midst
of misery — my soul is barren of hope. It is on my memory my
spirit feeds ! Oh, God ! when the grave has been permitted to steal
the objects of one's affections — oh, righteous God! when the heart
is without the springs which gave it pulse, and to the frame vitality ;
what a hell into which one is immersed! to what a destiny of tears,

A HUMAN HEART. 279

and anguish, and lamentation is one not exposed ! Yes, I have
wrung my hands, I have torn my hair, I have flung myself to earth,
I have heard accents escape my lips that to my own ear have sent
an echo that has palsied me. Yet would I not part with life, yet
could I not cut short the span of my existence.

And, ah, how changed ! What I was once, what I am now !
What bliss! what unexhausted, inexhaustible woe ! Let me consider,
I have spent years in this miserable abode. How many, I do not
know. I was once young; when I came hither I was not old. Is
my face wrinkled? I cannot tell. Once it was fair, divine ! What
it is now, I have not a remote thought. In a mirror I have never
gazed since — since! why does my pen stagger? to what date do I
refer? No matter, in time, all shall be transcribed; but, for the
present — . In the furthest and darkest extremity of the adjoining
chamber, encased in a frame of gold, stands a superb sheet of plated
glass. It is covered first with brown holland, then with baize nailed
on all sides, and to the floor, so that without forming a previous
design to the effect, I can never behold myself in it. This design
I have entertained, but I am without courage to execute it. Per-
haps, some day, I may possess the nerve. I should like to witness
how my agonies may have corrugated my brow, and distorted the
lines of a mouth that was once Phidian. My hair, probably, is
gray; the supposition shocks me. I must think no more. Horrible !
yes, I am conscious of it, my form has lost the fineness of its sym-
metry, all the moulding of its once incomparable grace. I see it,
even my hand is in wrinkles, and my arm — but with what meaning
do I thus weary myself? for my charms, had they not their day?
my beauty, was it not triumphant like the hosts that are covered
with victory ? Away, then, repining ! If I be fallen, it is by mine
own act, mine own deed. The world was not wide enough to give
scope to the capability of my faculties ; it could not understand, it
could not penetrate the subtlety of my character. I did a deed,
I did a deed it could not applaud, nor conceive the greatness of my
horrible heroism, so it chased me from it, hooted, vituperated me,
till it finally penned me in this odious retreat. I stand on the bleak
hills of my desolation, but I stand with my heart unscathed, my soul
indomitable as it ever was. Do I weep ? that world cannot see a
tear; am I crucified, and racked, and torn? that cold and ignoble
world knows not ; from it, at least, it is all veiled. But wherefore
thus do I look back upon the world ? why reproach what supplied
to me once joys like those of paradise? Singular ingratitude ! As
a child, was I not blessed ? Did not gladness, like flowers, enwreathe
the path of my infancy ? And the world was that sun which gave
pulsation to my powers. Ah ! and which brought my ruffian passions
to their height ; which poured the blood of madness in the veins of
my ambition ; which made me envy, and hate, and scorn ; which
swelled rny breast with the desires of hell ; which made me love,
but to feel the rack of jealousy; which plucked humanity from my
heart; which dazzled, led me on, uplifted me to the summits of its

freatness, intoxicated, made me blind, and dizzy from the elevation
stood upon, then dashed me from that elevation, dashed me from

280 COME THOU TO ME.

heaven to perdition, to what I am, to what I am ! Is it, then, ingra-
titude to pour upon it the anathema of my vengeance? this, then, do
I pour upon it, " Earth, be accursed ! \vherever mankind are met
in societies upon your bosom, wherever traces of human fellowship
are seen, wherever laws for the maintenance of social order, the
protection of social rights exist, Earth ! be thou the abode of war,
rapine, and desolation, the prey of every curse, the victim of all
anarchy, the theatre of bitter and bloody distraction! The ills with
which thou hast encompassed me, be thou encompassed ! Rage —
rave — go mad with the hotness of your calamities. Sink into the
pity into which thou hast plunged me ! Sink, perish till thou shalt
be no more."

To be continued.

COME THOU TO ME!

(&n ©rtgtnal 33alla*.)
Written by Mrs. Cornwell Baron Wilson.

COME THOU TO ME ! for the sun is setting

And the pale stars peep from their azure screen ;

Light dews the rose's leaves are wetting

And pearly drops on the grass are seen ; —

Night's veil is falling o'er land and sea —

COME THOU TO ME ! — COME THOU TO ME !

COME THOU TO ME ! — Daylight is fading

And the young birds have folded their weary wings,

The vapours of twilight the mountains are shading,

And silver mists rise from the cool fountains' springs;

Night's robe is closing o'er land and sea —

COME THOU TO ME! — COME THOU TO ME!

COME THOU TO ME! — for the bees are reposing,

That have hum'd mid the thyme-bark the long sunny day ;-

The butterfly's wings, on the rose-leaf are closing

The ants from their hillock are up and away !

Night's veil is falling o'er land and sea,

COME THOU TO ME ! — COME THOU TO ME!

COME THOU TO ME ! — the ring dove is mourning
Like the sigh of some lover, (amid the pine trees,)
Who waits with impatience the dear-one's returning,
And murmurs his grief to the stars and the breeze ;
Night's curtains close, o'er land and sea —
COME THOU TO ME ! — COME THOU TO MF !

( 281 )

NURSERY POETRY.

MEN'S tastes are proverbially various. Mine, on the subject of
poetry, will, I know, be considered singular. I cannot help that.
We have no more control over our tastes than we have, to use Lord
Brougham's words, " over the colour of our skin or the height of
our stature." I hold that the most erroneous notions obtain in the
world respecting what constitutes true poetry. It were no difficult
task to establish the position. It is admitted, on all hands, that that
is the best poetry which finds its way most directly to the feelings,
and which leaves the most lasting impression on the mind. Whence
comes it then, I ask, that Nursery Poetry is so lightly esteemed, while
such works as Homer's Iliad, Virgil's ^Eneid, and Milton's Paradise
Lost are so generally admired and praised ? Tried by the above
unerring test, the latter works will not bear a moment's comparison
with much of the poetry of the nursery ; for though we may have
read Homer, Virgil, Milton, and all the other writers of versifica-
tion, erroneously called poets, so late perhaps as yesterday, we do
not recollect, it may be, a single passage in their writings, while we
have a distinct remembrance, not of a detached couplet or two, but
of the entire pieces which constitute the staple of nursery poetical
reading, though a full half century may have elapsed since we
handled any of the Lilliputian halfpenny volumes in which such
pieces have appeared. Could there, then, I ask, be a greater proof
of the impression which the latter class of poetry makes on the mind
of the reader ? And of the little, or rather, if the phrase be not
unclassical, no impression produced by the former.

My position being thus demonstrably established, the readers of
The Monthly Magazine will pardon me the expression of my sur-
prise and regret, that the public taste should be so grievously vitiated
as to prefer the poetical works of the three personages whose names
I have mentioned, and of others which might have been added, to the
infinitely higher order of poetry which abounds in the nursery.

This anomalous and discreditable state of things shall no longer
exist — if I can help it. I have determined to come forward, — as no
other person better qualified for the task seems disposed to under-
take it — as the champion of those great poetic geniuses who reign
paramount in the nursery, though so shamefully neglected by
" children of a larger growth." This is an undertaking far more
noble than any recorded in the page of modern history. There is
nothing so truly worthy in the voluminous annals of chivalry. Were
it not that the one related to a future world, and was immediately
connected with man's religious interests, and that the other has refe-
rence to intellectual merit alone, I would not shrink from comparing
the nobleness of the task I have undertaken with that of the Cru-

282 NURSERY POETRY.

saders of the twelfth century, -when they devoutly and heroically
inarched themselves to the Holy Land to expel the infidels from the
sacred territory.

I regret, and it is a disgrace to the age in which we live, that I
should be left to engage single-handed in this glorious enterprise.
Had Mr. Canning been alive, I should have found an able coadjutor
in him. In his younger years he gave convincing proof of the esti-
mation in which he held Nursery Poetry ; and not only showed that
he could duly appreciate its transcendant merits, but that he could
ably vindicate its matchless claims to the admiration of all possessed
of sufficient intellect to perceive its excellences. In the Microcosm,
a periodical work which he conducted when an " Eton Boy,'' — he
published two masterly papers, admirable alike for the eloquence of
their style and their critical discernment, on the well-known nursery
poem beginning with

" The Queen of Hearts
She made some tarts

All on a summer's day."

That Mr. Canning did not pursue the glorious and useful career
which he thus early pointed out for himself is solely to be ascribed
to the circumstance of his comprehensive mind having been, from
that period until the time of his death, occupied with the weightier
matters of state. Had he only been spared to accomplish to some
extent the objects so dear to his heart, namely, those of ** calling
new worlds into existence," and regenerating the old, there can be
no doubt that he would have devoted the entire faculties of his mind
for the remainder of his life to the promotion of the prase worthy
purpose I have mentioned.

" Thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just." Encouraged by
the assurance that the object I have in view involves in an
eminent degree not only the abstract principles of justice, but the
interests of our national literature, I proceed fearlessly and at once
to the performance of my task.

The only thing about which there is any doubt or difficulty is the
particular nursery poem I should select to commence with. The
claims of several to the distinction of priority in the specification of
their merits are so nicely balanced, that I am at a loss to say to
which I ought to give the preference. I am particularly distracted
amidst the conflicting claims of three beautiful little well-known
poems. The first I refer to is that commencing with

" Who killed cock robin ?
I, said the sparrow,
With my bow and arrow,
And I killed cock robin."

The second is " The House that Jack built ;'' and the third is
the popular poem of" Jack and Gill." As the last is the shortest,
I shall begin with it.

Though it is very unusual for critics to give the whole of the

NURSERY POETRY. 283

poem they are about to criticise, I do not feel myself " obligated,"
as they say at the police offices, to follow the general example. I
am perfectly independent in every thing, and in nothing more so
than in matters pertaining to criticism. Here then is the poem to
whose matchless excellences I am about to call the attention of my
readers : —

" Jack and Gill went up the hill

To fetch a pail of water ;
Jack fell down and broke his crown,

And Gill came tumbling after '."

It will at once be perceived by the intelligent reader, that this
poem has in it all the qualities of an heroic poem. The grand essen-
tials of such a poem are admitted on all hands, from Aristotle down
to the most modern critic, to be, that it have a hero, a beginning, a
middle, and an end. It is undeniable on the face of it, that this
poem possesses all these properties. It has certainly one hero, if
not two ; if the latter, so much the better. To go into any length-
ened or elaborate arguments to prove that the poem has a begin-
ning, a middle, and an end, would be justly deemed an unpardon-
able insult to the understanding of my readers.

The way in which the poem commences is particularly happy.
Had Homer been the author, he would have begun with an invoca-
tion to the " Heavenly Goddess" to assist him. Virgil would have
apostrophised " the Muse;" and Milton would have supplicated the
inspiration of the " Heavenly Muse.'5 There is nothing of the kind
here. The poet's good sense taught him to discard all such non-
sense. What do readers care about " Heavenly Goddesses/' " Sacred
Nines," " Celestial Muses," and so forth. All they want is a good
poem. If the poet courts the Muse, and wishes, like the kindred
moonstruck swains who are captivated with the charms of some ter-
restrial damsel, to fall down on his knees and worship his mistress,
why, let him by all means do her homage to his heart's content, but
let it be done in secret ; let him not expose himself to the unhallowed
gaze of a vulgar world. If the nymphs of Helicon have a particle
of modesty in them, they must frown on all such worshippers, and
spurn their proffered addresses.

One great fault of all the heroic poems which have attained any
celebrity, is that their authors weary out the reader with tedious
and elaborate exordiums, before they reach the subject matter of
the poem. Not so in the instance before us. The poet at once
introduces us to the subject and the hero.* Let the reader attend
to the very first line : —

" Jack and Gill went up the hill."

A poet of less judgment than my author would certainly have
drawn largely on the time and patience of the reader, by a length-

* It may admit of doubt, as I said before, whether there be only one hero,
or two heroes. Whatever the fact may be, it does not in the least affect my
argument.

284 NURSERY POETRY.

ened description of the hill which Jack and Gill ascended. He
would have been quite verbose in telling us its physical condition,
— inflicting- on us, ;in all probability, a geological treatise, either
in metre or blank verse, as the case might be. Here there1 is
nothing of the kind : not a word is said either of the size or the
physical aspect of the hill. It may have been a hill whose summit,
to use the amorous phraseology of other poets, " kissed the clouds ;"
or it may have been one of much more lowly proportions. Then
the poet is equally silent as to the appearance of the hill. Was it a
hill with a surface of sand ? Or with a rocky surface? Was its sur-
face clad with the " green, green grass?" Or did it exhibit a cover-
ing of heath ? These are questions which the poet very properly
forbears to touch on, far less to answer. He leaves the reader to
form his own ideas of the hill, and in so doing, pays his understand-
ing the highest compliment. I hate minuteness in any thing ; it
invariably destroys the effect. Here it would have been fatal to
the poem.

The author with equally good judgment forbears to tell us how
Jack and Gill ascended the hill. He very wisely contents himself
with informing us that they "went up the hill.'' Any other poet would
have dosed us with some forty or fifty pages of description touching
the ascent of the two youths. In this, as in the case just mentioned,
the poet leaves every thing to the imagination of his readers.
Whether Jack and Gill took only a few minutes or as many hours to
reach the top, is a matter on which we are left to form our own
judgment. Nor is the slightest hint given us as to the mode of the
ascent. It may have been in the usual way, that is to say, the heroic
youths may have walked up the hill, or they may have crawled to
the top on all fours. The great charm of the line consists in the un-
broken silence which the poet maintains on these points.

In the second line, the poet unfolds to us the object for which the
youths ascended the hill, It was

" To fetch a pail of water."

The author abstains from telling us whether the boys had gone up
the hill of their own accord on this errand, or whether they had
been sent by their parents. We are left to our own conclusions on
the subject. In either case, we feel most deeply interested in the
boys, and admire their conduct. If they went of their own free will,
it shows how anxious they were to anticipate the wants and wishes
of their parents by bringing them a pail of water before it was
required. If, on the other hand, they went up the hill in obedience
to the expressed wishes of their parents, the circumstance shows the
warmth of their filial regard, and a sense of duty to their parents,
which in these days of juvenile degeneracy cannot be too warmly
commended. Though I fondly hope that so melancholy a result
will not ensue from obedience to parents in other cases, as in the
case of poor Jack and Gill, I would anxiously press on my youthful
readers, the propriety of imitating the example thus sot them by

NURSERY POETRY. 285

these excellent youths. Parental obedience is one of the cardinal
virtues of" little boys and girls."

The plot now thickens, arid the denouement is at hand.

" Jack fell down and broke his crown."

Poor dear boy ! The poet makes no appeal to the feelings of his
readers : he does not attempt to awaken their sympathies at the fate
of unfortunate Jack : he contents himself with a simple statement
of the calamity which befel him. All this is perfectly right on his
part. His silence is far more expressive than would have been any
thing he could have said. He gives full play to the reader's imagi-
nation, and he must be equally destitute both of imagination and
feeling who can think of the fate of poor Jack without shedding a
tear over it. " Broke his crown !" It is fortunate it was not his
neck. His crown possibly might have been mended again, though
I fear it never was. But, alas ! no surgery is equal to the task of
repairing the injury which a broken neck entails. It is death at
once — death as certainly as when the neck is stretched by the
" finisher of the law."

But what of Jack's companion ? The reader shall hear : —

" And Gill came tumbling after."

Moralists say, that calamities do not come singly. How strikingly
is the aphorism illustrated in the case of these interesting boys !
Their days are prematurely ended — that is to say, if the accident
proved fatal — at the same time and in the same way. They were,
as far as we can judge, strongly attached to each other in life : how
truly may it be said of them that in death they were not divided ?
How they had lost their equilibrium,, and consequently fallen down
the hill, is a matter on which the poet is rnute. Another proof of
his skill; for the mind is so absorbed in sorrow at the fate of the
boys, as to be incapable of bestowing a single thought on the cause
of the fatal accident.* He also, with equal propriety, abstains from
saying a word about the pail and the water : a poet of inferior judg-
ment would have said something about the pail ; would have told us
whether it also fell down the hill, or remained at the top, as if the
reader were capable of withdrawing his sympathies for one moment
from Jack and Gill, and transferring them to the utensil which they
had in their hands when the fatal occurrence took place.

The author does not say as much, but I do not think any of my
readers will differ in opinion from me when I mention that I pre-
sume the boys were brothers. In that case, the circumstances con-
nected with their untimely death could only be second in their af-
fecting interest to those under which the "Babes in the Wood"
perished. I will not refer to what must have been the feelings of

* It is right to mention that I put the fatality of the accident hypothetically.
The poet is silent as to that point. Perhaps after all the little darlings re*
covered from the effects of their fall, though I have assumed they did not,

M. M.— No. 9. 2O

286 NURSERY POETRY.

their parents. If their grief could have been assuaged, it must have
been by the deep and general sympathy which all the country side
could not fail to have manifested at the melancholy catastrophe.

The reader must have been struck with the absence of all meretri-
cious ornament in the poem to which I have called their attention. Any
other poet would, if the fact had not been really so, have represented
the occurrence as having taken place in a fine summer's morning or
evening, in order that he might have an opportunity of introducing
the usual common-places about "the melody of feathered choristers,"
"gentle zephyrs," the golden radiance of the sun," &c. : supposing
that to interlard the incidents of the story with such glittering non-
sense as this would give it an additional effect. Our poet knew
better. He knew that what Thomson says in his "Seasons" of
female beauty holds equally true of poetry, namely, that

- " It is,
When unadorned, adorned the most.''

Brevity is said to be the soul of wit ; it is the soul of poetry also.
The poet ought, above all things, to avoid what is called " spinning
out." It is the besetting sin of poets, the grand rock on which so
many thousands of them make shipwreck of their reputation. The
poem of " Jack and Gill" we commend in this respect to their spe-
cial attention. It constitutes an example which they ought to
follow. It contains as much in its four lines as is to be met with in
many a goodly-sized octavo. It has in it, as I have said and shown,
all the elements of a grand heroic poem. In other words, it is a
grand heroic poem.

Who the author is, is not known. This is the greater pity, as he
is by that means deprived of the distinguished fame which his poem
must have ensured him. It is certain of immortality : so would the
author, had he been known. However, regrets on this head are
unavailing now.

Dr. Johnson used to say that he would much rather have been
the author of the well-known ballad of "Chevy Chase" than of all
his own works put together. I am not as yet so voluminous a
writer as Dr. Johnson, nor am I sure that I stand quite so high in
the literary world ; but I certainly must say, that I would infinitely
rather be the author of the poem of " Jack and Gill," than of all
the works which have proceeded from my pen. Of this I am quite
certain, that nothing of mine will ever attain so extensive or lasting
a popularity.

I trust I have said sufficient to raise the poem of " Jack and Gill"
to its proper rank in the world of poetry. There are other Nursery
Poems, for which I must do a similar service ; but time and space
admonish me to desist for the present.

J. G.

( 287 )

TO THE POLES.

Arise to the strife of the sword !

Advance like the wave of the flood !
Nor e'er be one brand to its scabbard restored,

Till the Tyrants have bathed it in blood !

Your chains have been galling and keen :

Ye have slept the dull sleep of despair :
Yet awake for the glories of days that have been ;

For a spell that may rouse you is there.

Long seasons of sorrow and shame
Have rolled o'er the land of your birth ;

Though once without peer on the proud scroll of Fame,
'Tis the taunt and the by- word of Earth !
The wrongs which your Fathers have borne,
The wrongs which your children must bear :

Oh ! your souls are subdued by the bonds ye have worn,
Or a spell that must rouse you is there.

The " Lion " is tame and debased

While chained in the dwellings of men,
Yet send the wood king to his own native waste,

And his fury will waken again :

And thus, though degraded are ye,

The sway of your Tyrants but spurn,
And the faith and the courage that dwell with the free,

To you shall with Freedom return.

Then awake to the strife of the sword !

Advance like the wave of the flood !
Nor e'er be one brand to its scabbard restored

Till the Tyrants have bathed it in blood.

Oh think on the days that have been,

Till they rouse you to do and to dare :
Oh think on your bondage, so heavy and keen —

A spell that MUST wake you is there.

( 288 )

ELOQUENCE OF THE EYES.

NOTHING is more common than to speak of reading a man's eyes
("or woman's either"): they are the mirror of the soul; for the
most secret operations of the finest part of man are depicted upon
these external organs, which transmit them to us under their differ-
ent colours. The moralist, as M. Petit Radel remarks, whose at-
tention is confined to the simple phenomena which observation
offers to him, in the greater part of the cases within his province,
admires the power of me creative genius which formed so intimate
a correspondence between the seat of sentiment and this external
faculty by which it is manifested. Satisfied with the appearances
which he discovers, he renders them subservient to his views, and
then, borrowing his materials from the history of the human heart,
he forms a doctrine, which cannot but be advantageous to morality.
The investigator of the phenomena of animated nature goes much
further; entirely occupied in tracing the causes which animate
organs so eloquent, he developes, with the aid of his scalpel, those
nervous filaments, of which the last ramifications disappear in their
intimate structure, and, by a retrograde operation, he pursues them
to the centre of that pulpy substance which is enclosed by the cra-
nium, where anatomists have examined them from age to age, with
a view to demonstrate their peculiar organization. He sees a com-
merce, more or less active, established between the organs which
perceive objects from without, and those which modify perception
within ; but still the cause of the secondary emotion experienced
from them by the heart, which by a sort of reaction manifests the
part taken by it in these wonderful operations, remains concealed.

Without enquiring after the hidden springs, of which the action
produces these singular effects, the votaries of the muses are not the
less induced by them, to express them in the different pictures in
which they represent man agitated by certain passions proper to
give energy to their pencils. Ancient and modern poesy has em-
ployed the most brilliant epithets to characterise that tranquil state
of mind, which is remarked in a good man on interrogating his
eyes ; and, when in the midst of the storms of life fate weighs heavily
upon him, do not his eyes, enlightened by hope, which still shines
through the gloom, exhibit a wise resignation to misfortunes which
he cannot avoid ? Pride, anger, envy, and fear, have chosen these
organs to furnish the indices by which they may be known. What
would have been the force of the " Quos ego," in the jEneid, if the
eyes of the angry god who pronounces them had not a part in the
passion which moved him? Homer, notwithstanding his divine elo-

ELOQUENCE OF THE EYES. 289

quertce is less expressive, when, in the Odyssey, he speaks of the
furious Antinoiis in language like this :—

" Toiaiv 5' 'Avrivoog fitrtyt Ev7T£t0£0£ uio£
' A%vvfji.tvoQ' MeVeog Se fjieya 0p6i>

, ooai oe 6t Trvpi Xa/iTrerowvn

Ovid, ever the faithful painter of the human passions, could not
better characterize the effects of wrath than in that passage of his
first book, de Arnoribus : —

" — Oculis quoque pupula duplex
Fulminat, et geminum lumen, ab orbe redit."

Phineas Fletcher, in his Purple Island, has an elaborate descrip-
tion of the eyes, and their power of expression, part of which may
be transcribed : —

" First stands an arch, pale Cynthia's brightness shaming,
The city's fore-front, cast in silver bright :

At whose proud base are built two watching tow'rs,
Whence hate and love skirmish with equal pow'rs,
Where smiling gladness shines, and sudden sorrow show'rs.

•' Here sits retir'd the silent reverence;

And when the prince, incens'd with anger's fire,
Thunders aloud, he darts his lightning hence ;
Here dusky reddish clouds fortel his ire ;
Of nothing can this isle more boast aright
A twin-born sun, a double-seeing light ;
With much delight they see, are seen with much delight."

The passion of love, which a beneficent Creator has enclosed in
the depths of the heart to excite whatever enjoys life to reproduce
itself, at the epoch when it arrives at perfection, is manifested still
more evidently by the language of the eyes, than by that which the
organs of speech articulate. When Antiochus, consumed by the
fire which the beauty of Stratonice had kindled in him, was about
to descend into the night of the tomb, the physician, Erasistratus,
determined the nature of his malady by the motion of his pulse, but
unquestionably was first directed to the source of the disorder by
the eyes of his patient. The epithets, oculi pleni, putres, adulterii,
oculi columbarum, and others similar, are utterly insignificant, if
they do not refer to the passion of love : —

" Omnes in Damallim putres

Deponent oculos." Hon. CARM. I. 36.

Anacreon, in commending the portrait of his mistress, does not
forget this interesting feature. As to her eyes, he says they are full

290 ELOQUENCE OF THE EYES.

of fire, brilliant as the eyes of Minerva, and humid as those of
Venus : —

" To de /S\€/i/ta vvv a
Airb TOV nvpbg
A/id yXafcov aig '
A/id 8' vypov w£ Ku0?/p»;g."

The ancients, it may be remarked, greatly admired this serious
expression of the countenance, tempered with sweetness.

Tasso, who has made so fine a use of many of Virgil's beauties,
in representing Rinaldo at the feet of the beautiful Armida, says —

" Ei famelei sguardi avidamente

In lei pascendo si consume e strugge."

Burger, delightfully personifying the youthful spring, just
awakened amid joyful melodies, a picture which Milton himself
might not have disdained, marks his glowing countenance, and par-
ticularly his laughing eye : —

" Unter frohen Melodieen
1st der junge Lenz erwacht.
Seht, wie Stirn und Wang ihm gliihen,
Wie sein heller Auge lacht !

The same poet, whose " vulgarity" has received the censure of
an Edinburgh reviewer, who probably read him with the assistance
of a dictionary, thus sweetly sings of eyes illuminated by the ten-
derest affections : —

" Blandine sah her, Lenardo sah bin,

Mis Augen, erleuchtet vom zartlichsten Sinn."

Perhaps the most poeticel language, applied to the intellectual
expression of the eyes, is to be found in Mr. Cornish's British Me-
lodies : —

" Her eyes, like wells of intellect,

A deep clear heaven of light reflect."

This elegant writer, if he be, as some suspect, the author of the
Songs of the Loire, has several beautiful passages, in which this
faculty of the visual organs is noticed. In the " Minstrel Bard,"
for instance : —

" Look into his eyes, ye daughters of beauty !
And trace the rays of his bounding soul."

And in the ode to lanthe : —

" Still let thine eye, like the gazelle's,
Impart what love there be."

As to the colour of the eyes, their expression certainly does not

ELOQUENCE OF THE EYES. 291

depend upon it ; but poets, when they describe it, generally make
them black or blue ; thus Horace : —

" Spectandum nigris oculis, nigroque capillo."

" Canebat

Et Lycum, nigris oculis, nigroque
Crine decorum."

In one instance we read in the British Melodies of a blue eye : —

" My Morna's eye, my.Morna's eye,

What flow'r on earth can match its dye ?

Nor hyacinths nor violets vie

With the tender hue of Morna's eye."

In the passage from Anacreon the colour is of secondary or rather
of no importance, for it is not mentioned ; it is the expression of the
eye alone which he requires. Mr. Cornish, in another poem, leaves
colour to the imagination.

" Thine eyes are gems so richly set

In beauty's canopy of love,
That gazing on thee, I forget."

And M. de la Bouisse, in a less beautiful manner, praises his
mistress's eyes without particularising their colour : —

" Eleonore, en fixant tes beaux yeux,
De tons me sens la volupte s'empare ;
Pour moi la terre est preferable aux cieux."

Moliere's Bourgeois has said much on the fascinating influence
of fine eyes, as de la Bouisse, or indeed any poet, and in fewer
words : " Belle Marquise, vos beaux yeux me font mourir d'amour."
A celebrated toast of the last century declared that the finest compli-
ment she ever received was from a coal-heaver, who requested to
light his pipe at her eyes.

M. Petit Radel observes, that the various phenomena exhibited in
the eyes, which passion animates, derive a greater intensity of life
from their nervous tissue, and from the muscles which serve to
move them. These muscles have a much greater quantity of
nervous ramification in proportion to their volume than any other
muscular part. Here the sensitive and locomotive energy act in
concert to modify the operations of life, to elevate or depress its
tone, in a manner to respond to the first impressions of sentiment,
and to exhibit the soul entirely naked through the transparency of
the eyes. The greater number of observers have remarked that
these organs take their part also in the ordinary expression of
language.

Their power of expression is undoubtedly proportionate to their
fulness : flat eyes, whether originally so formed, or the consequence
of age or disease, are almost entirely devoid of this intelligence,
which all admire. Emptiness and flippancy are intended to be

292 ELOQUENCE OF THE EYES.

denoted by the flat eyes of Pope's phantom poet, the prize for which
the rival publishers in the Dunciad are to contend. The goddess,
he says,

" — form'd this image of well-body'd air ;

With pert flat eyes, she window'd well its head;
A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead ;
And empty words she gave, and sounding strain,
But senseless, lifeless ! idol void and vain !"

The general appearance of such eyes would almost justify the ap-
plication of Macbeth's address to the ghost : —

" Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with."

The most intelligent eyes are ever the brightest, but they do not
burn with the glowing splendour of the sun ; they are of a mild ra-
diance which suggests the gentle stars as their aptest subjects of
comparison : —

" Occhi, stelle mortale,"

says an old Italian poet, whose name I do not remember : —
" And eyes of starry light,"

sings the swan of the Loire.

Having said so much, in the course of this brief paper, on the
eyes of our terrene angels, perhaps something might be expected
on the eyes of angels of another description. But here a difficulty
occurs at the threshold. The two great authorities, Burger, and
Byron, are at variance. The latter says of his Satan, that

" Where'er he gazed a deeper gloom prevailed ;''
which, in some measure, agrees with Milton's " Round he threw
his baleful eyes." The terrific horseman, who rode on the left
hand of Burger's Wild Huntsman, is represented mounted upon a
fire-coloured steed, and darting flashes of fire from his eyes like
lightning in a tempest : —

" Gross, dunkelgelb der linke Ritter

Schoss Blitz vorn Aug', wie Ungewitter."

This seems to be the notion of the representative of Samuel in
Der Freischutz, who manufactures a pair of most effective Satanic
eyes out of tin-foil, to the great terror of the younger part of the
audience.

Fiery eyes certainly express the fiercer passions, such as the above
respectable personages may be supposed to possess. Where they
are not natural, they Derive this peculiar appearance from those
passions. Cicero, says our great dramatist,

" Looks with such ferret, and such fiery eyes,
As we have seen him in the capitol,
Being crossed in conference by some senators.

THE TWO MULES*. 293

This consideration, however, belongs to the physiognomist; it is
sufficient here to have noticed the general use which poets have
made of the intelligent language of the eyes ; " the speaking eyes,"
as Miss Sheridan terms them —

** I do not love thee ! yet thy speaking eyes,

With their deep bright and most expressive blue,
Between me and the midnight heaven arise,
Oftener than any eyes I ever knew."

But on this subject a French poet of the eighteenth century puts a
most significant question, to which we pause for a reply.

" Le larigage des yeux est d'un charmant usage ;
A deux coeurs bien unis il offre mille appas ;
Mais a quoi sert ce langage,
Si Pun des deux ne 1'entend pas?"

THE TWO MULES,
Translated from the French of La Fontaine

Two mules were travelling one road,
The one was humbly charg'd with corn,
The treasury- cash the other's load,
A load with pride and pleasure borne :
He rang his bell, and marchM with grace,
Proud of his master and his place.
When, lo, the enemy appears !

A money- searching gang :
The treasure-bearing mule in tears,
They seiz'd, and straight began to bang :
Vain the resistance that he tried,
All over stabs, he groan'd and sigh'd :
" Is this the promise, then, of scenes so gay,
While fearless that poor mule holds on his way,

To fall and here neglected die ?"
" Neighbour," his comrade did reply,
" High places are not always good, you see :
Had you been but a miller's mule like me,
You had been safe as well as I.

M.M.— No. 9. 2P

( 294 )

NEW PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY.

Age (Ladies) — An unknown quantity.

Ambassador — A spy, whose person is sacred and inviolable.

Bulletin — An official lie.

Congress — A political raree-show, in which kings are the jugglers,

the people the dupes.

Court — A theatre on which the great exhibit their littleness.
Cannon — Royal logic.

Conquest — The exploit of a regal plunderer.
Crown — A cap which sits loosely on a tyrant's head.
Conscience — An inaudible voice, which the deafest can hear.
Ciphers— Figures which represent the classes of a nation — the King,
by himself, is the nought 0 — it is only by being joined to
the people he acquires value.
Dinner — A political test of capacity.
Dress — A good or bad recommendation.
Duty — What one is paid for neglecting.
Dowry — A plaster for the bodily and mental imperfections of

women.

Epaulette— A. warrant for impertinence.
Equality — The political state of the law.
Epitaph — The last tribute to vanity.
Fashion — The only inviolable law.
Honour — The pretext for killing a friend, or being killed by an

enemy.

Honesty — An obsolete term.
History — An ancient fable.
Intolerance — Pandora's box.
Impartiality — A Utopian virtue.
Leisure — A convenient plea for idleness.
Library — The poor man's company.
Love — An affair of pounds, shillings, and pence.
Logic — The art of confounding.

Modesty — An ornament whose value falls as the owner rises.
Merit — A disqualification for business.
Meretricious — Fashionable.
Memoirs (contemporary) — The confessions of sinners who are past

their wickedness.
Member (of Parliament) — An agent appointed to watch the interests

of others, but who only looks to his own.
Matron — An old ewe dressed lamb fashion.
Mirror — The only friend that speaks truth.

Moustaches — A row of hairs under the nose to terrify naughty
children.

TEMPER.

295

Novel — Stale scraps hashed and peppered.

Nonsense — What you cannot refute, or answer.

Night — Day by candle-light.

Old — A term applied when a girl is married before her rivals.

Oddity — An honest man.

Page — A courtier in his apprenticeship.

Parrot — Favourite society of an ignorant woman.

Portrait — A mirror whose excellence consists in flattering.

Policy — An infernal conspiracy for overturning the world.

Preface — A modest defence of stupidity.

Reason — A child which grows older without growing larger.

Soldier— An animal which spends one half of his life in the theory,

arid the other half in the practice of evil.
Sword — The argument of heroes.
Stomach — The brain of a blockhead.
Te Deum — An affront offered to a Father for the murder of his

children.

Vote —An act of the conscience set up to auction.
World —One's own acquaintance.
War— A game at which governments play for the blood of the

subjects.

TEMPER.

(From the Oriental.)

YES, Adah, I swore by the fire of thine eyes,
I ne'er could a sweetness unvaried endure :

The bubbles of spirit, that sparkling arise,
Forbid life to stagnate, and render it pure.

But yet, my sweet love, though thy spirit's my pride,
I'd wish for some sweetness to temper the bowl :

If life be ne'er suffered to rest or subside,

It may not be fleet — but I fear 'twill be foul.

( 296 )

Scraps from the unpublished Manuscripts of a Traveller, in France,
Germany » Hungary, and Italy.

NORMANDY.— ROUEN.— EVRKUX,

THE next day we visited the Musee or Picture Gallery, which contains a
few of the works of Italian and Flemish masters, and many of the modern
French school, worthy of attention. The object which engaged the greatest
share of my notice was the keeper of the gallery, a thin spare man of advanced
age, trembling in every joint; his hair, white as snow, tied behind in a long
small queue, bespeaking, together with his habiliments a ci-devant militaire.
On my enquiring if his trembling proceeded from cold, or from a paralytic
affection, a smile for a moment lighted up his venerable features, and he
replied, in a mild, subdued tone: " Non, Monsieur; I caught this disorder
under the axe of the guillotine ; and, as I perceive your curiosity is excited, if
you will do me the honour to take a chair, pendant que je vous conte V affaire,
I shall be most ..appy to gratify it. Handing chairs to myself and friends,
and taking a seat respectfully in front of us, he related the following extraor-
dinary story :•—

" I was a yards de corps in the service of that excellent sovereign and
martyr, Louis XVI. ; and I had the honour of being continually near his
person until the fatal 10th of August, when, by almost a miracle, I escaped
the massacre of his faithful adherents at the Tuileries, and lived concealed
with a friend at Paris till I heard of the determination of the Convention to
bring my revered master to trial. Determined to risk my own life in an
attempt to save his, I disguised myself one evening and joined a party of
royalists who had formed a plan to carry off the king from the temple,
and I was appointed by them to convey to him a large sum of money to bribe
his keepers to favour his escape. Our attempt would, probably, have been
attended with success, had not the imprudence of some over-zealous friends
defeated it. Suffice it to say, that the Commissaire, whom we thought
we had succeeded in corrupting, betrayed us on the very day the
guard of the prisoner was confided to him; and the tocsin announced
throughout Paris that Louis was about to escape, The police were on the
alert to arrest the conspirators, and I with difficulty made my escape to a
country-house about twenty leagues from the capital, where I remained in
constant terror of apprehension, till the death of my sovereign and his queen
had placed the factions which governed France at variance with each other,
and furnished daily fresh victims to the now permanent guillotine. Tired of
my uneasy position in the country, I determined on returning at all risks to
Paris; and, disguised as a porter, I lived there undiscovered till a few days
previous to the overthrow of Robespierre. I was then arrested, and conveyed

e. 297

to the Luxembourg, tried, and condemned to suffer in the morning of the
very day on which Tallier succeeded in overthrowing the usurper : but this
circumstance would not have saved my life, had not one of those mercies of
the Almighty which I have often experienced protracted my existence. Already
had ten or twelve of the unhappy victims, who were led out with me, passed
under the fatal axe, and I put in their place, with the blood of the sufferers
streaming on the scaffold before my eyes, when, as 1 lay expecting every
instant the fatal blow, I heard the executioners exclaim, with terrible oaths,
that the instrument of death was arrested in its descent by some derangement
of the slides. They were busily employed in setting it to rights when the
shouts of the populace announced from the gardens of the Tuileries the change
of affairs which had been for some time expected. The commandant of the
military force attending the execution immediately suspended the work of
death, and I was raised up, with the board still strapped to my body. A few
minutes explained the cause of my deliverance. The power of Robespierre
was no more. He perished shortly after by the axe which had so providen-
tially spared me and the rest of its intended victims under the horrible reign
of the blood-thirsty monster."

After some further particulars of his adventures until the time of Napoleon,
the veteran concluded by asking pardon for having detained us so long.
Tears started from his eyes, and his face was suffused with emotion as I
explained to my friends in English the subject of the old gentleman's dis-
course, which neither they nor myself will ever forget.

Evreux. Near this town, at the distance of about two miles, is the cM-
teau de Navarre, built by the Bouillen family, and celebrated in after times
as the scene of the revelries and amorous excesses of one of those monarchs
of France whose follies served to overthrow the Bourbon race and royalty
itself — Louis XV. At a later period, it became the favourite residence of
the empress Josephine, the first wife of Napoleon. A delightful walk of
half an hour brought us to the park-gate of the palace, where we were readily
admitted by the porter residing in a neat lodge, the only part of the property
now inhabited. Time, which spares neither palaces nor cottages, had been
very busy with this seat of royalty ; and even the flight of steps leading to
the grand entrance shook as we trod on them. The knock which we gave
at the principal door resounded through the building, and brought forth an
old man, dressed in a working jacket, and who, it appeared, had been em-
ployed in sweeping the cobwebs from the princely furniture which it still
contains. On expressing our wish to see the interior of the palace, he bowed
politely, begged us to permit him to change his dress, and soon after appeared
in an old weather-beaten livery coat, an immense cocked hat, the universal
emblem of office in France, whether in the civil or military departments.
Taking off with much parade this important covering of the human form
divine, he bowed and said, ' Me voila, Messieurs, a votre service/ and
trudged on before into the grand hall surrounded by a lofty dome, on which
were some well- executed paintings in fresco. The hall was adorned with
exquisitely finished marble busts of the Roman emperors, by an Italian artist

'298 SCRAPS, &c.

of celebrity. We were then led through the state rooms to the left of the
hall, which were for the most part lined with immense pier-glasses, and then
proceeded to the private apartments to the right of the hall, formerly occupied
by Josephine. These, although generally on a grand scale, and superbly
arranged, possessed all the convenience and snugness in some parts which
distinguish first-rate English dwellings. All these were on the ground-floor,
raised many feet above the level of the gardens. The bed-rooms and sitting-
rooms for the officers and servants were, as at Blenheim and in other princely
buildings in England, on the upper floor.

The old conciergo, who accompanied us with all the garrulity of his time
of life, and all the enthusiasm of devotion to his former mistress, gave us
many little anecdotes of her amiable manners and benevolence. " Ah !
Messieurs," said he, "nous ne verrons jamais une femme comme elle,"
She possessed every virtue and won all hearts. When she left us the last
time, we had a presentiment that we should never behold her again. There
was not a dry eye in the chateau. I, who had enjoyed for many years par-
ticular marks of her kindness, felt that I was about to lose my only support
on earth. With her I lost every hope. I am continued here by the Beau-
harnois family to take care of the premises ; but I now walk about these de-
solate rooms, oppressed by the recollections of those days when the presence
of our mistress threw a charm on all around, and the voice of love and grati-
tude to our benefactress resounded in and around, in every direction, this
once splendid domain.

Thus conversing, we were conducted to a wing or pavilion of the building,
which is called the petit palais, separated from the main building by a space
of about fifty yards. It was here that Louis XV. retired with his favourite
mistresses, of whom we" saw many fine likenesses painted in the panels of a
long suite of rooms by Italian masters of the greatest eminence. On entering
the first apartments, we observed on a small marble table a little white dog,
so excellently preserved, that at first we thought it living. " This," said our
guide, " was the favourite of our late empress, who, at its death, gave parti-
cular orders for its preservation. It performed all manner of tricks, and ex-
cited the admiration of every one."

The old man would willingly have entertained us many hours by his va-
rious details : but evening approached, and we were obliged to make our way
back to Evreux to dinner, for which a long walk had given us an appetite.
He hoped we should call again and see the gardens, which, although going
to ruin, are still very beautiful. He accepted a small present with much
thankfulness, and we quitted the fallen splendours of the place with many
sage reflections on the instability of human affairs, and on the singular fate
of the exalted woman who had shared for a while a throne which her talents
had helped to raise and adorn.

We returned to Evreux by the forest road, and saw the extensive fish-
ponds which once teemed with carp, now choked with mud and weeds.
The woodman's stroke re-echoed through the woods, and struck upon our
ears as the knell of the departed splendour of the scene.

( 299 )

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

The Works of William C^wper. Edited by the Rev. T. GRIM-
SHAWE, A. M. ; with an Essay on the Genius and Poetry of
Cowper, by the Rev. J. W. CUNNINGHAM, A.M. Vols. I. to VII.
Saunders and Otley.

THE name of Cowper is every where a household word. Supposing he had
never written any thing else than his " John Gilpin," that singularly happy
and humorous effusion must have conferred immortality upon him. But he
has extensively traversed the illimitable regions of poetry. His muse has
touched on a vast variety of topics, and on each and all of them he has
written well. He is a poet of the good old English school, — not diluting and
disfiguring his native language by the infusion of a mass of verbiage, which
is the besetting sin of the great majority of our poets of the present day, but
expressing his ideas in the terse and nervous, though not quaint or anti-
quated style, of the English poets of the Elizabethan age. Cowper is always
clear : there is no mistaking what he says. He is never common-place ; not
even when compelled to touch on the most common-place topics. It is
impossible to read any dozen lines he ever wrote without being struck with
some original and felicitous idea. Every page sparkles with brilliant con-
ceptions. So rapidly do they follow each other that the reader has not time
sufficiently to admire one, when another equally happy and striking forces
itself on his attention, and equally challenges his admiration. One very
marked feature in the poetry of Cowper is the impression it leaves on the
mind. We read Milton, Pope, Thomson, and others, and as we read we
admire their lofty or beautiful conceptions, and their well-chosen phraseology ;
but when we have shut the book we remember not a word of what we Were
reading about. Not so with the poetry of Cowper. It leaves a deep and
lasting impression on the mind. We feel, as it were, a personal interest in
the topics on which he touches ; and we feel, moreover, that those topics have
been presented to us in the strongest possible light. Cowper may be said, in
a pre-eminent sense, to be the poet of humanity, virtue, and religion. In the
wide range of English poetry, we know of no author of whom it could be
said with so much truth, that he never wrote " a line which, dying, he could
wish to blot." All this tends to give an interest to the poetical writings of
Cowper, and to invest them with a charm in a great measure peculiar to
themselves.

Of his prose works, consisting almost exclusively of letters, we need say
nothing. They can never cease to be admired, while purity and elegance of
composition are held in estimation. His letters are, perhaps, the most perfect
models of epistolary writing in the English or any other language.

It was often a matter of surprise that the works of Cowper, when so
popular among all classes, were never brought out in the same cheap and
elegant form as those of Scott, Byron, &c. Happily, the idea at length
occurred to Messrs. Saunders and Otley ; and the way in which they have
carried it into effect leaves us no room to regret that the task was not under-
taken sooner. This edition is got up in the first style of excellence. We
have not seen a more perfect specimen of tasteful and accurate typography.
The illustrations are also good ; while the two hundred letters furnished by

300 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

Mr. Johnston, Cowper's relative, and which never appeared in any previous
edition of the poet's works, render the whole as complete as could be wished.
We observe that Messrs. Baldwin and Cradock have also announced a new
edition of Cowper's works, similar to the present. Surely the public will not
be gulled by it ; for it is only an experiment on their gullibility. This edition
completely supersedes any other of Cowper for a long period of years to come ;
and we are sure the public will not be imposed on by the'flourish of trumpets,
in the shape of high-sounding advertisements, with which the forthcoming
edition is announced.

A Treatise on Pulmonary Consumption, comprehending an enquiry
into the Causes, Nature, Prevention, and Treatment of Tuber-
culous and Scrofulous Diseases in general. By JAMES CLARK,
M.D. ; F.R.S. Sherwood and Co.

AMONG all the diseases " which flesh is heir to," there is none that pre-
vails to a greater extent, or that is more fatal in its consequences, than that
of consumption. The ravages which it commits on the human frame, espe-
cially in the more temperate parts of Europe and America, are absolutely
frightful. Sometimes it singles out one or two from a family as its victims ;
at other times sweeps off whole families one after another in rapid succession.
It is pre-eminently one of that class of diseases, unless taken in its earliest
stages, which baffles all medical skill. In its advanced stages it smiles at
every prescription and every mode of treatment in the wide range of the
materiel medica. Every judicious and intelligent physician, therefore, instead
of amusing himself and others with the hopeless task of eradicating a disease
which invariable experience — we mean when it has become confirmed — has
found to be incurable, will apply himself to the consideration of the best
means of discovering consumption in its earliest manifestations, and endea-
vouring to prevent its becoming a confirmed malady. In no case does the
maxim, " prevention is better than cure," hold so good as in the instance of
consumption : and hence Dr. Clark, in the volume before us, principally ap-
plies himself to the detection of the earliest symptoms of the disease, and to
the means which ought to be adopted with a view to the prevention of the
malady. These topics he has treated at great length, and with singular
ability. And what greatly enhances the value of his observations on these
heads is the pleasing and popular manner in which he writes. Dr. Clark
does not, as is too commonly the case with writers on medical subjects,
address himself to the faculty. His design evidently is that mankind ge-
nerally should both understand and benefit by what he says ; and certainly
no intention was ever more fully realised. Dr. Clark writes in a strain which
must please the most fastidious and most scientific, and yet with so much
plainness and perspicuity that every intelligent reader must understand him.
This feature in Dr. Clark's work adds infinitely to its intrinsic merits. Of
the strictly medical excellences of the work, Dr. Clark's distinguished repu-
tation renders it unnecessary that we should speak. It is undoubtedly the
ablest and best written work on the subject of consumption which has ever
appeared : and it is one which ought not only to be in the hands of every
medical man, but which ought to find a place in every family in Great
Britain. We anticipate the happiest results from its publication.

The Prime Minister; a Poem, Political and Historical. By a Peer,
pp. 1 51 , bds. Churton, 1 835.

THIS peerless volume will, no doubt, be puffed and advertised from Fal-
mouth to Inverness, but to no purpose. It pretends to a vast deal of lordly

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 301

stuff and nonsense. In fact, the quotation (from Dryden) set down on the
title-page will convey to the understanding of the luckless reader of such
balderdash the true state of the redoubtable author's political and historical
condition ; — doubtless, " my lord " intended these lines to apply to Sir Robert
Peel, whom "my lord" has in vain attempted to eulogise ; but, if we are
well informed, they more immediately apply to "my lord" himself.

" So much thy foes thy manly mind mistook,
Who judged it by the mildness of thy look ;
Like a well-tempered sword it bent at will,
But kept the native toughness of the steel."

" My lord " has condescended to dedicate this trifling offal of his disguised
muse to the god of his Utopian idolatry, and in so doing this his lordship has
set down in pretty large characters — " LATE PRIME MINISTER OF ENGLAND : "
as if England or any one of her little unknown scribblers could, by possibility,
forget that the Tamworth manifesto-monger had been, and by the king too,
placed at the head of affairs in this great and rising nation. The object of
this little book, which, like Southey's, has been cast upon the waters, is
too impertinent to escape the condemnation it so richly merits at page
137. My lord has sensibly enough given us the cue; with that singular
fatality which accompanies all the " acts " of lordling treatment, and lets in
upon us the light of effrontery, while at the same time he draws the curtain
aside and developes all the little common sage gabble his lordship is master
of. "My lord" says, very unfortunately for the reputation both of his
muse and idol god, Sir Robert Tamworth.

" These small manoeuvres will no longer do,
Two separate trials preceded failures two ;
The last weak kick of conscience must be quell'd,
Matters are desperate — Peel must be expell'd."

So much for our Poetaster, Peer, and his Prime Minister. We really think
Mr. Churton, who is a most respectable publisher, must sustain some injury —
in respect of his reputation we mean— by the publication of such irrational
farrago.

We take leave, in conclusion, to intimate to " My lord," the poetaster in-
cognita— and by no means in a bad spirit — that in our opinion wit and
wisdom differ : 'wit is upon the sudden turn ; wisdom is in bringing about
ends. Nature must be the groundwork of wit and art : otherwise whatever
is done will prove but Jack-pudding's work.

Songs of the Prophecies. By M. S. MILTON.

THE name of Milton will, at one and the same time, duly impress the
reader with a " poetic reverence," such as belongs to no other save that of
Shakspeare himself. This may not prove favourable to the pretensions, and
already well-earned reputation, of the author of the OCEAN QUEEN, a poem
of acknowledged merit, the authorship of which has very justly been attri-
buted to the M. S. Milton, whose songs of the prophecies we are about to
notice.

It has been the almost monthly cant of the last half dozen years, if not
the insufferable daily matter of your table and coffee-house talkers, to de-
nounce the present as an age devoid of " high poetical talents :" — that, " like
the age of chivalry, the age of poesy had passed away," and we of the present
day had nothing to expect but one doleful continuance of monotonous every -

M.M.— No. 9. 2 Q

302 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

day literature, and so on. We scarcely need say how widely we have dif-
fered from our contemporaries in this matter.

It has been too much the " fashion" of late, firstly, to impugn a young
author for even attempting to produce a respectable volume of poetry ; and,
secondly, to " smash his work" in the most un praiseworthy and ungenerous
manner. It has been affirmed, that in every instance where a young author
has presumed to publish — apart, as it were, from the corporation of book-
sellers— and with a view to economy on the one hand, and a hope of gaining
some remuneration for his well-meant labours on the other, that the " smash-
ing machinery" of Paternoster Row has been uniformly set at work in the
most dishonourable way — the flood-gates of the "under current" have been
opened up, and a torrent of abuse poured upon the author, calculated not
merely to injure him in the estimation of the community at large, but evi-
dently intended by these panderers— whose names, for the present, shall be
nameless?-— to act as a death-blow upon the victim of a body, whose aim
(semper paratus), like that of the old Buccaneers of America, can only be
inferred by their doings, namely, to burn, sink, and destroy whatsoever they
cannot profit by, and ultimately pilfer.

We have been led to these remarks by not only passing events, the results
of which are now before our eyes, but by other, and, if possible, more
tangible evidences of bookselling Christianity ! We have heard, moreover, to
our utter astonishment, that the widow of the late Mr. Guy is at this mo-
ment existing precariously upon the earnings that are to be derived from a
small school ; instead of being in the quiet enjoyment of the results of her
husband's hardly-earned reputation, as a scholastic author of considerable
eminence — and so on. This is not all. Nor is the end yet. Ad referendum.

We hope these bookselling lords will take warning in good time. Suffi-
cient for the day is the evil thereof. Reform is much needed, and must
certainly be had. Paternoster Row, like the Augean stable, must be tho-
roughly swept out; — " Ave Maria! it is the hour of prayer," said Byron,
and so say we. Currente calamo. But to return to Mr. Milton, and " the
Songs of the Prophecies." It appears to us pretty evident that Mr. Milton
must have measured his poetical stature, and weighed his literary strength,
long before he brought forth the present refreshing — nay, inspiring volume.
It therefore seems to us wholly useless to dwell upon the parity of names, or
to conceive that discerning persons would permit that circumstance to operate
against the Milton of 1835, or the 19th century. It is quite clear, then, that
our author cannot suffer so very much as some persons would have us be-
lieve by the comparison. It is most true that the work we appreciate con-
sists of songs — but they are songs of so high an order, that we think many a
reckless and unblushing critic, in his condemned cell, will turn pale, when
he has brought himself to understand the language — which appears to us
the almost uncorrupted language of the human heart — with the terrors of
conviction, which these beautifully finished compositions convey to the hearing
ear. That we may not be suspected of any undue partiality to Mr. Milton,
nor indeed of being connected with any bookselling house, we purpose
quoting but little from the Songs of the Prophecies ; but we sincerely hope
that what quotations are made shall be deemed worthy of our unpretending
advocacy, not only of Mr. Milton, but of deserving young authors in general ;
for sure we are, were it not for the mal-practices of the hacks of the book
corruption ists, and their intolerant denunciations, as contained in some of
the hypocritical and brazenfaced criticisms of their fabrication, many a man
of sense and literary prowess would enter the lists — and shame add — win the
bays too.

The peculiar verse of which the author has made choice seems to us of all
others the most happy : it is evident likewise that Mr. Milton is no stranger to
its usefulness and superiority, as applied to his own poetic powers : from

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 303

the Cities of the Plain let us take the following — for feeling, pathos, beau-
tiful imagery, and emphatic expression : —

" The vales were silent — saving when the low
Of roaming herds along their sides would float ;
Or rose the whisper from the aspen bough,
Like music answering to the distant note
Of love, that murmur'd in the cushet's throat,
Amid the stirless groves of olive wood :
All nature seemed becalm'd — the mountain goat
Upon the topmost gilded fragment stood
In lazy stillness, nor cropped his scented food.

The bees no more were busy ; and the blue
And scarlet bells, and flowers of many dies,
That from the sward, in wild profusion, threw
Their perfumes forth, appeared the only eyes
Whose eloquence adorned the azure skies —
Gazing, like spirits, up to Nature's shrine !
There was abroad that calm which beautifies
The earthliest object, as the last sunshine
Seemed to foretel the step of presence more divine.

A holy slumber — a deep sense of awe
Was brooding every where — on tree and flower :
And every thing the dreamy spirit saw
Combined to link that still the solemn hour
With some approaching and unearthly power —
Some formless visitant, whose stealthy tread
Drew near the silence of the shadowy bower —
Whose mystic influence had already wed
The soul to thoughts beyond the regions of the dead.

So felt, or seemed to feel, that man who sate
Beneath the fig-tree's shadow, and gave o'er
His soul to wonder ; for the hand of fate
Had parted him from all he loved of yore ;
Stamping him with her mystic seal, far more
Than others ; and, a solitary man
Among the multitude, he watched the shore
Of sunset regions, while the big tears ran
From fountains woke to weeping, by the scenes they scan.

Why sorrowful, why weeping ? — far and wide
The lawns were busy with the stir of life :
Beneath the marble archway flowed a tide
Of restless beings, bent on boisterous strife
In joy's arena ; all the air was rife
With songs of revelry, and cheerful sound
Of merry-making, as the maid and wife
In the wild eastern dance would lightly bound,
With clear shrill laughter, to the music streaming round.

Yea, fancy might have dream 'd of lands on high,
Instead of earthly regions, as along
That plain all sights most lovely met the eye !
The sultry breeze was burened with the song.
Whose notes its wings delighted to prolong ;

304 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

The garden foliage droop'd its tapestry,
Like virgin locks unbraided, o'er the throng
Sheltered, beneath their waving canopy,
Upon the fragrant sward, in noisy revelry.

And here, besides the uncrisp'd mirror'd stream,
Strolled forth some bands of maidens — like a string
Of Indian pearls dyed with the sunset gleam
To beauty — listening the bright waters sing
Their evening hymns, as seraph's murmuring
Sounds in their slumber, of the heart's delight ;
Or, where the shadowy cedar-trees would spring,
Some bathed their fair limbs in the streams of light,
And others danced in groups, like spirits of the night.

Here spurred a troop of warriors on their steeds ;
There cast the jav'lin, drew the gilded bow ;
While some, reclining, listened to the reeds
Burthen 'd with music from the waters' flow ;
Or gazed upon the cheek whose deepening glow
Revealed the secrets lips deny in vain !
And, on the gentle evening's calmness, Oh !
Full many a minstrel's harp's enrapturing strain
Poured forth its low wild notes of pathos o'er the plain !

The last line is really beautiful.

Again : How the shadow of Sodom's destruction spread itself immediately
before the event is finely set forth : —

A dim, dark, undefined, and voiceless fear !
An apprehension, and a solemn pause—-
In which the heart beat louder, and the tear
Swam in the damsel's eye without a cause. —
A sense of feeling that so closely draws
Man to his kindred, and the beast and bird
To house together — one that overawes,
To speechlessness, — the timid — not referred
To outward danger — nor a sign of ought occurred —

But rising like a mist-wreath from the main,
Over the spirit, clouding heart and eye !
An hour when music's wildly breathing strain
Draws the unbidden tear and stifled sigh :
As if the shadow of some tempest nigh
Loaded the heavy air, until the breath
Is drawn at intervals most audibly,
A pause, as still and stirless, as when death,
Silently on the old his icy fingers layeth."

Mr. Milton, whose lines these are, need not svffer, we think, on account of
his NAME; and, further, it has occurred to us, that, were his great original
now living, instead of endeavouring to drown the voice of Fame, which has
already sounded loud and long in this junior Milton's favour — John Milton,
the Milton of Charles's time, would be the first to stretch out a powerful and
truly disinterested hand to help and defend the unpretending, but nevertheless
accomplished, author of the Songs of the Prophecies against the ungracious
and envious treatment of the book murderers of this book-jobbing age, which
Lord Byron called, with as much truth as justice, the Age of Bronze. Let
the "reading public" read the Songs of the Prophecies, we say. We shall
not take leave of our author without telling him that his work is not without

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 306

faults ; faults which, in a second edition, he will be sure to amend : faults of
so ordinary a kind that it were absurd to calculate upon publishing in the
absence of the like inaccuracies. Of one thing we are sure, that, by this last
production, if not by his "Ocean Queen," Mr. Milton has established his
fame as a poet. We thus take our leave, with a belief that we have barely
done justice to Mr. Milton's deserts.

Scenes and Characteristics of Hindostan, with sketches of Anglo-
Indian Society. By EMMA ROBERTS. In three volumes. London,
Allen & Co., 1835.

These volumes, consisting of a series of contributions originally published
in the Asiatic Journal, are well represented by an eastern editor as " light,
animated, and graphic ;" they describe manners and people with spirit, and
scenery with a tone of poetical feeling which alone can do justice to the
magnificence of the eastern world. They are, indeed, what they profess to
be. The " scenes and characteristics " are evidently those of nature ; and if
there be any deficiency of embellishment, it is because there is no sacrifice
made to fidelity of representation. Miss Roberts, besides being a genius, is
something more ; and, accordingly, we had not proceeded many pages before
we found that it required on her part the use of a bridle to restrain her wit.
From beginning to end, however, the style generally is elegant for its sim-
plicity, seldom demanding too much of our comprehension, and never verbose.
Indeed, the interest with which the subject itself is clothed is well adapted to
secure the attention without the extrinsic attractions by which it is intro-
duced. We are glad of the opportunity this month of introducing to our
readers a work so well calculated to satisfy the growing enquiry into the
economy of Asiatic society, together with a paper in a preceding page, the
commencement of a series in elucidation of the civil polity of China. Much
has unquestionably been done to make us acquainted with those distant
people, but the aim of our author is to make us familiar with them : and
there is scarcely any particular connected with their domestic habits which
has not received considerably more than a passing notice from her pen. Of
course it was to be expected that Miss Roberts would keep in view the
curiosity of a certain class of readers, and that she would entertain a laudable
desire for its gratification. Speaking of domestic happiness, she remarks —

"The greatest drawback upon the chances of happiness in an Indian mar-
riage exists in the sort of compulsion sometimes used to effect the consent of
a lady. Many young women in India may be considered almost homeless;
their parents or friends have no means of providing for them except by a
matrimonial establishment ; they feel that they are burthens upon families
who can ill afford to support them, and they do not consider themselves at
liberty to refuse an offer, although the person proposing may not be particularly
agreeable to them. Mrs. Malaprop tells us, that it is safest to begin with a
little aversion, and the truth of her aphorism has been frequently exemplified
in India ; gratitude and esteem are admirable substitutes for love — they last
much longer, and the affection, based upon such solid supports, is purer in its
nature, and far more durable, than that which owes its existence to mere
fancy. It is rarely that a wife leaves the protection of her husband, and, in
the instances that have occurred, it is generally observed that the lady has
made a love-match.

" But though marriages of convenience, in nine cases out often, turn out
very happily, we are by no means prepared to dispute the propriety of freedom
of choice on the part of the bride, and deem those daughters, sisters, and
nieces most fortunate, who live in the bosoms of relatives not anxious to dis-
pose of them to the first suitor who may apply. It is only under these happy

306 MONTHLY KEVIF.W OF LITERATURE.

circumstances that India can be considered a paradise to a single woman,
where she can be truly free and unfettered, and where her existence may
glide away in the enjoyment of a beloved home, until she shall be tempted
to quit it by some object dearer far, than parents, friends, and all the world
beside.

" There cannot be a more wretched situation than that of a young woman
who has been induced to follow the fortunes of a married sister, under the
delusive expectation that she will exchange the privations attached to limited
means in England for the far-famed luxuries of the East. The husband is
usually desirous to lessen the regret of his wife at quitting her home, by per-
suading an affectionate relative to accompany her, and does not calculate
before-hand the expense and inconvenience which he has entailed upon him-
self by the additional burthen.

" Soon after their arrival in India, the family, in all probability, have to
travel to an up-country station, — and here the poor girl's troubles begin ;
she is thrust into an outer cabin in a budgerow, or into an inner room in a
tent ; she makes perhaps a third in a buggy, and finds herself always in the
way ; she discovers that she is a source of continual expense ; that an addi-
tional person in a family imposes the necessity of keeping several additional
servants, and where there is not a close carriage she must remain a prisoner.
She cannot walk out beyond the garden or the verandah,and all the out-of-door
recreations which she may _have been accustomed to indulge in at home,
are denied her.

" Tending flowers, that truly feminine employment, is an utter impossi-
bility; the garden may be full of plants (which she has only seen in their
exotic state) in all the abundance and beauty of native luxuriance, but except
before the sun has risen, or after it has set, they are not to be approached ;
and even then, the frame is too completely enervated by the climate to admit
of those little pleasing labours, which render the green-house and the par-
terre so interesting. She may be condemned to a long melancholy sojourn
at some out-station, offering little society, and none to her taste.

" If she should be musical, so much the worse ; the hot winds have split
her piano and her guitar, or the former is in a wretched condition, and there
is nobody to tune it; the white ants have demolished her music-books, and
new ones are not to be had. Drawing offers a better resource, but it is often
suspended from want of materials ; and needle- work is not suited to the cli-
mate. Her brother and sister are domestic, and do not sympathize in her
ennui ; they either see little company, or invite guests merely with a view to
be quit of an incumbrance.

" If the few young men who may be at the station should not entertain
matrimonial views, they will be shy of their attention to a single woman, lest
expectations should be formed which they are not inclined to fulfil. It is
dangerous to hand a disengaged lady too often to table, for though no con-
versation may take place between the parties, the gentleman's silence is attri-
buted to want of courage to speak, and the offer, if not forthcoming, is
inferred. A determined flirt may certainly succeed in drawing a train of
admirers around her ; but such exhibitions are not common, and where ladies
are exceedingly scarce, they are sometimes subject to very extraordinary
instances of neglect. These are sufficiently frequent to be designated by a
peculiar phrase ; the wife or sister who may be obliged to accept a relative's
arm, or walk alone, is said to be " wrecked," and perhaps an undue degree
of apprehension is entertained rpon the subject ; a mark of rudeness of this
nature reflecting more discredit upon the persons who can be guilty of it, than
upon those subjected to the affront. Few young women who have accom-
panied their married sisters to India, possess the means of returning home ;
however strong their dislike may be to the country, their lot is cast in it, and
they must remain in a state of miserable dependence, with the clanger of

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 307

being left unprovided for before them, until they shall be rescued from this
distressing situation by an offer of marriage."

The information contained in the following extract is too important to be
omitted : —

" The fate of the kingdom of Oude seems now verging to a crisis, and, in
all probability, a short period will decide whether it is to continue under
the mismanagement of its present rulers, or be placed entirely under the
control of the British government. At the present period, Lucknow af-
fords an almost perfect realisation of the beau ideal of the court of an
Asiatic despot, though the power over life and limb has been somewhat
abridged by the presence of the British resident.

" In natural advantages, the kingdom of Oude does not yield to any part of
India. The whole surface of the province is level, and watered by nume-
rous streams ; and the land, when properly cultivated, is exceedingly pro-
ductive, affording rich crops of every sort of grain, cotton, sugar, indigo,
opium, and all the most valuable products of Hindostan. The gifts of
heaven have, however, been neutralized by the ruinous policy of an oppres-
.sive government. ' The impression, which generally remained uppermost,'
observes the writer of a private letter, dated in December last, ' as the ge-
neral result of our visit to Lucknow, was that of disgust. In a state in
which the people have no voice, in respect of the amount or kind of taxation,
or as to the disposal of the revenue raised, every sort of improvement must
depend upon the ruling power. Every where we saw proofs of the frivolity
of the amusements of the sovereign, and of the lavish expense at which they
are gratified ; no where could we perceive any public work in progress for
the benefit of the community. Along one entire side of this extensive and
populous capital runs the river Goomtee, over which there is not a single
bridge ; that which was commenced being left unfinished. What might not
be done in this kingdom ! It has no national debt, and if there be truth in
reports generally believed, it has stores of wealth, though secretly hoarded.
But, even if these rumours be groundless, it is known that the present annual
revenue, without reviving an old, or imposing a new tax, is fully adequate
to meet all proper demands for the state and splendour of the sovereign, the
maintenance of efficient judicial and fiscal establishments, and for carrying
forward works of improvement and of utility. It is sad to say, that what-
ever the public servants do not peculate, and put by in secret, against times
of need and difficulty, to themselves, is squandered by the dominant au-
thority in vain and frivolous amusements, in the pursuits of a weak mind
and a vitiated taste, and the indulgence of depraved habits. Although his
servants bow down their necks to the royal person, he has little or no voice
in the management of the affairs of the country, and the sin of misrule must
rest upon the head of his chosen minister.

" ' Jn the short space between Cawnpore and Lucknow, as well as from
appearances immediately around the capital, I was disposed to think the
tales of mal-administration exaggerated. The reverse, however, became but
too obvious each stage we proceeded, by the way of Seetapore, to Shahje-
hanpore. We passed over miles and miles of waste in succession, not of
barren land, incapable of cultivation, — for the fertility of the soil was mani-
fest in many places, and traces of former tillage plainly discernible ; such as
ridges dividing fields ; wells for irrigation, now dilapidated and useless, and
groves of mango-trees, far remote from present habitations ; — but evincing
that these parts of the country had once been populous. Where the soil is
naturally so rich, where so much facility for irrigation exists, as well in the
nearness of water to the surface, as in the numerous small streams running
from the mountains to unite themselves with the Ganges, it seems impos-
sible to trace the mournful waste and depopulation to any other source than
that of impolitic and unjust administration. This cause alone was assigned
by all those with whom I conversed on the subject, — and they were of all

308 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

classes, such as officials now in employ, or who had been employed under
former ministers, cultivators, shopkeepers, pensioned sepoys, chokeydars,
&c>> — they all declared that oppressive taxation occasioned this melancholy
state of things ; that it was the same whether an aumil (agent) or a renter
farmed ; that no faith was kept ; that the rent assessed was merely nominal,
there being no limit to the demand, except the degree of means and power to
enforce it. This it was which drove the stronger malgoozars (landholders)
into resistance, and forced the weaker to fly the country. It is a matter for
surprise that any cultivators remain : but the tenacity with which this class
cling to their homes is notorious, and it is probable, indeed, that the very
lowest grade of the people, — the ryots, — suffer least, because oppression falls
principally on the chiefs of villages ; while it is certain that the custom of
paying rent in kind by buttai, which prevails uniformly in Oude, is beneficial
to the mere ryot. In our provinces, money-rents, fixed without advertence
to fluctuation of prices, and adhered to for several successive years, have
much injured our cultivators.

" ' At no time, and on no occasion, did I ever feel more proud of being in
the service of the British Indian government, than on recrossing within its
frontier. After having travelled through a wilderness, we passed the small
stream called Sooketa, which divides Oude from our territory, and is not
more than ten yards wide. Up to this point we scarcely saw a tilled field ;
from it, all the way to Shajehanpore, about four coss, we gazed upon one
vast sheet of rich cultivation, wheat, barley, urhur (a species of rye), grain of
all kinds, cotton, sugar-cane, &c. ;— the road bounded by banks or ditches ;
in short, every indication of industry, prosperity, and security. There is no
perceptible change in the nature of the soil, nor is any thing changed, in fact,
except the ruling power.'

" The king of Oude has kept up a greater degree of state than his more
highly descended, but less fortunate, contemporary of Delhi ; and, in fact,
Lucknow is the only native court in Hindostan which can afford any idea of
the princely magnificence affected by the former rulers of India; that of
Gwalior can bear no comparison, nor are those in the central provinces dis-
tinguished by the pomp and splendour which still characterise the throne of
this ill-governed kingdom.

" Both the present and former rulers of Oude have manifested a strong
partiality for European fashions and European manufactures, but their love
of novelty has not been productive of any national improvement; they have
thought of nothing beyond some idle gratification or indulgence, and their
minds have not expanded, or their views become more enlightened, by con-
stant intercourse with the people who possess so much knowledge, both
moral and political. A great number of foreigners have for many years
been attached to the court of the king of Oude ; a large proportion unques-
tionably might be styled mere adventurers, ignorant of every art excepting
that which teaches them to profit by the follies and weaknesses of mankind ;
but there were others of a superior order, from whom many lessons of the
highest practical utility might have been acquired.

" The king of Oude has selected English officers for his aides-de-camp,
his physicians belong to the company's medical establishment, and he has
also other persons of equal rank and intelligence attached to his household.
An artist cf great respectability and very considerable talent grew old in the
service of Saadut Ali and his successor. This gentleman retired, at an ad-
vanced age, to spend the remainder of his days at Cawnpore, where he kept
up a handsome establishment, and, until the loss of his daughter and in-
creasing infirmities rendered him averse to society, had been wont to exercise
the most extensive hospitality to the residents of the station. The place of
Mr. Home is supplied, at the court of Lucknow, by Mr. George Bcechy,
who had distinguished himself by several masterly efforts of the pencil
before he left England, and whose portrait of a native female, sent over and

MONTHLY REVIK.W OF LITERATURE. 309

exhibited two years ago at Somerset House, attracted the attention of the
best judges of the art. It is said, — but whether on sufficient authority we
are unable to state, — that Asiatic prejudices had been so far remitted as to
allow this gentleman access to the royal zenana, for the purpose of taking
the portrait of the favourite wife. Such an innovation cannot fail to pro-
duce very important results ; and there are too many indications of a similar
nature occurring all over British India, to render it all doubtful that, at no
very distant period, the whole fabric of jealous restriction will give way, and
that the women of Hindostan will receive the full enjoyment of liberty so
long denied.

" The Christian community of Lucknow is rather considerable when com-
pared to that of other native cities ; a great many of the shopkeepers and
persons holding offices about the court are half-castes ; and there are a mul-
titude of hangers-on, of the same religion, who, attracted by the hope of en-
riching themselves under a monarch whose splendour and liberality have
been of course exaggerated by report, pick up a subsistence, where they had
expected to find an easy path to wealth. The military cantonments, in
which the company's battalions are garrisoned, are situated at some distance
from the city, where their neighbourhood acts as a salutary check, without
creating the annoyance a more close association would naturally produce.
There are turbulent spirits amongst the population of Lucknow, that can ill
brook the military superiority of their British rulers, and, however hopeless
the attempt, would gladly measure swords with them ; but this hostility is not
so general as some persons have asserted, and it is rarely manifested except
upon some strong provocation."

The World, a Poem, in Six Books. London, Hurst. 8vo., pp. 276.

RELIGIOUS didactic poetry has long been a favourite style of composition
in this country, and appeared first among us early in the seventeenth century.
An interesting compilation might be made from the works of this class that
were published in the days of James the First and his unfortunate son, but
the productions of this description which principally find their way to the
libraries of moral and religious people in the present day comprise the Night
Thoughts of Young, the Task of Cowper, the Excursion of Wordsworth, and
the Course of Time of Pollok. Perhaps it would not be wrong to name the
Paradise Regained of Milton as a connecting link between this description of
poetry and the epic ; at the head of which, if regard be had to the sublimity
of the matter, his own higher and inestimable production must be placed.
The prevailing characteristic of all these poems is pious sentiment, but the
colouring is different in each. Over every page of the Night Thoughts there
rests an awful gloom : the sublimity, with which it must be confessed that
composition abounds, overwhelms the reader ; his mind sinks beneath the
mightiness of the mysterious being of whose presence he is made perpetually
conscious, but to whose divinity he dare not look up, so degraded does he
feel by the sins and sufferings of mortality. No person rises from the perusal
of Young with a sustained or elevated spirit : his thoughts are indeed hum-
bled, but he hears not the cheering voice of consolation in his humility. Many
passages are truly magnificent, and yet there is an occasional quaintness and
abruptness in the style that generally injures the strength of the impression,
and sounds to the half-penitent heart like a mockery. This is the fault of
the satires of the same author : he breaks upon you in his most serious
passages with a kind of awkward familiarity, which makes you frequently
doubt whether you are to regard him as actually in earnest. Cowper's exqui-
site poem is a beautiful delineation of the pious man enjoying the blessings of
domestic and rural life, under the influence of divine grace. Nature is not
M.M.— No. 9. 2R

310 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

banished ; it is only subdued and made obedient to Christianity, it speaks
of heaven, and it leads us to it ; but it speaks also of this world, and of those
innocent and simple enjoyments which the fields and the garden, the walks
abroad and the domestic retirements of the evening, afford as a relief
for our more deep and more serious reflections. Hence it is that Cowper
is the most popular of our religious poets, and is deservedly so : he is unaf-
fected, simple and sincere : he never forgets that he is a mortal writing to
mortals ; and though he sometimes alarms them, and makes them seriously
conscious of the position in which they stand, he never assumes a superna-
tural terror or drives them from his side. It is difficult to assign a reason
why the Excursion of Wordsworth is not extensively perused ; why it is not
in the hands and hearts of all men. There is in it simplicity the most pure:
in a style the most unaffected and the most impressive that ever was written,
it enters into the thoughts and business of man : the imagery is always clear,
and it always throws a luminous brightness on the subject intended to be
illustrated : the verse is calm, smooth, and deep, and it flows like a wide
river through a beautiful valley, and seems to bear the well- instructed mind
of the reader, like a richly-freighted vessel, upon its equably undulating and
buoyant bosom. Why, then, is the Excursion seldom read, and perhaps
never read through, but at intervals? Is it because the truths it suggests or
inculcates are too massive to be passed over or to be hastily investigated ? Is
the philosophy of moral existence, viewed as it is here with the pure ore of
religion, a mine of descent too painful, and of intricacy too bewildering, for
the research of common readers ? Must we have impassioned follies for our
guides in such an enterprize, and can we sit down and converse with religious
philosophy no where but in the fanciful groves of delusion? There are many
who cry out, that the Excursion is but a fragment — that it is incomplete —
and that they will read it when the author has finished it. The intelligent
reader, however, feels that his own breast must complete it, by furnishing
answers to the awful questions which the powerful author has placed before
him ! For our own part we have read this extraordinary poem several times,
and we never closed the book, but as CEdipus might have closed the leaves
of fate in the presence of the sphynx, to look for the answers within ourselves,

The poem of Mr. Pollok is written with fervour in a style not always clear,
but abundant in waves of rapid thought, which carry us on with the subject
from time to eternity. We must not, however, at present, indulge ourselves
with any further mention of it, but turn to the work before us, the WORLD ;
and, after what we have said of the most eminent works of the class to which
it belongs, it can be no small praise to add, that, in no respect, is it unworthy
to take a distinguished place among them. To analyze a work of this descrip-
tion would be no ungrateful task, but it would lead us far beyond the limits
prescribed to us ; besides it is the very elementary purpose of a didactic poem
to be desultory, and to bring different subjects so in contact and contrast
with each other, that no descriptive abstract could possibly do justice to the
whole, or show how richly diversity is made to blend into unity.

The work is divided into six books, the first of which is dedicated to the
Bishop of Norwich. The following passage, descriptive of that truly intel-
lectual and pious divine, the late Bishop of Calcutta, is a fair specimen of the
style, conduct, and sentiments of the poem.

"How like to Paul our Oxford's Reginald !
Whose precepts, were his tongue forbid to speak, ]
In his example had been perfect shown.
Mild charity and Christian love were his.
In letters great ; in virtue greater still ;
Most great in virtue's holiest source — Religion.
Honours he won, which won, were meekly worn,

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 311

Priz'd only as the means of doing good.

No music fell so sweet upon his ear

As sacred sound of sabbath morning bell.

The pulpit was his home. Humble, sincere,

With fervent zeal imbued, he early felt

The call — obey'd, and Heaven replied " well done !"

Alas, for Reginald ! He left his home

For " farthest Ind," and there laid down his staff.

I wept for Heber ; yes, I mourn him still.

Heber, thy name in golden characters

Is writ, for godly men's encouragement,

And I will wipe my flowing tears away.

For, when I think of all the myriad souls

Reclaim 'd from error by thy holy zeal,—

Won by thy gentle and persuasive tongue

To the true worship of the living God, —

Won from a dark out- worn idolatry

Of gilded idols carv'd from senseless wood —

The ruthless sacrifice of guiltless blood

No longer shed---the sacrilegious flame

Fraught with the blind and unawaken'd souls

Of hapless ignorance no more ascending

Tow'rds an affronted Heaven, where their doom

Is the sole task of mercy, — I rejoice,

Few though thy years and brief though thy sojourn,

Thou wert by His permissive power enabled ;

To do what toils unblest could ne'er achieve---

What virtue uninspir'd could ne'er effect —

What the cross only, and who bore the cross,

And He who was, and is, and ever will be,

Can bid to flourish here-— to plant the word.

This is followed by an elegant characteristic encomium of that highly-gifted
divine, Robert Hall ; but we pass on to the second book, dedicated to the
Bishop of Bristol, in order to give an extraordinarily poetic paraphrase of
the classic story of Salmoneus, which presents a striking and exemplary moral
restraint upon religious presumption.

" He with presumptuous impotence and guile
Defied, as on he drove with furious car
The Olympic course of yet ungodly Greece,
The power of the Most High, his Maker's name.
Thus sped Salmoneus, awaiting God !
And vengeance now was full — God's anger kindled.
This man, this king of Elis, arrogant,
Keeper of steeds all furious at his bidding,
Had long engross'd the world, — the ancient world ,
Immortal were (says the historian)
His deeds of winged and impetuous speed,
High Heaven denouncing oft ; with God familiar,
He spoke rank blasphemy, nor better liv'd.
Elis confirm'd his powers, his powers believ'd,
Nor held him merely monarch, but — a god !
Oh ! horrid sound for human ears to hear !
Oh ! dreadful sight, made terrible by death !
Salmoneus, king of Elis, king no more,
Now eager sought to be proclaim'd divine.
Nor marvel ye who hear the song of truth,

312 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

On flattery fed, from cradle unto youth,

Thence unto manhood, thence unto the grave —

Though clad in royal pomp, still unadorn'd,

And flaunting with a hundred baubles poor

Of lawless, vain, and weak self-seeking praise.

Still flatter'd, and himself ambitious still,

He sought the basest and the worst applause,

Of hypocrite, of liar, and of slave.

Led on from day to day with vile delight,

By impious thoughts, and still more crying deeds,

He restless grew,— his death, unwitting, sought.

The Isles of oreece had heard Salmoneus' fame,

Her sons responded, and obey'd his call.

The " miracle " he promis'd was — his death.

No miracle beside was ever seen,

Or else, in truth, our God had been no God.

The day appointed, the loud cry went forth

O'er land and sea, far as Egean bounds,

Proclaiming wonders, miracles, and fetes,

To be perform'd by great Salmoneus.

Surrounded by a burning flame of fire,

Thunder abnormous, lightnings wonderful,

And other marvels yet more strange- --convincing :

And he, th' aspiring criminal, upborne,

In middle air, from Arcady the blest,

Should mount on high, and touch the gates of bliss !

Of brass a bridge, of sound funereal,

Was made and finished by unletter'd men,

Some thousands of artificers well skill'd.

This had they flung o'er the obedient waves ;

And now the mighty work was all complete.

His chariot o'er this new-constructed work

Was now to be propelled, to raise such sounds

Of deep and hollow and portentous noise,

That Heaven and earth, old ocean and the sky,

Should move and bow obedient unto him.

But our REVEALED GOD he knew not, knowing

But Jove alone, — and Jove alone he fear'd,

Whose power he claim'd to wield — eternal fires.

The day — the hour — the time was come, and thousands

On thousands hurried forth, and with a voice

As one, confused and hoarse and dissonant,

Anticipating wonders, rent the air.

The sun had risen from the orient wave,

His car more glorious, brighter than his wont,

And all was streaming light and teeming day,

When signal now was made to Elis' son.

The scene was render'd awful to the sight

By fears instinct and dread disquietudes,

That steal unbidden through the heart of him

Who once surveys a festival of guilt !

One vastly peopled plain beneath appear'd,

Which, far as eye might reach, was spread before.

The city in her matron pride was deck'd

For the great show about to be begun ;

Her towers reflected bright the sun's warm rays,

The walls were crowded, and a huddling mass

MONTHLY RfiVlLW Of LITERATURE. 313

Invested the wide streets — the windows many

Were set with grace and beauty — youth and age.

The fields, the hills, and woody groves around

Her marble domes and sacred fanes were full.

A sight it was most fearful to behold.

Silent as death itself — when now again

The second trumpet sounded — ^silent still :

All eyes were cast towards the City gates

From whence, in vastest continuity,

Gleaming uprose the bridge of sounds and death,

With brazen pomp towards the postern, south.

At either end drawn up were horse and foot,

Soldiers adventurous in proud array,

Honour's self-called defenders — shameless crew,

Who knew no bounds to vanity and lust,

But liv'd to live no more beyond the grave,

And prowling strode the land in Heathen pride,

Or else disgrace'd the capital at night,

When all was silence, solemn and profound.

Expectancy on tiptoe wilder grew,

But still dread silence reign'd — unbroken silence.

The sun had scarcely touched the hour of noon,

When suddenly a furious blast awoke,

By trumpets manifold, the listless crowd,

Who watching long, and disappointed oft,

Subsiding stood in seeming apathy.

Forth went the artful sounds, which fell upon

The ear with strange affright, and linger 'd there.

Meanwhile, forth came Salmoneus' chariot

From the swift wide-flung gate, burning with fire :

Emblazon'd was the car, unseemly bright

Within, and round about, the burning flame

Though seen consum'd not — momently increasing.

Resounded now the fetid air with praise

Or joy, as now divine Salmoneus

Pass'd through the gates down to the brazen bridge,

O'er which he rode, and to the fatal arch

Drew near, in all the ecstasy of guilt,

Deep, damning, undeniable, and vile.

His coursers, wild and furious, madly strove

Against the kingly will : their efforts vain.

Mark'd was that moment by a dismal roar

Of public scorn, — oh strange, unwonted sound ! —

Loud and more loud the universal hiss,

And louder still the swelling murmur rose

Undying on the winds that sped to heaven.

The heavens now op'ning, th' Almighty show'd

His arm of might, — his God-like arm propell'd.

Down come the crashing thunder-bolt, amain,

Resistless, hurl'd by the INSULTED GOD !

With fell annihilation fraught, and doom.

With sonorous crash unutterable it struck —

(The earth beneath distracting with the roar

And e'en the dead, that shudder'd in their graves) ;

Hissing and scorching down it came, and blasted

Salmoneus, impious king, — his charioteer,

And his bright flaming car, sulphureous.

314 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

His coursers, proud and impotent, Behold!

Beside him now they lie; equal in death,

One general heap of dust, — and ashes frail.

The hurrying night comes down with sudden gloom,

The awestruck crowds disperse — was God aveng'd ?

That night was long remember'd with strange dread.
Blasted were all their hopes,— their fears increas'd !
Their expectations wild, inhuman, blasted !
Wild shouts of hideous terror, echoing
Tremendously, back from the furthest shore,
Struck trembling hearts, accounted bold, with fear.
They fled not without hope. Our God is great !
Entreating heaven to spare, they flee with life.
Their lives were given, but their peace destroy'd.
And thus was the insulted God aveng'd :
A monarch smote with death ; his realm destroy'd !
A nation humbled, desolate, and fall'n."

In general, the verse is smooth and correct, but we do not altogether
approve of the admission of the Alexandrine into blank verse, and there are
here and there bold phrases which severe critics might think objectionable.
The passage in praise of beauty at page 77 is exquisitely beautiful, but we
must leave this and the numerous delightful morceaux of the poem to the
reader, who will be most gratified by being led by them to a satisfactory
perusal of the several divisions of the whole. The mind of the author is
manifestly enriched by acquired knowledge, as well as animated by that
divine sentiment derivable only from a close and earnest contemplation of the
Scripture. We ought to add, that each of the books is dedicated to one of
the dignified supporters of the Church of England, and that each well merits
the attentive perusal of those ornaments of our ecclesiastical establishment.

Rainbow Sketches, in Prose and Verse. By JOHN FRANCIS, &c.
pp.218. Joseph Thomas, Finch Lane. 1835.

Mr. Thomas, or Mr. Francis, which means the same person, we presume,
is evidently acquainted with small book-making. We regret, in justice to
the public, whom it is our duty to guide, if not inform, that we cannot
conscientiously bestow a syllable of praise on the publication before us.
We owe it to truth, to make this candid avowal. This unmeaning affair,
light nonsense, of

" — trifles light as air,"

is made up of what is deemed prose and poetry : from which, after a patient
investigation into the contents, with a view to extract, we are at a loss to fix
upon a single piece, which, to our minds, appears above mediocrity. And
does Mr. Thomas, or his coadjutor, Mr. Francis, imagine that the " INTEL-
LIGENCE of the age" will be delighted with any thing below — with their
mangel-wurzel stuff? It is high time these gentlemen of the "small fry" of
literature should prove themselves utilitarians. The public cannot be thus
imposed upon with impunity. But this is not all. Mr. Thomas and his
quondam friend, Mr. Francis (author of Sunshine or Lays for Ladies),
have, in this volume, attacked the Ladies' Bazaar system in a most unkind,
if not impertinent spirit, censuring our fair and humane countrywomen
without any reservation ; the onus of which impotent slander will recoil
upon their own heads. In fact, the copy of verses entitled (by these gentle-
men of the muses) " The Charity Bazaar," is no more nor less than a libel

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 3J5

upon the sex in general. Let the " British fair" take warning, and, at the
same time, fling back upon the authors of this pugnacious and unprovoked,
not to say ungentlemanlike attack, enough of scorn to satisfy public opinion
that this impudent and audacious falsehood deserves to be summarily and
vigorously punished.

Observations on the Preservation of Sight, and on the Choice, Use,
and Abuse of Spectacles, Reading-glasses, &c. By JOHN HARRISON
CURTIS, Esq., M. R. I. Oculist and Aurist. London, H. Renshaw,
356, Strand. 1835.

No doubt whatever can be entertained in the mind of any intelligent
person, that mankind are indebted to Mr. Curtis for his zealous endeavours
to meliorate the sufferings of the afflicted. The subject of this little work
(of which 4000 copies have been disposed of in a short time) is admitted by
all to be of great importance, though almost universally neglected ; which
seems to verify the observation of Milton, that none can fully appreciate the
blessing of sight but those who have been deprived of it. We solicit for this
successful oculist and author a patient perusal of this work. In doing so
we feel that we are directing public attention to a subject deeply interesting
and important.

The Poetical Works of Samuel Rogers, Esq., illustrated by 128
Vignettes, from designs by Stothard and Turner. To be completed
in 10 Monthly Parts, Part VII. Edward Moxon, London.

THE magnificence of this illustrated work is above all praise. The poet
has gained an additional lasting reputation. It is manifestly true that the
publisher has rendered himself, at one and the same time, an ornament of
his profession, by the publication of the poetical works of Samuel Rogers,
the poet of happy " memory."

Let us add to these passing remarks, that the artists and engravers,
Turner, Stothard, and the Findens, have perpetuated their fame by the bril-
liant designs and engravings which conspire to render this work so well
worthy of the taste and intellect of the present age.

Considerations respecting the Trade with China, by JOSEPH THOMP-
SON, late of the East India House. Wm. H. Allen & Co.,
Leadenhall Street. 1835. Boards, pp. 177. 8vo.

THIS is a very useful and intelligent summary of facts connected with the
China trade. It is evidently the production of a " smart man of business,"
as well as a ready writer. We recommend the immediate perusal of it to
every gentleman conversant with the subject. Mr. Thompson does not ap-
pear to overrate his own talents, as may be gathered from the introductory
matter ; but this fact will add to the satisfaction of his readers, who will,
we think, be pleased with the modesty of the author. The work not being
of a strictly literary character, it is not our wont to give extracts ; but refer
our readers to the work itself.

316 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

Rosamond Gray's Recollections of Christ's Hospital, &c. &c. By
CHARLES LAMB, Author of " The Essays of Elia," E. Moxon.

THIS is a delightful volume, as is every thing which Charles Lamb ever
wrote. Besides the articles mentioned in the title-page, there are various
others full of that smooth and pleasant manner for which the author was so
remarkable. The papers on " The Tragedies of Shakspeare," and on
" Shakspeare's Contemporaries," are not only beautifully written, but show
the intimate acquaintance which Mr. Lamb possessed with our elder dra-
matic writers, and the sound judgment which marks his criticisms.

Minor Morals for Young People. Illustrated in Tales and Travels.
By JOHN BOWRING. Part II. \\hittaker & Co.

THIS is an excellent little volume, breathing from beginning to end the
kindliest spirit towards the young. It is equally to be commended for its
intellectual merits and its sound morality. One wonders how a mind like
Dr. Bowring's, which is accustomed to grapple with some of the abstrusest
subjects in philosophy and legislation, could adapt itself to the capacities of
children. Yet so it is. Every thing in the volume is plain and familiar.
The wood-cut illustrations will be a great recommendation of the book in
the estimation of children.

Some Considerations on the Political State of the Intermediate
Countries between Persia and India, with reference to the
Project of Marching an Army through them. By E. STIRLING,
Bengal Civil Service. Whittaker & Co.

THIS pamphlet is a highly interesting subject, and one which is particu-
larly so at a time like the present, when Russia is meditating some bold
scheme for her further aggrandisement. The author comes to the conclu-
sion that the moral and physical obstacles to a successful invasion of India,
on the part of Russia, are too formidable for the latter power attempting it.
The pamphlet contains many useful and interesting documents ; but we have
not had time to examine it with sufficient care to form an- opinion as to how
far his views are correct.

The Mining Review, and Journal of Geology, Mineralogy, and
Metallurgy. No. VII. Simpkin and Marshall, 1835.

AMONG the original papers is a valuable article on Mining Companies by
Mr. English, the talented editor of the Review, who applies the following
remarks to the mines of Cornwall : — " The importance and magnitude of the
copper-mines alone may be gathered from the simple statement, that within
the past ten years no less a sum than £8,053,263 13s. has been realized by
their produce, amounting to 1,346,847 tons of ore ; and it is a matter of
notoriety that there are mines now working which yield from £30,000 to
£50,000 per annum profit to the proprietors, while many, discontinued after
yielding immense profits, have been subsequently resumed and are now
attended with* equal, and in some instances with increased success/' This
prosperity is chiefly owing to improvements in machinery, and more particu-
larly in the power of steara-engines. The mines themselves are so rich that
with all the disadvantages that attended the old system of working them,

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 317

large fortunes were rapidly realized. A paper on the consolidated and united
mines in Cornwall is accompanied by several plates of surveys which must
be as useful to the adventurers as interesting to geologists. The latter indeed
will find an immense quantity of information condensed in the various tables of
celebrated mines in Europe and America. The Mining Review is an indis-
pensable appendage to a philosophical library.

Observations on certain Curious Indentations in the Old Red Sand-
stone of Worcestershire and Herefordshire, considered as the
Tracts of Antediluvian Animals, &c. By JABEZ ALLIES, Esq.
With engravings. London, Edwards.

AN exceedingly interesting work, which will not fail to attract the attention
of the Geologist, and indeed every lover of science. The author, who is
evidently an enthusiast, treats his subject with a master mind, which proves
him to be something beyond a mere theorist. The illustrations are good.
There is an appendix of other facts in geology, meteorology, astronomy,
natural history, topography, &c.

A History of British Fishes, by William Yarrell, F. L. S. Part VI.

Van Voorst. 1835.

THIS part will advance the high reputation which the History of British
Fishes has already and deservedly acquired. It is, in fact, the only scientific
work on the subject that we possess. Mr. YarrelPs name is a sufficient
guarantee for the correctness of his descriptions, and we perceive that he
avails himself of the MS. notes of gentlemen who are well known by their
attainments in ichthyology. Cuvier's arrangement, which is that adopted, is
certainly the best calculated to convey the precise information required by
the student of this branch of natural history. Independently of the scientific
and literary execution of the work, the printer and engraver claim a share of
the praise, which cannot honestly be withheld. It might seem to disparage
other cuts, to select one as a specimen, yet we cannot but point out the
Black Goby, p. 251, the Fishing Frog, p. 261, and the Green- streaked
Wrasse, p. 271, as trophies of the art of wood-engraving. The vignettes
are admirable, and are in fact worth the whole price of the book. The Irish
Oysterman, the Fisherman with his Net, a river scene, and a Fisherman on
the Look-out, are exquisite productions. Neither naturalist nor sportsman
can have a complete library which does not contain this history of our finny
tribes. A slight defect is apparent at p. 246, where we are told that the
German and Danish names of the Sea- wolf or Swine-fish have a reference to
a supposed power of crushing even stones in its mouth ; but these names are
wholly omitted.

A Manual of Entomology, from the German of Dr. Hermann Bur-
meister. By W. E. SHUCKARD, M. E. S., with additions by the
Author, and Original Notes and Plates by the Translator. Nos.
VII. and VIII. Churton, 1835.

THIS valuable manual is now published in double numbers, with a view
to bring it to a conclusion in time for the next entomological season. The
principal subjects of the present issue are the organs of generation and mo-
tion, the horny skeleton, and the muscular system, which are treated with
the minute accuracy and research which have rendered Dr. Burmeister so
popular among continental philosophers. It would be but small praise to
say that Mr. Shuckard's translation is exact ; it has all the freedom of an
original composition, and is enriched by the author's MS. notes.
M.M.— No. 9. 2 S

( 318 )

NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH.

THE LORDS AND THE IRISH CHURCH. — The rejection of the two
great measures which have occupied the commons house of parlia-
ment the whole session — to the discussion of which they have devoted
their best ability, and with the most strict and searching enquiry
after truth— have shown the House of Lords in a more unenviable
position to the people than any one of their lordships' acts since their
celebrated opposition to the Reform Bill. The Municipal Corpora-
tions' Bill has been met with evasion ; but the Irish Church has been
more summarily treated. Here has been a fine field for indignant
eloquence. The mantle of prophecy has descended upon divers of
their lordships, who behold the extinction of the true faith in the
mulcting of some scores of Irish sinecure parsons. May not this
goodly gift of second sight be somewhat sharpened by the anticipa-
tion of relatives unendowed by pluralities — of tutors and clerical
dependents eating other bread than that extorted from the poor of
catholic Ireland ? This is the true touchstone of their lordships'
feeling for the church. Their opposition to church reform is not
from ignorance of the merits of the case. They are quite aware
that Ireland has hitherto been treated as a conquered country — the
prayers of its people received with contempt — their remonstrances
with menace ; and, when goaded by wrong into rebellion, that it has
been made an excuse for robbery and extermination. And their
lordships are perfectly aware that, of all the evils inflicted upon this
unhappy people, none has been so bloody a scourge as forcing upon
them the Protestant church. It has paralized their industry — it has
forced them into crime, — it has fattened while all around have
starved. — Backed by the state, it has monopolized all the blessings
of fulness, as if in mockery of the wretched creatures who have been
made to toil for it. For centuries has this unjust but profitable mockery
been pursued, until, at last, the nation has arisen and appealed to its
task-masters in a voice not to be mistaken. And do the lords fancy
that their calculations on clerical jobbing will stand between th6
people and justice? No ; though the fate of half the unmitred and
unbeneficed of the aristocracy were to be endangered, the Irish soil
must be freed from its foreign impost — repugnant to the religious
feelings of the people, and hateful to them from its injustice. And
yet the lords dare to insult common sense by holding up that Pro-
testant creed as a blessing to a people who have regularly refused it.
Why have they refused it? And why has that church, which we in
England respect so highly, never made its way to the affections of
the Irish people ? Ask the poor man whose last morsel it has
clutched — whose all has been sold for its support! Ask the heart-
broken widow who mourns over the blood of her dearest, that dyes

NOTICES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH. 319

her hearth-stone ? No ; the Protestant church can never flourish till
enforced by truly Christian means. Blood and tears are melancholy
tributes ; and the established church will, in its present state, gain but
little else from its catholic flocks. Whatever blessings we may enjoy
in England from the introduction of the reformed religion — and they
have not been few — its reign in Ireland may be written in one
word — DESOLATION.

PROCEEDINGS OF THE CHEVALIERS D'!NDTJSTRIE. — We are not
much in the betting world, and therefore supposed that its affairs
exclusively related to horses and dogs ; but, looking over a list of
"quotations" from TattersalPs, we find its operations are upon a
more extensive scale. We much question whether the soubriquet
which characterized us as a " nation of shopkeepers " would be so
applicable to the present day as that of a " nation of blacklegs."

The following is a specimen of the march of that peculiar kind of
intellect -which flourishes in the classical region of Hyde Park
Corner : —

•n « TATTERS ALL'S YESTERDAY."

" Mr. Hume's Motion on the Supplies. — 2 to 1 on the Ministers
(taken). The Riddlesworth (Monday) 7 to 4 against Mr. Grant's
colt.

This respectable traffic, it appears, is not limited to TattersalPs ;
but is in full operation at the Stock Exchange, and all the hells
and betting places in the kingdom. Neither is it restricted to
professional blackguards ; but extends to amateurs of all ranks,*from
the door-keepers of the House of Lords, down to the very dukes.

We know it to be the nature of fools to sport with subjects which
they ought to respect ; and we are quite aware that knavery knows
no decency, where a prospect of plunder exists ; but we did not
expect that national questions would ever be converted into a capital
for blacklegs. Such speculations have hitherto been confined to
classes of the " order," very small and select, and we must therefore
hail it as a new " sign," to witness questions affecting our very
existence as a nation publicly quoted, side by side with dog-fights
and horse-races, as matters in common for ruffians to lie and cheat by.

IMPORTANT DIPLOMATIC MOVEMENT. — We cannot be sufficiently
grateful to those many elegant repositories of polite knowledge",
for the interesting intelligence daily meted out to us, of the move-
ments of the hereditary and the distinguished ; without the assist-
ance of these skilful explorers, in vain might we seek to know the
eccentric courses of these comets of the court — illustrious denizens
of another sphere. See the following : —

" The duke of Cumberland yesterday visited his Majesty."

" On Wednesday last, his excellency the Turkish ambassador and suite

3*20 NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH.

visited the rope-walks of Mr. Snow, and inspected the works minutely. After
viewing the premises, the engines being all at work, these distinguished
foreigners expressed their astonishment."

Truly, such condescending expressions must have melted poor
Mr. Snow.

THE STAND OF THE CONSTITUTIONALISTS '.—It seems that the
dignitaries of the Carlton club have resolved to make " a stand," as
they call it, — to rally round the Constitution — or, in other words, to
go to extreme lengths to secure the possession of abuses in Church
and State, in which they have thriven for this last century. The
" loaves" have been rapidly vanishing since the fatal measure of
Parliamentary Reform ; and, in this fresh demonstration of the
government to reform corporation abuses, the tories behold v/hat
remained to them of the " fishes" suddenly taking wing, and
becoming flying fish. This is too much — they therefore resolve
upon a " stand" for the Constitution, — such as they and their fathers
have made it, — and have determined not to part with a scale. The
great hereditary have already calculated their resources. " The
time is come," exclaims that martial organ of fashionable coteries ;
" when it behoves all loyal hearts to rally round the altar and the
throne ;" and forthwith the journalist, imbued with military ardour,
suggests the notable expedient of " raising the royal standard /"
Against whom ? might we venture to enquire. The king has no
subjects more loyal than the'supporters of his present ministry. No ;
that is not our way of fighting. As Sir Robert Peel said, " the
battle must be fought in the House of Commons ;" and, however
great may be the pity that such martial aspirations should be
checked, the royal standard may yet rest for some time securely on
its flag-staff, or take an airing only when his Majesty may chance
to go again to Greenwich.

A THREATENED ECLIPSE. — If Halley's comet were suddenly'to
withdraw from the upturned gaze of the scientific world, it would
not create a greater sensation than that produced the other day by
the almost miraculous preservation of two great lignts of religion
from the perils of a post-chaise, and the dangers of Hounslow
Heath ! It appears from the police reports that some profane post-
master had entrusted the sacred persons of the archbishop of Can-
terbury and the bishop of London to the care of a drunken postilion.
It makes one shudder to think that two such props of Christendom
should have been so near a fall, — supported only by so insecure a line
as the lash of an intoxicated post-boy. Does not this smack some-
thing of a Popish plot ? Is the delinquent Irish ? And can any thing
be traced to O'Connell in this dark business? These are questions
which are important should an investigation be resolved on. Sub-
stituting the post-boy for the gun-barrels may be an Irish refine-
ment upon the infernal machine; let this be well looked to. To
make the matter still more mysterious, the sacrilegious ruffian, who

NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH. 321

by the endanger men t of such lights, had nearly involved the Pro-
testant world in obscurity, Vas only wrfined five shillings for being
drunk ! This needs no comment.

REFORM OF THE BILLINGSGATES. — We are always grateful to
that modest genius which is content with the satisfaction of having
administered to the intellectual wants of its friends and neighbours,
and has no desire beyond an equitable admeasurement of one penny
a line for a mass of interesting communications. These possessors of
modest merit are great prowlers at police-offices, and from such
rich and varied sources of information are sure to gather " food for
the mind," as well as worldly intelligence, acceptable to those that
hunger and thirst after knowledge. The following information will
be read with pleasure by those to whom the regions alluded to have
been hitherto* unexplored, in consequence of, it seems, the vague
and unauthenticated rumours of vulgarity which have belied that
interesting locality.

" Mr. Hobler said he had been given to understand that there never was a
more calumniated place as to manners than Billingsgate, and that it was very
right the public should be informed of that fact ; as ladies still felt some
objection to visit it for domestic purchases."

We are happy to coincide with the chivalrous chief clerk of the
city in the propriety of making a stand for the honour of Billings-
gate ; although we fear it will be some time before the prejudice
against the manners of its people, almost proverbial, will subside.
We may be allowed to suggest that if a deputation of the best edu-
cated and most refined fish-fags— we mean no disrespect by using
the term by which those respectable females are commonly recog-
nized— were to wait upon the lady-patronesses of Almacks, they
would doubtless work such a revolution in favour of the aspersed fish-
market that coronets would be as plentiful as perriwinkles from
Thames Street to Tower Hill.

NEWSPAPER CIRCULATIONS are infinitely more efficacious and
extensive than formerly. And they are a more important instru-
ment than generally is imagined. They are a part of the reading
of all, they are the whole of the reading of the far greater number.
There are upwards of thirty of them in the city of Paris. The
language diffuses them more widely than the English, though the
English too are much read. The writers of these papers are, for
the most part, unknown ; but they are like a battery in which the
stroke of any one ball produces no great effect, but the amount of
continual repetition is decisive. Let us, moreover, only suffer any
person to tell us his story, morning and evening, but for one twelve-
month, and he will become our rival and superior.

Nothing ought to be more weighed than the nature of books
recommended by public authority. So recommended, they soon
form the character of the age. Uncertain indeed is the efficacy,

322 NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTHS.

limited indeed is the extent, of a virtuous institution. But if education
take in vice as any part of its system, there is no doubt but that it
will operate with abundant energy, and to an extent indefinite.
The magistrate, who in favour of freedom thinks himself obliged to
suffer all sorts of publications, is under a stricter duty than any other
well to consider what sort of writers he shall authorise.

EDUCATION OF THE POOR. — During the past and the present year
828 schools have been received into union with the National Society,
carrying up the amount of schools in union to the number of 2,937 ;
and £6,643 have been voted in aid of the building of school-rooms in
104 places, the total expense of the buildings being estimated at
£20,000. The Society has recently made a general enquiry into
the state of education under the Established Church in all parts of
the kingdom; and an account has been obtained concerning 1,650
places, which were found to contain about 1 1 ,000 schools, with 678,365
children. It is calculated that there cannot be less in England and
Wales than 710,000 children under the instruction of the clergy.

LITERARY PROPERTY IN GERMANY. — Hitherto an unbounded licen-
tiousness has prevailed in Germany on the subject of literary pro-
perty. Booksellers and authors have appropriated, without the
smallest scruple, the productions of others. If an author wrote"one
or more pieces insufficient in length to constitute a volume, without
hesitation he eked it out with the essays, tales, or poetry of his
friends : The Diet of the German Confederation adopted, on the
2d April last, a resolution, conformable to Art. 18 of the Act of Con-
federation. " The government have agreed that literary piracy is
to be prohibited in all the states of the Confederation, and literary
property to be regarded and protected on uniform principles."

G. G. BENNIS, ESQ., THE LIBRARIAN OF PARIS. — This is one of
the most remarkable characters of the age in which we live. This
gentleman, so well known on the European continent, may be
said to combine in his own person, not only the suaviter in modo,
and the fortiter in re, but the talents which belong exclusively to
genius. G. G. Bennis is allied to some of the first, rich, and noble
families ; is known and respected by people of all nations ; is at
one and the same time the most persevering, prosperous, and clever
man of business ; while he is acknowledged by the literati to be a
walking monument of book-knowledge. King Louis Philippe lately
received G. G. Bennis at the Court of the Tuilleries. No sooner do
persons of distinction arrive in Paris, than G. G. Bennis is made ac-
quainted with their arrival; he waits on the illustrious stranger in
person, whether at Veray's, or any of the hotels of Paris, presents
his card and " catalogue," receives the commands of the new visitor,
and becomes, in point of fact, the confidant of all persons of condition
visiting La Belle France. Such is G. G. Bennis. Those who have

VARIETIES. 323

known him best can add to our unpretending remarks. Sure we are
they will be glad to speak of this gentleman in terms of just admi-
ration and honest praise; and this too without intending to detract
from the merits and reputation of his contemporaries.

TITLES OF BOOKS.— Many a valuable work has been injured in its
circulation, through the folly or affectation of the writer, in giving
it a quaint name, not at all indicative of its contents. " The Diver-
sions of Purley !" Who could ever have supposed that this was a
most elaborate philological work, probably the most valuable ever
offered to the world? Surely no human being. One of the most
interesting books I have ever read on Indian affairs remained for a
long time unnoticed and neglected, from the quaintness of its title.
It is called " Indian Recreations.'' Numbers, probably, as well as
I, supposed it to be an account of the diversions of the Hindoos.
Whereas, it is an account of their manners, customs, government,
policy, and population ; and possesses an uncommon degree of merit,

VARIETIES.

The first paving in London was in Holborn, " a deep and perilous
road," for which two ship loads of stones were ordered to be provided,
in 1117.

During a storm the inhabitants of Chauffour, in the Seine-et-Oise,
had the imprudence to ring the bell of the church, whereby the
lightning was attracted, the bell melted, and the roof burnt. Fortu-
nately the ringer escaped unhurt. The passengers of a diligence,
dining in an adjoining room, were more or less affected by the
shock. About fifteen persons who had taken refuge in the church
were thrown down ; one old woman was rendered totally deaf, ano-
ther paralysed, and the face, head, and body of a child, were pierced
all over with small holes.

During repairs at the theatre of Valenciennes, the following ex-
traordinary discovery was made :---A cannon ball thrown from the
imperial batteries during the siege, in 1793, fell upon the roof of the
theatre, and lodged in the ceiling of the audience part of the build-
ing, where it was sustained by two laths ! Thus for forty-two years
has this mass of iron remained suspended, like the sword of Da-
mocles, over the frequenters of the pit, ready to fall upon their heads
had any accident deprived it of its frail support.

The Societe ^Emulation of Abbeville have opened the Tumulus
called the Butte de St. Ouen, at Noyell-sur-Mer, near the mouth of
the Somme. It was found to contain about 600 skulls, piled one upon
another in the form of a cone. The lower jaw remained attached to
all; and as there were no other parts of the body, it is evident that
they were interred just as they were struck from the body. The
tomb is probably Celtic, and the heads those of prisoners or slaves
sacrificed to the manes of some chief. The search is to be continued,
in the hope of finding the remains of the chief, or the rest of the
victims.

( 263 )

LITERARY NOTICES.

Mr. Bulwer has just committed to the press the work to which he
alluded in his last publication, " The Student," and on which he has
been so long engaged ; it is, we believe, entitled " Athens, its Rise
and Fall, with Views of the Arts and Sciences, the Literature and
Commerce, of the Athenian People."

Miss Landon has, we hear, nearly completed the printing of her
new Poem, " The Vow of the Peacock," illustrating, it will be re-
collected, the beautiful picture by M'Lisc in the exhibition of the
Royal Academy.

Dr. Hogg's interesting Travels in the East, entitled, " A Visit to
Alexandria, Damascus," &c., will appear early in the present month.

Mr. Chorley, whose lively Sketches of a Sea-port Town have
been so much admired, has in the press a series of Tales, the scene
of which is, we believe, chiefly laid in Italy.

Mr. Grimshawe's beautiful edition of Cowper is drawing near its
conclusion : the eighth volume, which is now ready, contains a
beautiful portrait of the late Rev. Dr. Johnson, Cowper's kinsman,
and a beautiful view of the Rustic Bridge at Weston.

The author of " Pictures of Private Life," Miss Stickney, will
shortly present to the public a work of an original character, enti-
tled " The Poetry of Life."

A second edition of Mr. Bulwer's new work, " The Student," will
appear in a few days.

A third edition of that elegant little work, " The Language of
Flowers," much improved, and revised by the editor of the " Forget-
Me-Not," has just appeared.

The Rev. Robert Montgomery has nearly ready for publication a
fourth edition, revised, of his powerfully conceived work, entitled,
" Satan," a Poem.

Mrs. Jameson has just committed to the press a new edition,
being the third, of her much-admired work, " The Characteristics
of Women."

The second and concluding volume of M. de Tocquevelle's inte-
resting work, " Democracy in America," translated by his friend,
Mr. Reeve, with a map of the United States, is now ready.

Among the novelties of the forthcoming season we have to an-
nounce a new work to be called the ENGLISH ANNUAL, two volumes,
of which have already appeared, but the whole of the editions have
been exported to America and the continent. The volume, in con-
sequence of certain facilities which the Proprietor exclusively enjoys,
will be offered in a form considerably larger and cheaper than similar
publications, and in all respects equal to them in its graphic and
literary contents. The Oriental Annual for 1836, by Rev. H.
Gaunter, B. D., will exceed either of its predecessors in the variety
and beauty of the Illustrations from the pencil of W. Daniell, Esq.,
R. A., as the great success of the last two years has encouraged the
Proprietor to spare no expense to render it still more worthy of
public patronage.

( 325 )

THE LAST SESSION,

CONSUMMATUM EST ! The tories have closed their senseless labours,
and with their pestiferous breath have blasted the hopes of a great
nation, on whose shoulders they have been raised to the controlling
power they possess over the people's rights and just demands. Deaf
as adders to the voice of reason, duty, and humanity, they would
even shake the throne to preserve their own authority, and to hold
dominion over the purses and liberties of their fellow-subjects.
What, then, should the Commons do ^ The question has been an-
swered in the Great Council of the nation; it has been answered, by
the general voice, from Penzance to the Hebrides, and will be an-
swered by the mighty acclaim of millions who have long felt the
unrelenting lash of an oligarchic faction, which, if not subdued, will
nullify every measure by which England can be saved from con-
vulsion—from a conflict more fatal than any recorded in the history
of modern revolutions.

The people of England have proved themselves hitherto the most
patient, the most enduring, of any on earth ; they have cowered too
long before

" The bishop's mitre, and high plumery
Of insolent chieftains;"

they have borne the ' whips and scorns,' and supplied the extrava-
gant demands, of their oppressors with unexampled fortitude, in hopes
that some regard to humanity, some Christian feeling, would at
length enter their breasts, and relieve the suffering nation from bur-
dens too ponderous for its strength: but the " last session" of their
lordly rulers have convinced them that there is no help for England,
but in cutting off the resources of a faction become paramount in
the state, and whose very existence depends on the fiat of the
oppressed. The Commons' House has nobly done its duty ; it
has convinced the people that they have still a portion in the land
of their fathers, and that they havet he power, if they have the will,
to liberate themselves from the unholy chains which have kept them

M.M.--NO. 10. 2 T

326 THE LAST SESSION.

in subjection. The " last session" has proved that all the eloquence,
all the remonstrances, all the warnings of a virtuous few in their
Lordships House, can work no good in a body predetermined to
trample on national rights, and renew the iron age of baronial
dominion. The mild and unanswerable reasonings of Melbourne ;
the straight-forward and mighty oratory of Brougham, and the
manly resistance of the rest of the minority in the Upper House,
could have no effect in an assembly on which the finger of Heaven
has set its seal of reprobation.

Let us bear in mind that this obstinacy in the Lords — this mani-
festation of contempt for the desires of the Commons — is displayed
at the very moment when the tyrants of Europe are convened, as is
supposed, to crush every attempt of the people of all countries to
emancipate themselves from despotic government ; — let us reflect
that the Prime Minister of the Orange faction in this country is
deputed to assist at the diabolical orgies which are taking place at
Kalisch ; — let us also take into the account the infamous measures of
the hypocritical usurper, Louis Philippe, to stifle the last spark of
liberty in France ; — let us not forget that the dunderheaded king
of Dutchland is moving heaven and earth to regain the sovereignty
of the Netherlands, which his insane policy (similar to that of
our lords) so deservedly lost; — and then it will require but little
stretch of judgment to divine the ultimate views of the congress
at Tseplitz. That our lords have separated themselves completely
from the interests of the mass of the people of Great Britain, there
can now be but little doubt. They may henceforth be considered
as part and parcel of the " foreign clique" which aims at nothing
less than absolute sway over the lives and liberties of free-born men,
and the enforcement of worse than Turkish institutions on national
governments. However France, Germany, Spain, Portugal, and
Italy may endure their dictation, England, isolated as she is, need
not fear, if she be true to herself, and watch with jealous appre-
hension the manoeuvres of her internal foes. By crushing the
insatiable faction which is now preying upon our vitals, and endea-
vouring to paralyse our energies, we may stand aloof, laugh at its
liberticide machinations, and even stay the arm of foreign oppres-
sion : we may, with only a thousandth part of the treasure which
was wasted in saving from the grasp of Napoleon the heartless
despots who would now compass the destruction of all popul ar

THE LAST SESSION/ 327

independence, shield surrounding nations from an iron sway, and
call down upon us the blessings of a grateful world. The thunder
of Kalisch may roll ; its lightnings gleam through affrighted Eu-
rope ; but Britain, as of yore, may divert the storm, and turn it
on the heads of those who raised it.

Our remedy at home is easy. It requires but the simple opera-
tion of CLOSING OUR POCKETS. The sinews of war are in our gift ;
and we must, in reason, in justice, withhold them from those who
would fight against us. We have but to arm ourselves with the
resolution not to pay a government which is at variance with our
welfare. We love our legitimate sovereigns; we would honour and
obey them ; and when we find them choosing as their counsellors
men who sympathize with the nation, who identify themselves with
its prosperity, who feel for its wants, and are willing to relieve it
from burdens which the pride, ambition, and extravagance of a mad
aristocracy have entailed upon it, we would risk with cheerfulness
our lives and fortunes in their support : but if the intrigues of party
be suffered to taint the fountain of royalty, and poison the streams
which should fill the land with health and gladness, we must turn
away with sorrow, and invoke the Almighty Disposer of events to
avert the evil they may produce. We know that we have Generals
and Judges who would willingly enact the parts of a Jeffries and a
Kirk. We know that there are men who lie in wait to force them-
selves into power, and coerce the sovereign's sanction to all the
enormities which distinguished the reign of the fugitive James, and
that of the good, but too credulous, George the Third. We know that
imprisonment, confiscations, and violent measures, of the worst
description, have occupied the contemplations of our short-sighted
oligarchy. But we rely on the wisdom and firmness of William the
Fourth, to eschew their counsels, and put his trust in subjects, who
alone can protect him from the grasp of ambition — a monster
already putting forth its " feelers'' to ascertain its force, for the
destruction of British independence and of the throne itself. Heaven
avert the calamity ! In the hearts of a free people, legitimate
sovereignty is safe : in their enmity it must fall. The present
ministry may steer the vessel of the state to a happy destination ;
they have the ability and the means of doing so ; but they must
throw off all fear of the Hydra which menaces them, and, supported
by the strength of the people, they must march with a firm step

328 THE LA8I SESSION.

to the annihilation of a power which has too successfully, in the "last
session," frustrated their plans, and set at nought their anxious
labours. They must insist on a cheap government ; on a retrench-
ment of extravagant expenses ; on a free untaxed use of the press ;
on the abolition of the unnatural corn-laws ; and on the destruction
of holy alliance influence, abroad and at home. Then will they
have a just claim to the respect of the sovereign, and to the
love and devotion of the country. Flinching in this, they will
become the mockery of the oligarchic pandemonium ; and the
sun of their popularity will set in storm and darkness, never to
rise again. Their talents are above praise, and their intentions
cannot be doubted. Firmness and uncompromising opposition to
lordly dominion is all that is wanting to secure their seats in the
ministry and in the hearts of millions who await with anxiety the
result of their endeavours.

The last hope of the oligarchs is per fas aut nefas, to induce his
majesty to change the ministry and dissolve the Parliament. Let
them try the experiment! They will then see how much the nation
isalienated from them ; — they will be convinced that their reign is
over. They may then hear counsel again, as to the verity of our
assertions, and as to the propriety of throwing out the various bills
which their lordships had not leisure to consider in the last session ;
one of the most grievous, of which to them, perhaps, is the Bill
relating to Imprisonment for Debt. If that were passed, it would
oblige them to pay their tradesmen, now debarred by the shameful
privilege of peers from obtaining satisfaction of their just demands.
Hinc ill& lachrymcd / Wetherell and Knight must again be put in
requisition, to twaddle over the injustice of such a law, and attempt
to prove that their lordships may swindle with impunity. Far be
it from us, however, to apply these remarks to many of their lord-
ships, than whom more honourable men do not exist; and were
the whole house of their stamp, the claims of justice would be
heard ; misery would vanish ; the channels of labour would be
refreshed with the waters of prosperity ; our valleys would again
smile ; and the dawn of a golden day would once more gladden
our now oppressed land.

And who are the people who would stand by the lords in their
attempts to enslave us ? We scarcely need answer the question to
its full extent; but we may enumerate a great part of those who are

THE LAST SESSION. 329

deeply interested in the continuance of lordly despotism, and the
progress of fraud and profligacy : — the pensioners, the sinecurists,
the little chartered lords of boroughs and cities ; the managers of old
charitable institutions ; the hedge-lawyers ; the bailiffs and their
fiend-like followers. And who are the people who will support the
claims of liberty ? We answer — Every man in the land who has the
fear of God before his eyes — every man who believes that there is a
future state, in which his merits and demerits will be canvassed,
and in which he will be rewarded or punished. And yet, against
these latter the hypocritical cry is raised of " the church is in
danger!" The pseudo church is indeed in danger: a church sup-
ported by frauds of the blackest dye, trampling on a nation in the
name of that meek and all bountiful Redeemer, who impressed
upon his disciples the absolute necessity of forbearance, humility,
rejection of high places, honours, and dignities, and who himself
rode on an ass, the meanest of beasts of burden, to exemplify
the simplicity by which the Christian character should be distin-
guished : — a soi disant reformed church, raised upon the spoils of the
scarlet one of Rome, long since shorn, and justly so, of the greater
part of its superstitious influence over an ignorant people. But
what became of the riches of the despoiled church? Were they
distributed amongst the poor and needy ? Were they appropriated
according to the doctrines of the great Founder of the true Christian
church ? Oh, no : they were awarded to fatten and pamper the re-
formed church ; to continue the bug-bear, in another shape, of the
necessity of bishops, and archbishops, and sinecurists, and pluralists,
and all the sable train of ecclesiastical mummery ; in fine, to raise up
a Hierarchy only to be equalled in atrocity by the Oligarchy with
which it is now united, to wrest the last crust from the hands of
poverty, and barter away the rights and privileges of free-born
men. But the lords feel that they are arrested in their career : the
awful voice of Public Opinion has sounded in their ears like the
thunder of a cataract, which they begin to suspect may overwhelm
them ; and their " last session," they perceive, may be indeed the
last, in which their antics may be played and their wickedness tole-
rated. The banners of the Cross must be separated from the ban-
ners of blood ; — the union of the cassock and the sword must be
dissolved; —or the "last session" of the Commons will be the last of
its independence and safety.

330 FORMS OF GOVERNMENT.

ETERNITY.

ETERNITY, what art thou ? My poor mind

Ranges in vain through regions of deep thought

To seek a fitting semblance of thee ! — nought
Can I collect ! — tis vain ! — I cannot find
Ideas with which I might thine image bind.

What are the ages that old Time hath brought,
Compar'd with thee ? the fame of battles fought,

Thoughliving as the world ? — a gust of wind,
That sweeps along, and then is heard no more.

And what is boasted Time himself to thee ?
A flame that for a moment bright will soar,

Leaving deep gloom through which no eye can see.
Or, 'tis a wave that ripples to the shore,

And dies upon thy rock— Eternity !

T.

A CHAPTER ON FORMS OF GOVERNMENT.

BOSWELL, in his entertaining medley called " The Life of John-
son," has recorded the following saying of that dictatorial sage,
" When I say that all governments are alike, I consider that in no
government power can be abused long. Mankind will not bear it/'
In fact, it is insufferable : and, in the present day of educated
humanity, our common nature shudders at the bare recital of an
attempt to perpetrate so shameful an act of moral turpitude.
Witness the daily bitterness of denunciation expressed by all patriotic
and good men (to whom alone I address myself) relative to the sub-
jugation, first, and asbolute destruction, secondly, of Poland,
Poland once stood with all the attributes of national glory and
honour, perfectly upright in the scale of the nations of the ennobled
earth, cheering, by her valour and patriotism — upholding by her
physical courage — supporting by her paternal care — fostering, by her
strong and natural affection, — instructing, by means of her intellectual
pretensions, all and every lover of the rights of man, without regard
to country or clime. Behold her grovelling in that dust — which the
indestructible God of nations has written in the book of life " the
tyrant himself shall be made to lick." " If a sovereign,'' said Dr.
Johnson, " oppress his 'people to a great degree, they will rise and
cut off his head. There is a remedy in human nature that will keep
us safe under every form of government/' — Vol. i. p. 367.

If this sentence was not a sally in the heat of conversation,
probably elicited by the doctor's love of contradicting what any one
else advanced, it is a singular instance of the incorrectness of his
reasoning on these topics. Passing over the scope he seems to give

FORMS OF GOVERNMENT. 331

to the resistance of subjects, and the very impolite indifference with
which he speaks of cutting off kings' heads — strokes of jacobinism
which could scarcely have been expected from the always slovenly
dressed doctor — there is the strange absurdity of considering it as the
same thing whether " evils" are prevented, or are redressed after
they had been felt. Let us apply the same mode of arguing to a
more familiar case. " When I assert that it is no matter what regi-
men a man keeps, I consider, that if he eats or drinks too much, he
will make himself sick, or will be obliged to fast or take physic.
There is in the human constitution a remedial power, which, after a
certain process of suffering, will bring the machine right again."

The exactness of this parallel cannot, I think, be disputed ; and, if
the maxim be false and absurd in the latter case, it must be the same
in the former. The government of a state, like the regimen of the
human body, is intended to prevent disorders, and preclude the
necessity of painful and dangerous remedies, which in themselves
are as much an evil as the diseases they are meant to cure. Though
the loyal James Howell, the letter-writer, said, coolly enough, after
the execution of Charles I., " I will attend with patience how
England will thrive, now thus she is let blood in the basilical vein,
and cured, as they say, of the king's evil ;" yet a man less loyal in
principle might regret the severity of the treatment, and wish that
a better balance of power at that period had rendered it unnecessary.
Mr. Pope, indeed, seems to encourage the same indifference to
political systems in his noted couplet,

" For forms of government, let fools contest,
Whatever is best administered is best :"

but his commentator, who justly observes that these lines, if so
understood, oppose his own express preceding words, contends that
therefore their meaning must be different ; though it does not
clearly appear what else they can mean. Doubtless the government
that is best administered, i. e. most for the substantial happiness of
the people, is best; I would have the people free — free 'as the
birds of air ! but the question recurs, what kind of government is
most likely to be so administered? and surely all forms are not of
the same tendency in this respect.

The position of the sagacious author of Rasselas is not less erro-
neous historically than logically. It is very far from being true that
" oppressed people" have always risen against their tyrants, and
still further that their insurrections have been successful. The
records of mankind rather exhibit a perpetual succession of
oppressions, some of whom indeed have revenged upon their
predecessors the evils they inflicted, but without any permanent
amelioration of the lot of the governed. If we look upon maritime
or continental Europe at the present day, and after upwards of six
thousand years of civil dissensions, what do we see but an acquies-
cence, nearly universal, in exercises of authority, so far from con-
ducing to the general good, that there is scarcely a point in which
they do not thwart private felicity. A neighbouring country worked
into the highest pitch of frenzy by long — and too generally

332 FORMS OF GOVERNMENT.

absolute — oppression, after bleeding very freely both in the " basili-
cal" and every other vein, has subsided into a state of passive
despondent submission to a usurped authority, infinitely more
galling- and dreadfully rigorous than that which it |threw off; and
has become the instrument of extending the same iron sway over all
Europe, with the exception of merry but determined England !

I would seriously ask my devoted countrymen, What is this
Island ? It is the seat of a form of government the most nicely
balanced and adjusted, the most carefully planned and vigilantly
supported, that the admiring world ever saw : and surely the many
arduous struggles about it have not been the " contest of fools !"
This form is, in (fact, its essence. That combination of different
orders and interests by which its legislative proceedings, and the
freedom of discussion, together with the saving influence of an
unfettered press, are the real safeguards against those abuses of
authority which the immense power necessarily placed in the hands
of the executive government cannot but tend to generate. The
totality of " public power" is, indeed, by its nature unlimited ; but
the limitation of each branch of it is by express stipulations, and the
check given one to another creates all the difference between a
tyranny and a constitution. Never, then, let an indifference towards
"forms'" enter into the political feelings of this aroused but forbear-
ing nation !

The lion, — that noble creature, will, sometimes bear a great deal
of trifling provocation from its keeper : but no sooner shall he have
passed the usual bounds of petty managerial tyranny, and inflicted
a fresh torture on the spirit of the king of the forest — than he is
brought low, beneath the " living thing" whose patience and mascu-
line modesty he had stupidly insulted ; and perhaps the framework
of his flesh-eaten carcase left exposed under the eye of the burning
sun — as an example to other keepers — if not to the whole world.
In addressing the people, I would, in a pure and Christian spirit, — a
spirit of loyalty, not of vulgar disaffection — advise the keepers of
monarchies to take warning by the example also. *' The press, my
lords, and the stage," said the great Clarendon. " are our great out-
posts ; without their salutary aid we are as nothing in the balance."

England and America, at the close of their civil wars, had long-
received notions of legitimate authority to recur to, which soon
healed the public wounds, and restored an orderly course of admini-
stration. France, self-tortured France, in the same conjuncture, had
nothing left worthy of renewal, and therefore, after the wildest in-
novations, sank into submission to a single will. How striking is the
condition of that unhappy and devoted country at the present moment,
when contrasted with her " predicament" at the epoch I have just
referred to! France cannot in the nature of things, in her present
condition, be rendered competent to enjoy liberty. It were merely
pandering to her inherent vanity to assert it ; and the man that dare
assert it, I would not believe to be a real friend to the sacred and
heaven-directed cause of civil and religious freedom. Let those
answer who may. I am with and for the people ! Ancient forms
may be improved with the progress of knowledge and experience;

fr0RMS OF GOVERNMENT. 333

but it must be done in conformity with their own principles,
and with the preservation of their essential parts. The bulk of
a nation can never be sufficiently enlightened, or free from passion
and prejudice, to concur in an entirely new system, recommended
only by abstract ideas of utility. If they are not attached
to 4< forms?' they will be attached to men ; and their fantastical
partialities will certainly lead them to excessive and misplaced con-
fidence. Nothing, indeed, is a stronger proof of the want of a
" constitution/' properly so called, than placing the public trust in
times of difficulty upon an INDIVIDUAL, rather than upon a national
body. The circumstance constitutes one of the most observable
differences between popular and monarchical governments. Those
of my countrymen who can, I would have remember that Rome,
when Hannibal was at her gates, confided in her Senate, the
depository of the combined wisdom of the state, and actuated by an
unchangeable spirit, Rome, at a later period, when pressed by the
inroads of barbarians, had nothing else to trust to than the character
of the Emperor of the day, or that of his favourite.

It has been a subject of controversy whether " national character"
creates forms of government, or whether these forms create national
character. That they reciprocally influence each other cannot be
doubted ; but on considering the very different kinds of government
in which nations similar in origin and bodily temperamenthave settled,
it would appear, that, while local circumstances tor accidents have
chiefly conduced to form these various governments, the formation
of national character has been a subsequent effect. Lycurgus and
Solon legislated for two neighbouring tribes of the same nation ; but
the operations of their several institutions rendered Athens and
Sparta as different from each other, in manners and principles, as if
they had been seated in different parts of the globe. It would, I
fear, be paying too great a compliment to the primitive character
of the people of England, to assert that their extraordinary attach-
ment to liberty, and their valour in its defence, were the causes of
the establishment of a free government here, while so many nations
of the same stock sank into a state of political slavery. But, since its
constitution has been fortunately settled on a firm basis of public
freedom, it has been manifestly instrumental in producing- a national
character different from, and, I may boldly affirm, in several respects
superior to, that of every other European country. Its influence is
rendered strikingly apparent by a comparison of the English with the
German character. Both people have a frankness and honesty of
disposition derived from their Gothic ancestry ; but while long- habits
of rigorous subordination, enforced by exertions of arbitrary power,
and by a gradation of ranks which admits of no intercommunity
between the high and low, have rendered the German formal,
complimentary, and submissive to authority, the Englishman is dis-
tinguished by an air of independence, a disregard to ceremonial
forms, and a spirit of resistance to assumed superiority, naturally
flowing from a polity in which

Even the peasant boasts the right to scan,
And learns to venerate himself as man.

M.M.— No. 10. 217

334 FORMS OF GOVERNMENT.

The natural effect of the feudal constitution was to produce a martial,
high-spirited order of nobility, of whom the remains were lately seen
in Poland, and are probably now to be found in Spain, and who
singularly contrast with the effeminate and servile nobles of absolute
monarchies, who exist but in a court, and whose fate depends upon
the nod of a prince or a minister. How greatly "habitual slavery"
debases the human character has been remarked from the earliest
period ; and its effects are equally obvious upon the hardy native of
the north and the languid inhabitant of the tropics, as, on the contrary,
the dignifying effects of freedom are alike conspicuous in all climates:
but the lot of liberty or slavery to individuals is generally determined
by causes beyond their power of control, and small states must
submit to such modifications of their government as great ones please
to enjoin. When the rest of the civilized world had received the
Roman yoke, it was in vain for the Greeks to contend for their
independence ; and so speedily was their noble spirit broken by sub-
jugation, that, under the empire, the Grteculus at Rome was dis-
tinguished from other foreigners only by greater proficiency in the
arts of adulation and servility.

Man is by nature weak and timid ; his first care is self-preservation,
and, if he cannot find it in the mutual protection of his fellows, he
will seek iijn submission to a potent master. The source to which
he looks for'support constitutes all the difference between the various
states of civil society. If he holds his security from a community of
which he forms a part, or from laws made and administered by persons
who have a common interest with himself, he feels and acts like a
free man : if, on the contrary, his dependence is upon the arbitrary
will of one or more, he sinks to the level of a slave. The habit of
relying on legal government, even where there is no adequate as-
surance of its continuance, inspires a portion of the manly confidence
of freedom. Thus the parliaments, or courts of law, in France dis-
played a noble spirit of resistance to despotism, even under the most
tyrannical reigns A poor man once refused to part with his cottage
to Frederick of Prussia, who offered him a price much beyond its
value. " Do not you know (said the monarch) that I could take
it from you without any compensation whatever?" " You might (he
replied) if there was no Burgher's court at Berlin." George the
Fourth of England felt dreadfully annoyed when he was told that the
blacksmith, who plied his forge opposite the pavilion at Brighton, in
a miserable hut, his own freehold— that, if he sold, he must be paid
ten times its value before he parted with it. The British king knew
there was no law to make the son of Vulcan give up his property,
and therefore, ultimately, the sum demanded was paid for it.

From the preceding considerations I should conclude that forms of
government are of essential importance, not only to the political state
of a country, but to the formation of its moral character, which can
never be noble or elevated when its constitution is servile. To
preserve in their integrity, and in spirit as welJ as in name, such as
have been established by the wisdom and virtue of past ages,
and sanctioned by long experience, is therefore one of the first

LOUIS PHILLPPE. 335

of political duties ; as, on the other hand, indifference about them,

inculcated by the doctrine that " all are alike," is one of the surest
symptoms that all are not alike.

LOUIS PHILIPPE.

O WHY art thou driven from Gaul and from glory,
Thou proud man of war, but unworthy at home ?

Why, why, wilt thou suffer Posterity's story
To be blotted by folly and crime yet to come ?

Awake from those visions of tyranny, — madness ;

Shake off the base cov'ring of pride and deceit :
Shouldst thou falter — for France there is anarchy's sadness —

Despair and destruction thy house both await.

For Gaul's sake, arouse thee, and put on the FATHER,
Not only thy race — but thy people cry " come !"

Despise not the counsel of man, and a brother,

Ere thy kingdom depart, and thy sceptre be gone !

Arise from the midst of defection and treason,

Where the name of Napoleon alone was the charm :

For whom a long time they took leave of their reason,
Till Tyranny came, with his HOLY " alarm !"

Then thou know'st, faithless Philippe, they left him to perish ;

Nor dared they to conquer for Liberty's sake ;
No, they never — they cannot — the pure feeling cherish

Of Freedom, free-born. YET FRANCE, FRANCE SHALL AWAKE !

Many words are but trifling — much talk is in vain ;

Orleans must be made or unmade as a king,
Though infamy's unbroken Muscovite chain

Be linked with brave Poland's. It is truth that I sing.

Her Patriots lie bleeding, forsaken around thee :

Thou know'st, with acuteness, her wounds are so foul

That the image of Poland doth trouble and haunt thee,
And lay an embargo upon thy proud soul.

Thou hearest her chains from morn until midnight :
Her groans from the depths of her madd'ning despair,

And yet, Monarch Patriot, thou hast kept from God's daylight
" The why and the wherefore :" — are t hey light as air ?

Not so, gracious Philippe, thou generous master !

They are written in letters of adamant, now —
And are sure to emblazon and warrant disaster —

For the finger of heaven is fixed on thy brow !

If once more thou would'st be the King thy ambition

Would have thee to be, for thy family's sake :
Why trust me, the flames of a Gallic perdition

Will dry up thy life's blood AT TYRANNY'S STAKE.

( 336 )

CHARLES AND HIS SUBJECTS.

THE causes which led to the memorable " revolution" of 1648, the
calamities which marked its untoward progress, the almost uninter-
rupted success of the " PEOPLE" and their parliamentary and inter-
national advocates, during- the unhappy contest between Charles and
his subjects, together with the singular and melancholy issue of the
struggle, are so well known as to render unnecessary any more than
a mere reference, to that frightful period of history.

From the concurrent testimony of the ablest authorities, it is
clearly established that the English government was founded on
principles of " liberty," even in the earliest times of the Saxons ;
and that William the Conqueror made no ostensible innovation in
their practical administration is evident from the recorded observa-
tion of Lord Chief Justice Coke, who says: — "The grounds of our
common laws at this day are beyond the memory or register of any
beginning, and the same which the Norman conqueror then found
within this realm of England ; and those laws he swore to observe,
which are good and ancient."

England, it must be allowed, was ever distinguished from the states
of the continent by various statutes, still existing on the rolls of Parlia-
ment, and manifesting the attachment of the English to the lex terrte,
in the collection of the best of the Murcian, West-Saxon, Danish,
and King Edgar's laws, made by Edward the Confessor.

If any particular period, therefore, could be selected by me in
just preference, to place in juxtaposition, as fostering the " righteous
growth" of the Commons in the state, — it was during the stormy
and turbulent reign of Henry III., when the inordinate ambition of
Leicester enabled him, with the popular assistance of the COUNTRY,
to seize on the supreme power, of which also he most probably
would have retained the possession, had he not met with a
powerful antagonist in Prince Edward. Notwithstanding the aspect
of the Times — amid all these struggles, the cause of " popular free-
dom" was strengthened, as appears, from among numerous proofs —
especially in two instances, in the reign of Richard II. The first
occurred in the sixth of this monarch's reign, when a certain ob-
noxious statute, having passed without the assent of the Commons,
was, on their (the people's) petition to the crown, agreed to be re-
pealed. The second fact arises in the 21st of the same reign, when
Richard, having accomplished the downfal of the Duke of Glouces-
ter and his party, was not content with the signature of the chief
prelates and nobles to the various instruments passed, but absolutely
called on the "faithful commons and people'' at large, then present,
to assent to the same, by holding up of hands.

It may, in this place, with some advantage to the people of Eng-
land, be observed, that the wars of York and Lancaster, by breaking
the power of the great barons (not the borough-mongering and

CHARLES AND HIS SUBJECTS. 337

tyrant-loving lords of our own intelligent day) had the double
effect of strengthening the crown by their suppression, and leading
to the formation of burghs and free associations among the lower
people, whose vocation of private war was now in a great measure
destroyed, and who were, therefore, driven back on the pursuits of
industry and the independent assertion of their rights, by this revo-
lution in the state of society. The COMMONS, consequently, grew
into consideration, precisely as the barons declined, and succeeded
naturally to the benefit of those limitations on the royal power,
which the latter had established chiefly with a view to themselves.

The suppression of religious houses under Henry VIII. operated
substantially in the same manner ; and, though the temper of that
prince (whose name cannot fail to disgust every manly bosom —
every feeling heart, filled by the blood of human tenderness, and
responsive to heaven-born freedom), and the wealth he had thus ac-
quired, enabled him to venture on stretches of not only unconstitu-
tional, but profligate, wicked, and even criminal assumptions of
despotic power, certainly unknown to his predecessors, there are
the plainest indications both of a dominant spirit of resistance in the
parliaments, and of an independent supremacy in the law, that
mark the true character of the BRITISH GOVERNMENT, as a limited
and not an absolute monarchy.

The intolerant reign of Mary was that of a bigoted and vindictive,
if not a scandalous, faction.

That of Elizabeth, on the contrary, was marked by wise and popular
measures. Elizabeth was indeed a sensible woman, and popular
sovereign. She was looked upon with peculiar veneration
and even indulgence, as the PROTECTRESS of the " protestant
cause" in Christendom. The Pope's influential toe was at this time,
however, more frequently kissed than of late, or at present ; but the
known political advocates of popery were more manly — if not Chris-
tian-like— and more open in their advocacy of that unhappy system
of non-educational darkness and superstitious terrorism ; that
appalling ignorance, which his abandoned brothel Highness POPE
JOAN impressed upon the muckworms, whose slime irradiates
the territorial hell which feeds the exchequer of the pontifical
circus ?of Rome, and pays the obedient scarlet-ones so handsomely
for their confessional as well as professional performances. (When
will this baleful mockery be overpassed? When will the nations of
the earth be brought to the footstool of the God of the Bible and of
nature, to pay entire homage — to worship with holy worship, — the
everlasting and infinite God — the revealed Almighty ?)

Let me proceed, however. It was in the reign of this stupid and
blind — blind to his own happiness and the security of the crown, by
means of the support and concord of his fain-would-be-faithful sub-
jects, combined with, and arising out of, the pedantic and irrelevant
nature of his education, favourite studies, and peculiar writings (for
James was a political writer), that the first solemn and precise
claim of absolute authority was made in behalf of an English
monarch, and a naked and elaborate exposition attempted of the
duty of passive obedience on the part of his people. That these

338 CHARLES AND HIS SUBJECTS.

insulting- doctrines should have called forth "a war of words," a con-
troversy long to be remembered, and led the way to the fierce and
angry assertion of opposite opinions, was but in the nature of
things: and if violent or inconsistent notions were persisted in, in the
ominous course of a " battle " that could not be expected to be im-
partial and temperate, the onus should certainly rest on those who
first threw down the gauntlet and courted this appeal to theory and
first principles, which is often as hazardous in politics as it is bene-
ficial in abstract sciences. The truth is, in fact, that, to a certain
extent, this had become"unavoidable ; not only because the age had
become more " speculative and intelligent," but because the in-
creasing numbers and wealth in the body of the nation, namely,
the MIDDLE CLASSES, together with the decay of the Tory nobility —
the toe-kissers of the Pope, and secret enemies of the church mili-
tant on earth — the place hunters — the eaters up of the national re-
sources, by illegitimate pensions, for animal and other compliances —
the adulterers — the fornicators — the gaming-house dog-stars — the
Tory dictators — and the dilapidation of the royal demesnes, had ma-
terially deranged the old balance of the constitution, and produced
a " CRISIS" which could not possibly be managed without a thorough
examination of those reasons upon which the pretensions of the con-
flicting parties were virtually rested. But though the grand final
struggle and provoked combat itself was perhaps unavoidable, it
is impossible to forget that the deplorable effects by which it was
unhappily characterized and stained — for the most part originated
with that " shameless party " by whom it had been begun — by the
most insulting, the most inglorious provocations.

The commencement of the contest between the unfortunate
Charles and the representatives of the nation was when the monarch
dissolved his parliament, for refusing to grant a " supply'' till they
obtained a redress of grievances ; and that war, which produced so
much of human blood — boiling British blood, weltering in our
streets — the cruel imprisonments, pilloryings — brandings and cuttings
of ears — by which the authors of " offensive disquisitions'' were
punished at this period of contention, not (we are constrained to
remark) only began with the government, but were never practised
to anything like the same extent ; even after their exasperated adver-
saries had succeeded to the possession of power, may be said to have
been positively proclaimed, when he announced, on calling his second,
that if they were not more liberal than their predecessors, he would
have recourse to other counsels, raise a revenue by his own authority,
and govern for the future in the total absence of their individual or
collateral assistance ! These injudicious, if not outrageous, threats
were, with undiminished irony, afterwards carried into execution !
Members were ordered into arrest for their speeches in parliament
— the parliament itself was again dissolved — money extorted by
forced loans, monopolies, and ship-money — and finally, to un-crown
the whole of this melancholy procedure, commissions were issued
to fine and imprison all persons who opposed these violent and
unconstitutional exactions !

The history of Charles, indeed, presents, from beginning to end,

CHARLES AND HIS SUBJECTS. 339

" scenes" of the most " prophetic'' (if I may so speak) and ill-
timed character : prophetic, in so far as there have been already too
many sad and terrible " similitudes" in our day of the like descrip-
tion. God is great! Heaven only knows what we were born to
endure '. Patriot hearts, and true, know it to be their most bounden
duty to hope the best. To hope the best is not only pious, but brave
and wise.

" O England ! model to thy inward greatness ;
Like little body with a mighty heart !
What might'st thou do — that honour would'st thou do —
Were ALL thy children kind and natural !"

To conclude, however : the most singularly remarkable passage
contained in the whole of it, may be said to be his attempt to seize
the five arraigned members by his personal (of course unexpected)
appearance in the Commons House of Parliament, which imme-
diately succeeded his search for them within the walls of the city,
and his after retreat, first to Hampton Court, and then to York. It
appears from the best contemporary writers, who appear to have
taken great pains in developing these facts, that this misguided
and deluded king had slyly contrived, before this last-recounted
personal act, not only got together an irregular military guard of
disgraced and discharged officers, and other time-serving miscreants,
the very scum and froth of the oligarchical bastardy — for there were
not only royal but peers' bastards in those days — but had prevailed
on the students in the inns of court to enrol themselves as an
additional guard ; thus, the day before his visit he had ordered them
to hold themselves in readiness at fifteen minutes' notice ; that on
the same morning, two hundred stand of arms, with powder and a
quantity of ball-cartridges, had been sent from the Tower to White-
hall ; and that Charles proceeded to the House with a tumultuous
charlatan escort of about seven hundred armed men (mere mounte-
banks— a species of bravoes) many of them having pistols and other
fire-arms, who would not allow the doors of the " House" to be
closed after his entry, and used many threatening and insolent
expressions during the whole of this scene, characterized by no less
of monarchical than tyrannical mockery of the most unkingly com-
plexion, as in the best it was demonstrated. It is likewise mentioned
by no less an authority than Clarendon, that after the " proscribed
members" had taken refuge on the city side of Temple Bar, " it was
proposed by Lord Digby to go after them with a select company of
gentlemen, headed by one Lunsford, and to seize and bring them to
the king (a very pretty specimen of a king, or father of his people,
truly) dead or alive ! and without doubt (adds the noble historian)
he would have complied with the diabolical demand of the Tory-
kingsman Digby, which must have had a wonderful effect." What a
most contemptible figure this monarch cuts in the blood-red pages
of the history of Britain ! and what an afflicting example of the
profligate and wicked abuse of power is recorded, with so "much
truth and justice, by the impartial spirit of History, for our guidance,
detestation, and, by the blessing of Providence, salvation ! Respond

340 CHARLES AND HIS SUBJECTS.

who may, there is the essence of everlasting truth in the proposition.
Answer who will, the words of the spirit of History will outlive bolh
monarchical despotism and oligarchical oppression. Albeit, it is not
now, as then, in the power of the PRIMOGENITURES, who recklessly
pretended to rally round and impiously sought to worship the great
animal who was made to bask under the meridian rays of the then
fading sun of England's glory : we repeat, twenty years (not to say
two centuries) have wrought strange alterations. The PRIMOGENI-
TURES are held and looked upon, by the enlightened people of
England, as so many incorrigible wasps ; — and the animal in the
light of a marvellous creature — not intellectual — curiosity, possessing
characteristics of no mean origin ; and in the possession of the
faculty of speech, without prejudice to helpless inaction or prefigura-
tive insanity. Heaven itself will, we religiously hope, assist the
Britons — if the Britons will not help themselves! They know full
well that it is high time to cast off the works of political darkness —
parliamentary oppression — and elective slavery, to put on the entire
and complete armour of polished freedom, unprejudiced truth, and
constitutional liberty ! They know how to be obedient to good works
and just laws; and how to reject and despise whatever approaches
to ungodly misrule, ministerial peculation, and administrative base-
ness and folly. Heaven only be praised ! The long-collected clouds
of our ill-starred political hemisphere are passing, — nay, have been
driven far off; they now hang over the North, and still shadow forth
the embryo tyrannies — the " ten thousand vile oppressions" of the
monster of Muscovy ; and we begin to see the resplendent radii of
that magnificent sun, whose " torrent flood" rolls onward! Onward
rolls that mighty stream — compared to which, the deep and
unfathomable Nile is but as the shadow of a shade ; the ungodly
and foetid Tiber, but as the lingering outline of the mental territorial
sea, which shall out-pour upon public and private tyranny its
annihilating and irresistible elements of final destruction.

To conclude. However we may condemn the majority of the
measures pursued by the parliament to, and ulterior to this calami-
tous civil war, this unjust and indefensible crusade against the rights
and liberties of the people ', however sincerely, as a matter of
humanity, we may lament the murder of the monarch, and feel
inclined to venerate the sovereign authority thus trampled upon, we
scarcely desire, at the same time, to withhold our deploration of those
arbitrary and pernicious measures which precipitated the catastrophe,
with all the madness of civic discord, the terrible malpractices of
tyrants, and their Jesuitical and manacled superior and inferior
slaves. Nor can we, in sober equity, refrain from making due
allowance for men born to freedom, and the social and constitutional
enjoyments of civil and religious liberty ; the same, too, having
been endowed by a just and merciful Creator with that quick and
spiritive apprehension of their interests, inherent in Englishmen,
attached to their rights, and resentful of injury. We are prepared
to encounter every peril, and manfully, with lion hearts and unpol-
luted hands, yield to every sacrifice for the preservation of their
liberties, and protection of their substance — in fine their PROPERTY.

CHARLES AND HIS SUBJECTS. 341

In this forlorn condition of the country, it was reserved for that
cold-hearted speculative genius, Cromwell — to pursue and obtain an
elevation alike formidable and dreaded abroad, as it was effective
and energetic at home. Whatever opinion may be entertained upon
the means by which Cromwell made his way to the fearful height of
supreme power, the praise of an equitable administration of the
laws, and a bold and fearless exercise of the functions of the first
magistrate of a free people, have always constituted the character-
istic of his short rule as an epoch of English ascendency : a conclu-
sion which may be justly said to arise, not less from the firmness
and vigour (Cromwell was a soldier be it recollected) of the public
acts of his government, than from deplorable contrasts supplied by
the profligate habits of Charles II. in the last years of his reign.

The unsubstantial — unsubstantial, because wicked and unjust —
fabric reared by Cromwell soon fell into shivers after the death of
its chief. His son, although destitute of the talents needed on such
emergencies, had magnanimity enough to vacate a post for which he
felt his utter incapacity, and taking from choice — of his own free
will, the path of retirement and seclusion from the world, he sup-
plied no proper materials for history : — he seems, in short, to have
been supremely happy to have learned the truth of real contentment
and peace, which his progenitor, who had been accounted " great,"
but ultimately the opposite of great — little.

After this unprecedented and solemn mockery of a change from a
bad to a good government — of which the gallant and patient Britons,
who had been, as it were, expatriated from their rights and liberties
— the nation, roused like the *' lion" when he sees, only in the distance,
food with which to satisfy his calamitous and frightful appetite — si-
multaneously welcomed back old institutions and the regal sceptre
under the "sacred shadow" of which Great Britain, through every
storm of faction and of public wars, has grown up, like a giant, after
having given birth to dignity and power. The MONARCHY crowns
the long line of British ancestorial administrations, which, bit by bit,
has framed the body politic, by an almost perfect, if not beautiful,
process. The greatest among many extraordinary men, who have
contributed to this national and constitutional blessing — I need not
say — is the patriotic, the humane, the exalted, but enduring, Lord
Melbourne — His Majesty's Prime Minister. I shall not, in this
place, endeavour to say what I think of this truly great but unam-
bitious Minister — as he now is — surrounded by a halo of national
veneration which renders eulogium superfluous, and examination a
work of supererrogation.

FROM SCHILLER.

Deep in the earth the golden seed is laid,

And spring shall yield young bud and waving blade,

In Time's fast-closing furrow what shall bloom ?

Burst the dull Earth, and spring from thy forgotten tomb ?

AUCEPS.
M.M.— No. 10. 2 X

( 34-2 )

SI ME AMAS, BASIA ME.

"A STATUE of Apollo has been discovered near Rheims, on one
side of which are engraved the words "£« me amas, basia me" There
is a MS. song in Latin still in existence, the burden of which is,
word for word, the same as the above. The Latinity is that of the
lower Empire, and seems to have been the production of some lover,
who, quitting the "fumum et opes strepitumce Romce" was ,about to
pass the remainder of his life amid the seclusion and solitude of some
distant province. Indeed, I am not sure but that the poem and
statue may have reference to each other , the following is a trans-
lation of it.

Sing no more ! hush e'en the lute !*
Bid the very breeze be mute !
For the spell of Beauty's bow'r
Is the silent, sunset hour;
Or, if feeling's fount must flow,
Forth in whispers, faint and low ;
Let the murmur'd music be,
" Si me amas, basia me."

Proud halls for the wealthy are —
Sweet heart,f did I court thee there '?
Seldom, where wealth loves to roam,
Doth affection find a home I
But where pride of wealth was none,
There thy love I woo'd and won ;
There first sigh'd, on bended knee,
" Si me amas, basia me."

Come, then, to my rural cot,
Rome and all Rome's pomp forgot,
Heroes, of her prouder days —
Minstrels, crown'd with fadeless bays —
What are they to hearts like ours,
Feeding still on love and flow'rs,
Sunny flow'rs, love pure, though free —
" Si me amas, basia me."

Love, the offspring of desire,
Dies like Hope's unfading fire ;
But the love of love that's born,
Time and tide may laugh to scorn : —
For though, like the summer day,
Youth's fond charms must pass away,
Still Youth's token e'er shall be, —
" Si me amas, basia me."
July 22nd. H. B.

* Chelys, in MS. f Delicise mese, in MS.

( 343 )

"THE COLTON PAPERS."

No. 3.— THE REVOLUTION OF JULY. ,

IT was not therefore to be wondered at that mutual defiances
and recrimination had now begun to break out amongst themselves.
Already many of their comrades had seceded, and had refused
longer to oppose the cause of the people, others amongst them held
on their obedience, as it were, by a thread. Harassed by such re-
flections, their arms dropping from their tired hands, with the bare
stones for a couch, divided between the fear of attack from without,
and of treachery from within, the troops betook themselves to such
repose as fatigue can sometimes find, even amid the torments of
anxiety.

I am now about to relate the momentous events of Thursday, July
29. This will be a day/amous in history — a day pregnant with he-
roic achievements, that broke in sunder the chains of thirty millions
of people ; a day so thronged with examples of every kind of mag-
nanimity, that the courage and the enterprise which distinguished it,
though of the highest order, were almost eclipsed by the superior
radiance of virtues never before associated with such convulsions.

Long ere the approach of dawn on this glorious day, the tocsin of
St. Germain 1'Auxerrois rang out its appeal to the citizens, and was
shortly afterwards followed by many of the other churches in this
extensive city. By what may be termed a retributary coincidence,
the above mentioned bell, which had formerly given the signal for
the horrible massacre of St. Bartholomew, now called the sons of
freedom, and religious liberty, to put a final stroke to their glorious
work, and, by carrying the war into the very palaces of that race,
who had so long oppressed them, to burst the shackles of France for
ever, and place her by the side of England, as a free and constitu-
tional state. Drums were now heard in every quarter, and shouts of
Aux Armes I Aux Armes ! rent the air. The spirit-stirring words,
Liberte ou Mort, was the battle cry of those who fought for their
dearest rights, and, at this inspiring sound, many a gallant heart tore
himself from the endearments of home, either to return free, or re-
turn no more. The well-disciplined instruments of tyranny also
stood to arms, as the shouts increased, but with what different feelings
were they again to be engaged in a conflict, of the desperation of
which the two preceding days had given them an earnest ; a combat,
where no glory could be gained, and where defeat was a double dis-
grace ! Bitter was the feeling, it cannot be doubted, with which they
saw the approach of daylight. A French soldier could not think of
retreat, and victory over their brethren would add nothing to their
well-earned fame. The alternative was dreadful, but military disci-

344 THE COLTON PAPERS.

pline, and a mistaken sense of duty, determined the wavering, and,
with the painful feelings that these conflicting sentiments must in-
spire, they awaited the onset. Here we must remind our readers
that, after the people had retired on the close of Wednesday, a large
body of the Royal Guard were stationed for the night in front of the
Louvre, but about three o'clock were removed, and the defence of
this part of the palace confided to the Swiss troops, three of whom
were placed behind each of the double columns between the windows
of the first floor, and in other parts, from whence they could fire in
security. At half past three in the morning, the tocsins began to
sound in various quarters, and the cries of Aux Armes ! were plainly
heard as the populace began to assemble. The noise of breaking up
the pavements in the various streets contiguous to the Palace now
plainly indicated that the attack was about to be renewed ; and at
half past four, at the extremity ot the rue des Poulies, a narrow short
street leading from the rue St. Honore, the populace commenced re-
moving from their places the paving stones, in order to form a bar-
rier on the left of the colonnade. Upon this point a murderous fire
was commenced by the Swiss troops, which was kept up without a
moment's intermission during the whole progress of its completion.
A few shots were fired from a window of the house next the spot
were the barrier was erecting, which, without doing much mischief,
divided the attention of the Swiss; but many of the populace fell. —
It was now evident, however, that no losses, severe as they might be,
could intimidate the dauntless spirit of the assailants. The groans of
the wounded and dying were mingled with shouts of anticipated vic-
tory ; and the deepening roar of the increasing multitudes, each in-
stant arriving at the scene of combat, from all parts of the city,
seemed to carry dismay into the ranks of the royal troops. One of
the populace, a man of almost gigantic stature, on receiving his death-
wound shouted, with a voice of thunder, " Vive la nation," and in-
stantly fell a corpse upon the barrier he had been assisting to erect.
The death of this man, who had been among the most active and in-
trepid of the brave during the struggle, drew forth loud shouts of
vengeance from his companions, and seemed to make a momentary
impression on the troops. The barrier was completed about eleven
o'clock, and a smart fire kept up from it. It was from this that two
of the assailants first sprang forward and gained the iron railings,
enclosing the front of the Louvre, where there is a dwarf wall (about
two feet and a half high) under which they lay down, and continued
to fire upon the troops. Their example was soon after followed by
two of the National Guards, one of whom carried a large tri-coloured
flag, with which he contrived to crawl to a water-butt standing close
to the railing, and from behind it managed to place the flag with his
gun and bayonet on the railing of the Louvre. This act of daring,
performed in the midst of a shower of bullets, was hailed with re-
iterated cries of Vive la Charte !

Great indeed was the courage of those who, without the means of
a siege, boldly determined upon its capture. Garrisoned by a nu-
merous body of Swiss, posted at every window and outlet where they
could aim with security, their deadly precision was soon apparent in

THE COLTON PAPERS. 345

the numbers of the assailants who fell. The approaches to this mas-
sive building were not made by trenches and parallels ; they had no
artillery to breach its walls, no petards to force its gates : determina-
tion, courage, and impetuosity were substituted for batteries, and a
recklessness of life, a sublime contempt of danger, supplied the place
of those murderous inventions. We must now turn to the attack
made from the place of St. Germain 1'Auxerrois, nearly opposite to
the centre of the eastern front of the palace. The attack from this
point was ordered by General Gerard. Every precaution had been
taken, the preceding evening, by the Duke of Ragusa, for the de-
fence of the palace, which, from its strength, might almost be termed
the citadel of Paris. The connection of the building with the Tuil-
eries rendered it of such importance, that, if taken, the troops had no
place of retreat left, but must evacuate the metropolis. Two regi-
ments of the Swiss formed its garrison, detachments of whom were
placed in the court, in the Garden of the Infanta, and the neighbour-
ing gardens ; they were amply provided with field-pieces, and am-
munition of various kinds, for the contest.

At an early hour the citizens advanced at a quick step, General
Gerard himself taking the command, with several other officers, and
some of the brave youths of the Polytechnic School, and, having sus-
tained some murderous discharges from the garrison, established
themselves in all the different houses of the place of St. Germain
1'Auxerrois, and in every position within view and gunshot of the
object of attack. The church afforded a commanding situation for
the besiegers, from whence they fired at every aperture, and at
every point, where a ball was likely to take effect. To a citizen
named Rouvat, the people were indebted for the first idea of the oc-
cupation of the towers, and the galleries of the church, from whence
their fire did tremendous execution upon the Swiss. Ihe first tri-
coloured flag which floated over its ancient towers, built by the
English during the regency of the Duke of Bedford, was hoisted by
an old trumpeter of the chasseurs of the Royal Guard. In accom-
plishing it he was slightly wounded in the hand. For some hours,
the fire was kept up with vigour and effect on both sides, but soon
after eleven that of the besieged began to slacken. At that period,
M. Langon, formerly a captain in the army, arrived at the head of
fifty men, and having killed several Swiss with his own hand, assisted
in the storming of the palace. Three columns now attacked it nearly
simultaneously, one by the Pont des Arts, another by the Quai de
1'Ecole, and a third by the colonnade, from the Place St. Germain
1'Auxerrois, and Rue des Poulies, already mentioned. The assailants
rushed forward, notwithstanding the terrific fire to which they were
exposed, to the gate, and after a brisk discharge, the last heard in
this part of the building, entered in triumph at precisely a quarter to
twelve, amid loud shouts of Vive la Charte ! The first column that
advanced consisted of about two hundred ; they were of course
speedily followed by thousands ; the contest, however, was not yet
ended, for the troops still retained possession of the gate opposite the
Rue du Coq and other parts of the edifice, which they defended
until their retreat towards the Tuileries.

346 THE COLTON PAPERS.

The gate facing the Pont des Arts having yielded to the attack of
the ^citizens, nearly at the same time as that of the colonnade, an
assault was now made upon that which fronts the Place du Carrousel,
which was still defended. This attack was headed by a young man
of the Polytechnic School, named Baduel, who was slightly wounded
during the combat. Here a brave fellow in a blue frock, and a
pistol in his hand, went boldly up to the iron gate, and the pistol
which he levelled at the sentinel having missed fire, he cocked it
again, and threatened to fire if the gate was not instantly opened.
Seeing the citizens pouring in through the other entrances, the
sentinel obeyed this audacious command, and joined the small re-
mainder of his countrymen, who were slowly retiring upon the
Tuileries.

It is a circumstance never sufficiently to be admired, that after
attending to the wounded, not only of their own party but those of
their opponents, and transporting them into the church of St. Ger-
main 1'Auxerrois to receive surgical aid, the thoughts of the citizens
in their then state of excitation should be turned towards the preser-
vation of the monuments of the arts. This national trait must not
be overlooked ; it is one that, we may boldly say, elevates the cha-
racter of the Parisian populace to so proud an eminence, that in this
metropolis alone could it have taken place. By common consent,
those parts of the Louvre which are devoted to works of art, its
many halls filled with the choicest specimens of ancient sculpture,
its noble gallery, famed throughout the world for its unrivalled col-
lection of paintings, were purposely spared by the irritated populace !
A universal feeling of respect for these relics of genius imbued the
mind of the lowest classes ; every one identified himself with the
national treasures, and no popular tumult could have induced any
one of the combatants to violate that splendid repository. M. Pro-
sper Lafaist, a young painter, after having contributed to the capture,
devoted all his energies to the safety of these valuable productions.
He penetrated into the interior of the Museum, and did not quit it
the whole day. His utmost efforts, however, to preserve the picture
of the coronation of Charles the Tenth, by Gerard, were unavailing;
it was literally drilled with balls. A portrait of the same monarch
by Sir Thomas Lawrence, experienced a similar fate. These were
the only losses sustained by the Museum on this day of miracles.
The arts certainly owe a debt of gratitude to the young artist who,
with his companions, devoted themselves to this necessary but unas-
suming duty. I lament to add, that one of these having gone to a
window of the grand gallery, was struck by a ball fired from the
court. I know not the name of this victim of accident ; but he
shortly after yielded up his life as a sacrifice to his country.

All nations and all religions seemed to have had their representa-
tives at this great work of regeneration, who either witnessed or
assisted in the struggle to recover the outraged liberties of that hos-
pitable country in which they had either a temporary or a permanent
sojourn. An individual of the Hebrew nation, animated with the
ancient courage of his race, at the first report of the cannon left his
home, without arms, to join the people. His name is Levy Abraham.

THE COLTON PAPERS. 347

He soon made himself master of the arms of a Lancer, and was the
fifth man who entered the Louvre. After having fought a long
time, he brought away, as a trophy, a piece of the Swiss flag. This
gallant fellow, before he returned to his occupation, deposited his
lance at the mairie of the seventh arrondissement. He was pressed
to accept a remuneration, which he refused, saying, " He did not
fight for money." He at last reluctantly accepted ten francs for his
immediate necessities, but only on the condition that he should be
allowed to repay it, for the benefit of the widows and orphans of
that eventful day, when his circumstances permitted it.

Among the remarkable traits of youthful heroism displayed on
this glorious occasion, we may here name the following : — A lad of
sixteen, armed with a double-barrelled fowling-piece, and a brace
of pistols, was the first to open the gate of the Louvre to the people ;
this brave youth, who had received fifteen wounds, was taken into
the temporary hospital formed in the body of the church. Another
lad of the same age, brought up in the Orphan Hospital, named
Pierre Charles Petit-Pere, climbed in the same manner as the
former over another gate, notwithstanding the fire of the troops.
He was so fortunate as to escape unhurt in this exploit. The Louvre
being taken, he repaired to the Rue de Grenelle St. Honore, where
the battle raged in all its fury ; he was there struck by a ball, that
passing through his left hand, shattered his right arm, which was
afterwards amputated. This young hero fell, shouting, Vive la
Charte ! Vive la France !

Within two hours of the assault, four Charettes, filled with dead,
were seen leaving the Louvre, and many bodies were left on the
grass plot, where they were afterwards interred. About sixty
wounded were also removed from the Palace by their comrades to
the Hotel Dieu, and it was truly gratifying to witness the kind and
gentle care with which these brave fellows treated their mutilated
and suffering companions. To the undaunted courage and gallantry
of the victors, it is impossible to do justice without an appearance of
exaggeration. Let it suffice to say, that the conduct of the people
of Paris on the spot, on the 29th of July, was never surpassed in the
brightest annals of her wars.

1 now proceed to a description of the last triumphant effort of the
people, the taking of the Chateau of the Tuileries, which, though a
formidable position, scarcely, if at all, inferior in strength to the
Louvre, opposed by no means the same obstinate resistance to the
assailants. Flushed with conquest, and every moment increasing in
numbers and regularity of movement, the columns of the citizens
here advanced to the attack against an enemy still obstinately brave,
but dispirited by defeat, and fearfully diminished in force. This will
sufficiently account for the comparatively feeble struggle with which
this last strong hold of royalty in the capital was defended.

It must be premised that, at ten o'clock in the morning, the citizens
inhabiting the quarters of St. Jaques, St. Germain, the Odeon, and
Gros Caillon, excited by the sound of the tocsin from almost all the
churches, and by the unanimous shouts of Vive la Charte ! came
forth in arms, the mass amounting to 5000 or 6000 men. They

348 THE COLTON PAPERS.

had to combat two regiments of the Royal Guards and Swiss, and
three strong detachments of Lancers, Cuirassiers, and Foot Grena-
diers, occupying the Carrousel, supported by a reserve of Artillery,
planted in the Garden of the Tuileries.

The Royal Guards, thus strongly posted, permitted the first
assailants to approach, and here the contest ended, almost as soon as
it was begun, by the slaughter of the front rank of the citizens; but
the troops were instantly afterwards driven back. Fresh columns of
the besiegers were seen advancing at the pas de charge ; and at th$
same moment the retreating Swiss, from the Louvre, poured like a
torrent through the Triumphal Arch of the Carrousel, carrying the
Duke of Ragusa, who was vainly endeavouring to rally his troops in
the court of the palace, away in the tumultuous mass. The Marshal
had brought forward the whole of his forces not actually engaged,
in order to cover the retreat, but, thrown into confusion by the
Swiss, a panic had seized the whole troops, and, keeping up a
straggling fire, they passed through the palace under the Tower of
the Clock, and traversed the Gardens of the Tuileries, in full retreat,
to the Place Louis XV.

The defeated soldiery were so closely followed by the assailants,
that the latter entered the court under the gate of the Triumphal
Arch before the former had evacuated it. This entrance, which the
retreating troops had not time to close against the besiegers, greatly
facilitated their obtaining possession of the Chateau. Still resistance
was offered with bloody obstinacy on other points, particularly the
Pavilion of Flora, from which a constant firing had been kept up
from seven in the morning upon the Pont Royal. Twice this wing
of the Palace was taken and abandoned, but at half past one the
Citizens were finally victorious, and two tri-coloured flags were
planted on the central pavilion.

On taking possession of the Chateau some excesses were committed
by the populace, who were irritated by the discovery of proclama-
tions of the Government to the troops, stimulating them against the
citizens, dated the preceding day. These were found in the Pavilion
of Flora, in which nearly every article of furniture was destroyed,
and thrown, with various precious effects, from the windows, as were
some thousands of papers, pamphlets, and even books. It is remark-
able, that in the library of the Duchess of Angouleme alone were
found any pamphlets, or other works, calculated to give information
upon the state of popular feeling, or the events passing without the
walls of the royal residence. The literary treasures found in the
apartments of the Dauphin were limited to a complete set of Alma-
nacks ! from the sixteenth century. It must not be supposed how-
ever that the royal library was deficient in valuable works ; on the
contrary, it contained a truly noble collection, including the works
of nearly every renowned writer from Homer downwards. The de-
vastations of the populace were not however confined to the Pavilion
of Flora. All the royal apartments suffered considerably. Splendid
specimens of porcelain, ornaments of the most costly description, and
magnificent mirrors, were broken without mercy. A portrait of the
Duke of Ragusa, in the Salle des Marechaux, was torn into a thou-

THE COLTON PAPERS. 349

sand pieces, and every bust or portrait of the Royal Family was in-
stantly mutilated or destroyed. An exception indeed was made. —
One of the victors had raised the but-end of his musket to demolish
the bust of Louis XV1IL, when he was reminded that to this mo-
narch France was indebted for the Charter. This was sufficient to
ensure its preservation ; the bust was however covered with a black
veil, to mark the feeling entertained of the calamities the fated sway
of the Bourbons had brought upon their country.

It has been regretted that the people should have permitted
themselves the excesses which occurred in the chateau ; but truly
heroic and magnanimous as they have shown themselves, the popu-
lace of Paris are but men ; and surely, in the first intoxication of a
dear-bought victory, some ebullition of feeling on the part of the
conquerors was to be expected; and though we may regret that the
amiable character of one unhappy princess, who is destined to suffer
so severely for the folly and wickedness of others, could not preserve
her apartments and property from the profanation of the multitude,
it is to their immortal honour that the triumph of this glorious day
was unsullied by a single act of rapacity. Plate, and all other arti-
cles of apparent value, were deposited by the conquerors at the
Hotel de Ville, with a scrupulous integrity scarcely equalled in the
history of mankind.

The toils of the day however demanded refreshment. The stores of
the larder and the wine-cellars consequently suffered considerably ;
the most delicious viands, and the choicest wines "and liqueurs of
every description, were partaken of by the victors, and by crowds
who had followed them into the palace, but who had had no share in
the dangers of its capture. The scene in the magnificent saloons on
this occasion was curious and grotesque beyond description ; hun-
dreds of half-armed men, in tattered garments, covered with blood
and dust, seated on the richly-embroidered chairs of royalty and
state, relating to each other the heroic feats they had witnessed, or
the dangers they had escaped, formed a picture to which no pencil
could render justice. We should state, that whatever arms were
found were eagerly seized: one trophy carried off by the victors
was a very richly ornamented sword of state, belonging to the Dau-
phin,— which has, however, been since restored.

After the capture of the chateau of the Tuileries, the whole of
Paris, at three o'clock on the afternoon, might be said to be in the
occupation of the people. Three regiments, as we have already
stated, had refused to fire on their countrymen. The National
Guards had possession of the Hotel de Ville, and the tri-coloured
flag floated upon almost every public place in the metropolis. The
citizens had made themselves masters of three-fourths of the capital,
and it was evident it required but little more exertion to put them in
possession of the whole. Even that portion of the Royal Guard sta-
tioned in the Place Louis XV. refused any longer to continue the
combat. " Let them kill us if they please," said they ; " we are de-
termined to abandon this odious task to which the last two days have
condemned us." In many other quarters of Paris, the troops of the
line had now begun to fraternise with the inhabitants ; — they shed

M. M.— No. 10. 2 Y

350 THE COLTON PAPERS.

tears of mutual joy, and congratulated each other on having so hap-
pily accomplished the deliverance of their country.

"While these brilliant achievements were accomplishing in the vi-
cinity of the Louvre and the chateau of the Tuileries, — achieve-
ments that could not be said to be finally terminated in favour of the
people till about three in the afternoon, — the morning of this me-
morable day had been, if possible, still more eventful and glorious
in various other sections of the city. In the rue St. Honore, near
the extremity of the rue Richelieu, and also in the open square of
the place du Palais Royal, an early and ^tremendous conflict had
commenced between the national troops and a detachment of the
Garde Royale, composed in great measure of the Swiss. The con-
flict here was of the most sanguinary and murderous nature, inas-
much as every house was disputed story by story, and every position
inch by inch. It was a revival of the siege of Saragosa ; for the
Royal Guards, no less than the people, had intrenched themselves in
many of the adjacent buildings, and from this advantageous position
kept up a steady and destructive fire on their opponents.

The military in this quarter, at the first appearance of dawn, had
thrown themselves into several of the houses in the Place of the Pa-
lais Royal, opposite the rue de Valois, and on the other side of the
square, and also in those facing, and at the end of the rue Richelieu,
the latter being completely commanded by a piece of artillery placed
in the rue de Rohan. Thus supported, and taking their stations at
the windows of the upper apartments, they seemed to set any at-
tempt of the citizens on this point at defiance. Their overwhelming
superiority in means and in position was however totally disregarded
by their gallant antagonists, and the battle fought on this spot was
one of the most obstinate and bloody that occurred during the con-
test of these three memorable days. In the early part of the morn-
ing the position occupied by the soldiery gave them decisive advan-
tages, which, under the exasperation of protracted conflict, they
used with tremendous effect. To appear within the reach of a
musket-ball was death. Still the assailants advanced; every dying
citizen supplied an unarmed fellow-countryman with a weapon for
the sacred cause, and the fight was continued with unabated fierce-
ness over the bodies of the wounded and the dead. At length some
of the doors of the Theatre Fran9ais were forced open, and numbers
of the populace flew to the balcony, from whence they could fire in-
to the apartments occupied by the Swiss. Several windows and the
roofs of many of the adjacent houses were also taken possession of
by the people, and the deadly combat now became more than equal.
At this crisis, that is to say, about noon, a proposition "was made, or
rather a boon solicited on the part of the royal troops, for a cessation
of arms for two hours, which being looked upon as a preliminary to
a final arrangement, that might put a stop to the effusion of blood,
was acceded to without hesitation by the citizens, who, far from
suspecting treachery at such a moment, at once turned to the melan-
choly task of removing' their wounded associates, and placing them
under surgical care. Hundreds of the populace unsuspectingly entered
the Place of the Palais Royal, and were already congratulating each

THE COLTON PAPERS. 351

other upon the termination of the bloody conflict, when, to the eternal
shame of the royal troops be it recorded, the attack was suddenly
renewed by them from the windows, upon the amazed and unprepared
masses beneath. This base act of treachery, more characteristic of
the assassin than the soldier, is only to be accounted for upon the
supposition that the officers, ignorant of the victories obtained by the
citizens during the morning, still expected the support of the troops
in the Louvre and Tuileries, and that they looked upon their pre-
tended compact, which enabled them to take their antagonists at
disadvantage, as a mere ruse de guerre, perfectly justifiable towards
the people, or, as they called them, the canaille of Paris. Dearly
however did they pay for their perfidy ; the combat from this mo-
ment assumed the character of vindictive animosity unknown at any
other period of the three days' contest. The unlooked-for treachery
of the enemy had aroused feelings of hatred and fury which blood
alone could allay, and accordingly, the war now carried on seemed
one of extermination. Both parties exposed themselves unshrink-
ingly to destruction ; danger and death were held at nought, while
vengeance might be purchased by the sacrifice of existence. The
carnage on both sides was frightful. The streets communicating
with that portion of the rue St. Honore that stretches from the
church of St. Roch to the corner of the rue de Valois were filled
with the dead and the dying ; and the rue de Richelieu might lite-
rally be said to flow with blood. The walls and the windows were
so chequered with bullets, that it must be a matter of surprise how
any of the combatants could have escaped. Those of the people who
had no muskets were seen snatching them from their disabled or
dying comrades, and cheering their last moments with a shout of
exultation whenever the fall of a soldier announced that their deadly
aim had taken effect. That detachment of the soldiery here en-
gaged had not tasted of food for thirty hours ; but even the feeling of
hunger was suspended by the more awful anticipation of death. — The
desperate determination with which the Swiss fought may be in-
ferred from the following circumstance. In the rue St. Honore,
near the corner of the place du Palais Royal, they had been re-
duced to about sixty or seventy men, and they maintained the con-
flict in three lines of single files ; the whole of the street in front of
them, and many of the contiguous houses, being occupied by the
people. In this emergency, the foremost Swiss soldier would fire,
or attempt to fire, and would fall, pierced with balls, before he could
wheel to gain the rear ; the same fate awaited the next, and so on
until all had been sacrificed. Several of the houses occupied by the
troops were now broken open, and the combatants fought hand to
hand on each flight of stairs and in every room. The Swiss de-
fended themselves with appalling bravery : all those who refused
to yield fell after a prolonged resistance, and several were killed by
being thrown from the windows by the enraged populace. The
desperation with which the Swiss maintained the conflict arose from
a strong apprehension (warranted, alas! by the example of the 10th
of August) that, in case of defeat, all of them would be massacred.
But in this instance they had mistaken the magnanimity of the foe

352 THE COLTON PAPERS.

with whom they were contending- — notwithstanding the treachery
they had experienced, the victors spared the lives of ALL who sur-
rendered !

After a dreadful slaughter, the whole of this quarter of Paris was
in the possession of the people, who availed themselves of the oppor-
tunities afforded by their dear-bought victory to render it still more
illustrious by acts of mercy and forgiveness.

About half past three, the defending party finding itself reduced
(officers and men) to forty, surrendered as prisoners, and were
escorted through the enraged population to the Bourse. This was
the termination of the memorable battle of Thursday. A desultory
contest was kept up with the retreating soldiery, as they passed
through the Champs Elysees on the way to the Bois de Boulogne ;
but, at four o'clock, not a soldier in arms remained in the streets of
the city.

During the sanguinary struggle, which, I fear, I have but
indifferently described as ending in the capture of the royal
palaces on the northern bank of the Seine, deeds of daring
by no means inferior, were effected by the patriots on the other
side, who had valiantly endeavoured to cross the bridges on the
preceding evening, to the assistance of their brethren in arms ;
but such was the strength of the common enemy in cavalry,
and the artillery upon the bridges and quays (which latter afforded
an ample space for the charges and manoeuvres of cavalry),
that the passage of the river in the western part of the city, in
presence of a force thus superior and imposing, would have been a
useless waste of life, and even seemed to be impossible. In the
eastern division of the city, both opposite and below the Hotel de
Ville, this passage was effected frequently during the day by the
citizens of the Faubourg St. Germain, aided by the numerous class
of industrious artisans of the Faubourg St. Marceau, who, armed
with pikes or the first tool they could grasp, gallantly fought hand
to hand with their oppressors. The desperate nature of this service
may be well understood by the name which the Suspension-bridge
has gained, and will preserve to posterity, of " Pont d'Arcole."
Courage without conduct is too often wasted in vain ; but in this case
the people 'were admirably led on by M. Joffres, before mentioned,
assisted by^M. Lenoir of the Polytechnic School, who commanded
one division, while M. Joffres led the other to the attack on the
barracks of the Swiss Guard in the rue de Babylone. This position
was formidable, being surrounded with a high wall, and having
gates of prodigious strength ; and the unhappy men who garrisoned
it, in common with their countrymen at other points, entertained the
idea that no quarter would be given. Under this supposition they
determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible, and fought with
the appalling courage of despair. The assailants had but one piece
of cannon, with which they left the Place de 1'Odeon for the attack.
After nn incessant fire of nearly an hour, exposed to the deadly aim
of the soldiers, for whom every window formed a loop-hole, their
cartridges began to grow scarce. Their brave leaders, fertile in
expedients, called for straw to set fire to the building. Immediately

THE COLTON PAPERS. 353

women were seen running in all directions, and speedily returning-,
each bearing her straw mattrass upon her head. The fire was first
applied in the rue Plumet, and the dense smoke arising, forced the
defenders from the windows, from which their fire had been
murderous. M. Joffres then ordered the discharge of his piece of
artillery, for which he had only one cartridge. On the sound of this
explosion, and the fire increasing, the besieged saved themselves by
climbing the walls of a garden which led to the Boulevards. This
obstinate combat was one of the most fierce of this day of heroism ;
many citizens were wounded, and upwards of forty left dead on the
field of battle. A brave young man, a pupil of the Polytechnic
School, named Vanneau, was killed while commanding the attack.
The national troops rallied in excellent order in the rue de Sevres,
and returned victorious to the Place de 1'Odeon. While there, an
interesting circumstance added new nerve to every manly heart. A
well-dressed youth, who had been observed foremost in every attack
on the barracks, fainted from fatigue ; crowds offered their assist-
ance ; on tearing open the waistcoat, it was discovered that it was a
woman who had thus exposed her life with reckless bravery. The
gallant scholar M. Lenoir now proposed to M. Joffres to storm the
Palais du Luxembourg: this was instantly done — providentially
without bloodshed, as the veterans who guarded it refused to fire
upon their fellow-citizens. The national flag now floated over the
Chamber of Peers, sentinels were established in the gallery of pic-
tures, and not an article was pillaged. The two divisions, headed by
their commanders mounted on horseback, having accomplished their
labours on their side of the city, now marched upon the Louvre, and
formed in the court. Cries were heard that the Tuileries were being
pillaged ; they immediately marched, in company with a detach-
ment commanded by Captain Bachville, to protect the chateau ; but
the high sentiments of honour in the people who were in possession
rendered this precaution unnecessary. After leaving a guard of a
hundred and fifty men at the Tuileries, they presented themselves at
the Bourse;— and this little army then marched to the Hotel de
Ville, where the leaders were warmly embraced by the excellent
Lafayette, who in the name of their country thanked them for the
skill and bravery displayed on that day. Twelve hours had now
passed under arms, in a day without a cloud; the sun poured
down his beams with the fierceness of the dog-days, and the party
was faint with hunger and exhaustion. They asked for bread ;
but none could be procured ; it was proposed to give them money
for refreshments, but no sooner was the bag of silver brought out,
than with one voice they cried out, " No money !— no money !" nor
would they listen to the explanation that it was not for the payment
of their services, but for their immediate wants. No prayer or
entreaty could induce them to accept a sous. The bag was returned
to the Hotel de Ville ; and the neighbouring citizens each took
several of these noble-minded men home to dinner with him. Such
was the delicacy of sentiment of that class whom " courtiers" call
canaille ! — such was their horror at being mistaken for MERCE-
NARIES !

( 354 )

TO LILLAH.

Written near Mitford, Northumberland, May 25, 1835, after gathering' the
" Paris Quadrifolia," and the " Forget^Me Not."

ALL nature is smiling, refreshed by the shower
That softly and gently has fallen from Heav'n ;

The clouds are dispersing, nor gloomily lower

On the gifts and the riches their bounty has giv'n —
While I gather these flow'rets for Lilian.

The Sun, peeping out, is now sinking to rest,

The freshly-form'd foliage is scarce seen to move,

Though kiss'd by the Zephyr that floats from the West,
As balmy and soft as the breath of my Love
While I gather these flow'rets for Lillah.

Its richness of fragrance the May-thorn is spreading,
The golden-capp'd Furze gives its scent to the air ;

All nature its incense in homage is shedding

On this soul-stilling scene — this soother of care —
While I gather these flow'rets for Lillah.

How calm ! and how sweet ! What a moment is this !

Can my heart to its pleasure an increase receive ?
Can aught now enhance these my feelings of bliss ?

'Twould be all to my heart at this moment to give

These flow'rets I gather to Lillah.

Morpeth, 1835.

( 355 )

SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES.

A TALE OF ANCIENT GREECE.

IT was with exquisite pleasure that Sophene and I saw the dawn
of a union, which promised to promote ours, take place between
our parents ! Deceitful hope ! in the midst of joy fortune was driving
us down a dreadful precipice from which Love, with all his power,
could hardly save us.

Towards the third watch of the night, our relations, and all those
who had come from Aulycorie, repaired to the temple of Jupiter. I
did not accompany them. My ministerial character exempted me
from it. As for Sophene, she had retired to her chamber, because
decency did not allow young women to be seen in public during the
night.

I went to mine ; but, finding that it would be impossible for me
to sleep, I left it, and, groping through the dark, walked into the
garden. I there drew near a bower which I preferred to those of
Citherea, notwithstanding their celebrity. It was set with jessamin,
honey-suckles, rose-bushes, and acacia, intermingled with lime trees.
They cast forth sweet odours, which perfumed Sophene's apartment
that overlooked that pleasant place of retirement. Except the night-
ingale, which, with melodious accents, warbled her unthwarted loves,
and solaced the lover unsuccessful in his; all besides in nature
seemed to enjoy the repairing balm of sleep. The mysterious light
of the moon, working its way through the thick branches that op-
posed it, glimmered on her windows, by means of which I saw they
were half open. I came on with slow step, and listened to a
voice which at once enchanted and troubled my heart. It pro-
nounced my name ; I whispered that of Sophene. Attired in a
night-dress that showed her fine frame in all its genuine elegancy,
she appeared at the window. Sophocles, said she, in an ill-articu-
lated accent, is it you ? What do you do there at this time of night?
I thought you were in bed. I make a better use, answered I, of the
moment of my life henceforth consecrated to you alone. I did not
dare to hope for the pleasure of seeing you ; but I was sure of amends
being made me for any disappointment, by the pleasure of watching
near the place of your rest. I did wish you might enjoy the soundest
sleep, and that it might convey to your mind the idea of him whom
you have "inspired" with the tenderest ardour that ever enflamed a
human breast. I did wish that, when awaked, the soft remembrance
of your dreams might render you as sensible of the passion as he is,
and that, when out of bed, and looking at the new-blown rose which
the first sunbeam calls forth out of its bud, you might say, Beauteous
flower! you are the temporary object of Zephyr's love; withered as

356 SOPIIENE AND SOPHOCLES.

soon as full-blown, his love flies away with your beauty ; but ours
will be everlasting-. I do not know, replied she, what are the
dreams that Morpheus intends for me, but if they must be the repre-
sentation of what pleased me during- day-light, Sophene will have
nothing to complain of. Sovereign of my soul, said I, you pour into
it both pleasure and comfort. Would to the gods that we might be
united together ! What is life for me without you '? Nothing but a
troublesome burden, infinitely worse than death itself. My father
cherishes me ; my happiness is near his heart. Far from finding-
fault with my passion, he will omit nothing to obtain your parents'
acquiescence. Themisteus is well born ; he is rich ; he is not to be
despised ; but if Sosthenes does not consider me a proper match for you,
then (witness those charms which I worship !) never shall Sophocles
burn but for Sophene. Were Jupiter to leave me the master of my
destiny, and to allow me to choose among all the goddesses, I would
make more account of you than of them all together. If Venus her-
self should offer me both her favours and immortality, I would ra-
ther die with Sophene than be immortal with the goddess.

I have opened my soul to you, said she, equally as unable to dis-
semble, as to resist the will of the gods, who are pleased to kindle in
the heart of a simple maiden a flame which cannot but be innocent,
since the object of it is the minister of Jove. I am far from repining"at
it ; but let us break off a discourse that we must not out of prudence and
decency spin out any longer. Our parents will soon return, perhaps
they are now on their way hornet May they be favourable to our
vows ! So saying, she wished me a good night ; I echoed it? in all
the exultation of my heart.

We separated in good time. Hardly had I reached my chamber,
when the company returned. I retired to bed, and never had a
calmer sleep. Let nobody say that we find in our dreams happy or
fatal presages either of the good or the evil that is to befal us; mine
were pleasant.

Sure of the heart of Sophene, a soft serenity beamed in my face;
Cratisthenes complimented me upon it; but my joy did not last long.
Sosthenes, coming up to my father before us all, said to him, " Wise
Themisteus, it is not to us but to Jupiter that are to be referred the
honours you have paid us. As the first cause of your kindness
toward us, he will reward you for it. Let us make haste, and thank
him by a new sacrifice. A business of moment calls me back to
Aulycone. Though unknown to my daughter, it concerns her.

Convinced as I am of her dutifulness, I have promised her in
marriage. The young man I design for her is amiable ; he has
morals, birth, and sense; he is " affectionately" attached to me. I
shall have in him a son, rather than a son-in-law. He urges me to
keep my word, and I am going to fulfil it. There will be nothing
wanting to the young people's happiness, if you will honour their
nuptials with your presence ; and you, charming Sophene, come to
embellish the pomp of it.

What was my situation when I heard him pronounce these words !
A deadly chill ran through my whole frame. Whether it was
noticed, or unnoticed, I cannot tell : T know that it was extreme.

SOPIIENE AND SOPHOCLES. 357

Overwhelmed with that unexpected event, Sophene turned pale,
and, hiding her face with her hands, feigned a violent head-ache.
They carried her to her bed. Panthia, uneasy about her daughter's
health, whose indisposition 'increased, staid with her, and was un-
willing to go to the temple. While they were assembling in order
to repair thither, I stole away ; T was called for, but did not answer,
and, despising the danger I exposed myself to, I crept into Sophene's
chamber. Closely embraced, heaving sighs, and bursting into tears,
our groans were long our only interpreters. What a heart-breaking,
what a woeful condition! Love, thou sawest the excess of our
griefs ; they moved thee to take some pity on us. Thou mightest
have put an end to them, but thou wert pleased to try us before
hand. However dear and precious a thing may be to us, it is
always more so when we are on the point of losing it. I then
forcibly felt the truth of this reflection. Sophene's charms shone
with redoubled lustre ; I had not yet seen her so handsome, and
never had I so fondly loved her. Her silence, her sorrow, her
languishing and dejected looks, all contributed to the increase both
of my love and my despair.

Alas, said I, you were but too right in your surmises. We are
on the brink of a separation. Sophene ! must I lose you ? Shall
another possess your heart, which is due to me alone ? Shall another
owe his happiness to you ? Sophene I can you consent to it, and
can I think of it without dying ?

Fear not, said she. The day that shines upon that fatal union
shall be the last of my life. Thou weepest ; but what do tears
avail ? Is there no hope left for us? The only course we can take,
replied I, my despair will point out. Woe to the authors of our
misfortunes, to the rash young man who dares avow himself my
rival ! woe to thyself, Sosthenes ! What dost thou say, Sophocles ?
Can thy passion distract thee so far, and betray thee into mixing a
threat with the name of " my father V9 Ought he not to be secure
from the outrages of the man who demands me of him? Do not lay
our miseries to his charge. Let appearances be what they will, he
may be ignorant of our mutual affection, or at least how deeply
Cupid has been pleased to wound us in so short a space. Ah!
Sophene ! does he not know that I have a heart and that I have seen
you? I cannot make use of my reason, and perhaps it is in vain that I
entreat you to call forth yours. I see nothing but the horror of
our condition. My poor parents! but for me, how happy would
you have been ! Shall I have it one day in my power to atone for
my offences ? But you, O gods ! who distract my mind with a
" tyrannical passion" which I cannot command, at least make them
amends by other blessings. Think no more, Sophocles, of those
wild projects, of which the idea alone terrifies me.

Those violent struggles between her affection and her duty were too
much for her to bear. Her colour fled from her cheek, her eyes closed,
and she swooned away under their oppressing agitation. This scene
overwhelmed me ; I thought she was dead, and I resolved to die with
her. Love stopped her fugitive soul ; he restored her to life again.

M.M.— No. 10. 2Z

358 SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES.

My joy and gratitude were extreme ; but Sophene checked their
impetuosity, and said to me, Let us not waste these precious moments,
and, since this is our unavoidable destiny, let us part fora short time
that we may meet never more to be separated.

Full of a thousand projects, the execution whereof seemed easy to
me, but which were so in my fancy only, I flew to the temple.
The sacrifice was begun. Already the blood of the slaughtered
victims had trickled down into the vases designed to receive it.
Already the sacrificer, finding in their bowels favourable omens, had
urged Sosthenes to accomplish a marriage acceptable to the gods ;
when, on a sudden, a huge eagle stooped down upon the entrails,
which he tore to pieces, and taking them up with his talons flew
away. The sacred knife slid from the hands of the priest; he
retired from the altar; a sudden horror seized on the " minds" of all
the standers by, consternation appeared on the faces even of the
least timid among them. Nothing was to be heard but groans and
lamentations. Each person apprehended for himself the misfortune
which this prodigy foretold : it concerns but me, cried Panthia.
Immortal gods ! you condemn a union upon which I had placed all
my happiness. O my daughter! O unfortunate Sophene! they are
not the entrails of the victim that the eagle has torn, but mine.
Protector of innocence, O Jupiter! thou readest our hearts.
What crime are they guilty of? Be softened by our tears, assuage
thy wrath, or let it fall only upon me. Preserve the daughter at the
peril of her mother, and let my death give her life again. So
speaking, she tore her hair, and smote her breast, as she lay grovel-
ling in the dust. The crowd gathered round her, raised her up and
endeavoured to comfort her; but she was deaf to all iheir
persuasions.

Nevertheless the company resumed their tranquillity. That ter-
rible apparition frightened them no more. It is nothing, say they,
but a mere effect of chance, and an indifferent prognostic. Perhaps
it is a happy one. Such is the levity natural to the populace.
What was the object of their terror quickly becomes a subject of
hope. Every one having left the temple, we attended Sosthenes and
Panthia on their return. The former was not under a less load of
affliction ; but it was more concentred. We found Sophene weeping
bitterly. A slave had apprised her of what had just happened.
The despondence of her mother affected her more than the cause of
it, which might perhaps apologize for the necessity of her running
away to avoid the calamities that her parents and herself were
threatened with, if the projected marriage took place. Amidst the
almost total overthrow of our ideas, she had presence of mind enough
left to ask me what I had done. I answered that I was going to

settle all with Cratisthenes, and that soon

Her father, calling her, interrupted me ; I pressed her hand ; and
her looks, methought, upbraided me with too much tardiness. Corne
on my daughter, said he, and help me to comfort thy mother ; she
ran to her, and endeavoured to kiss away her tears. She entreated
her not to suffer sorrow to overcome her. No, said she, the gods are

SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES. 359

not angry with us ; they are just. If they are averse to a marriage
that was agreeable to you, let us condemn it ourselves. You may
light upon another they will approve of. Let us consult them again.
Ready to obey their will, my happiness would be perfect, if it could
determine and fix yours. Full of admiration at the wisdom of that
discourse, we agreed with her ; Panthia lent us a favourable ear,
and at last was prevailed upon. She suffered herself to be carried
into her chamber, thereto take a little rest; but Sosthenes remained
unshaken, and, let the consequences be what they would, he could
not be induced to comply with any remonstrances whatsoever.

I shut myself up with Imlacca. The witness and confidant of all
that had passed between Sophene and me, I might have dispensed
with repeating to him an account of the transaction ; but I put him
in mind of the beginning and progress of my passion, of our first
fears and pleasures, our return to Eurycone, the officious forward-
ness of Themisteus, Dianthea's caresses, the soothing ideas that
had seduced us both awhile, our secret conversations, our promises,
our oaths, the ardour of my desires curbed by her opposition,
Sosthenes' unexpected discourse, and obstinacy, his daughter's
intended marriage, our troubles and despair, our projects of elope-
ment : in a word?rfYou see, continued I, two unfortunate lovers who fly
to you for help. Assist us with your advice, and every other means
in your power. We have more courage than experience. We
shun one precipice : without your help, we shall sink into another.
Dejected and terrified, I feel dismal forebodings rising in my soul ;
they dispirit me ; I shall be torn from Sophene : I shall lose her.
Alleviate the bitterness of the condition I am reduced to.

Sensible of my pain, Imlacca comforted and encouraged me. It
is not you, but your rival that is threatened by the dire portent. He
shall not possess your Sophene. The gods snatch her from his
hands ; you shall one day espouse her under more auspicious omens.
Time and love will make my prediction good ; but do you recollect
that she is to depart from hence to-morrow. Let Themisteus manage
the business, said he ; speak yourself to Sosthenes. He has given
his word, replied I ; he thinks he cannot break it without bringing
shame upon himself. But, proceeded he, I cannot approve of your
running away ; it is imprudent and dangerous ; but, continued I,
let the consequences of it be ever so dreadful, can they bear any
proportion with our present situation ? Unfortunate Sophene ! more
unfortunate Sophocles! forlorn in the wide world, what will become
of us ? Moved with compassion, Imlacca was unable to answer me.
His discretion kept his soul in suspense ; his looks bespoke the per-
turbation of his mind. I embraced him, he relented ; I pressed him,
he sighed; I redoubled my entreaties, he could withstand them no
longer. You prevail, said he, at last. I will render you the
" imprudent service" you desire of me. May the indulgent gods
forgive me ! You shall depart to-morrow with Sophene. There is
in the harbour a vessel ready to set sail for Syria; I will engage
the master of it. I have a Syrian host in whose house we may
depend upon inviolable security. What, answered I, with all the

360 SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES.

emotions that his proffer excited in me, will you accompany us ?
Imlacca I will you ? Ah gods ! if it be so, we have attained the
summit of your favour. Love and friendship conspire to make me
the happiest of mortals.

To close Jupiter's feast, it was necessary to offer a sacrifice in the
temple of Apollo on the approach of night. I would have absented
myself, and made use of that moment to inform Sophene of our plan ;
but Dianthea bade me lead Panthia thither. In the agitation I was
in, I durst not speak to her. I thought that my words would betray
my secret. As long as the ceremony lasted, I was absorbed in the
deepest reflections. The company imagined it was religious medi-
tation, and yet I did not so much as feign it ; I was admired and
cited as a pattern in that respect. How easily are men deceived !
They praised in me what the gods were offended at.

The sacrifice being over, every one went home. Night befriended
me ; never did I see a darker one. At the moment when sleep is so
heavy upon human eyes that it becomes the true image of death, I
made a desperate step into Sophene's chamber. At last, said I to
her, our misfortunes will presently be over; we shall become our
own masters, and have nothing to fear from the tyranny ojf our pa-
rents. Imlacca is about disposing every thing for our departure ;
you will see him soon. Instead of signifying her approbation, she
sighed. The consequences of our enterprise engrossed her whole
mind, she was troubled. What! was she to run away with me, and
look for a retreat among the barbarians ? Would not it bring ever-
lasting shame upon her? She fancied what would be Sosthene's fury,
and Panthia's despair. She upbraided herself beforehand with so
guilty and so bold an elopement, and said, You who advise me to it
will yourself be the first to blame me for it. I call heaven and all the
powers to witness that if " virtue," without which the tenderest
love is criminal, did not oppose it, my only happiness would have
been to love and to be loved by you ; but this severe virtue, all
powerful over my heart, orders it otherwise. Let us submit; and?
since it does not forbid us to die, let us die without offending the
gods. I tried to conquer her scruples; but to no purpose. I put
her in mind of her oaths ; but she remembered them only to repine
at and abhor them. In a word, my tears and my entreaties served only
to render her more unrelenting. Imlacca came in. He added his
endeavours to mine : she was moved, but not overcome : it was not
danger that stopped her, but duty.

Night came on ; the hours fled away. I was continually going to
and fro from the one to the other; I supplicated, I threatened; but
unsuccessfully. Let Love forgive me for it ! In my despair, I was
upon the point of having recourse to violence ; but, afraid of her
cries, and of being overheard, or rather of falling under her displea-
sure, I ceased my pursuit. At last, after an obstinate resistance, and
when we had given up all hopes of subduing her, she was informed

; she
e re-
paired to the harbour, and got on board. Jupiter! said we, with one

of Imlacca being to accompany us ; Love seized the opportunity ;
held her hand out to me, and we ran away unperceived. We re-

SOFHENE AND SOPHOCLES. 361

voice, protect two unhappy lovers, whom the rigour of their fate,
and thy oracle drive from their country ! and thou, Neptune, bid
the waves respect them !

We got under sail. The weather was calm, and the sea smooth.
It seemed as if we were borne upon the wings of Zephyr. I was so
much animated by love, in such a pleasurable transport, 'that, for-
getting all my past grievances, I thought my happiness perfectly se-
cured. Lying at Sophenes' feet, my head reclined upon her knees,
I gave myself over to most delicious raptures, that kept sleep far off.
How pleasant was that night ! How many innocent favours did it allow
and veil !

Two days thus passed away. How handsome all the company found
Sophene ! What perfect harmony of features and shape did they not
remark in her ! How many desires did she raise, and how many
rivals had I not ! There was among us a painter, who was on his
way to the court of the king of Persia. In order to establish the su-
periority of Grecian beauty, he asked Sophenes' leave to draw her
picture. Though he worked with great expedition, his performance
was not the less masterly. It is Sophene ! she breathes, she enchants,
she fills her beholders with admiration.

Object of the vows of all Asia, she will triumph over all. What
a delicious idea for a lover ! I foresaw her glory, I partook of it ;
but, soon altering my mind, that glory pained me. I could not brook
the idea of her picture falling into the hands of the barbarians.
They are not worthy of it; all that is like Sophene ought to belong
to Sophocles. The painter took notice of my emotion, as he had
done of my love. Our fires are impatient of restraint, said he. I
know all the niceties usual with lovers. I too have loved. Here is
Sophenes' picture ; possess it alone.

Already had the seaman descried the land, and had filled the air
with shouts and acclamations. They showed us the temple of Juno,
which towered over all the other buildings of the city where we were
to land. It is there, said I, that, depository of our oaths, the goddess
will, in a little time, unite us.

Gods of heaven ! Gods of the sea! continue your favours a mo-
ment longer. Alas ! you do not hearken to me !

The sky grew cloudy ; the winds broke loose ; a furious tempest
arose ; the air was inflamed ; the billows roared, the masts split, the
vessel opened; *' horror" invaded our minds; we seemed by our de-
spair to concur with the surges in our own destruction. ""All skill be-
came useless ; the steering of our ship ceased. Some raised piercing
cries; others waited in silence for death. In their despair these
cursed the gods ; those implored them on their knees. Free from
fear (for love had engrossed her heart) Sophene threw herself into
my arms. I approach death unterrified, said she. The gods are
just ; I deserve it. Let the chastisement be ever so sudden, and ri-
gorous, it does not equal my demerits. I die ; but I do not complain.

0 Sophocles ! how great is the power of Love ! At the same time
that my undutifulness to my doleful parents flies in my face ; when

1 am conscious of its havingr drawn the wrath of the gods upon us ;

362 SPANISH WAR SONG.

when I am ready to atone for it by the sacrifice they exact of my
attainted life, yet in that dreadful moment thou art what I regret
most, thou, the fondly-beloved cause of the breach I have made in my
most sacred duties. Show thy courage ! It is a greater blessing to
die than to live longer disunited.

SPANISH WAR-SONG.

SONS of Spain, whose forms repose
Where the cloud its shadow throws
Over St. Sebastian's height,
Rise and nerve ye for the fight !
Hark ! his wing the raven flutters,
Ominous the sounds he utters,
Sounds of death unto our foes
Ere another day shall close.

Sons of Spain, arise ! behold
Yonder banner's massy fold!
Ere the morning breeze unfurl it,
To the dust inglorious hurl it !
Down upon their columns sweep,
As the whirlwind on the deep,
When its all-destroying breath
Lays the foeman low in death!

By the wrongs that ye have felt
Deeply let the blow be dealt,
That the Carlist host may know
They have met no common foe !
Rising morn shall view the raven
Tear the breast of every craven :
But the brave shall win their right :
Sons of Spain ! advance to fight !

D. L. E.

( 363 )

A PERSONAL SKETCH OF THE BATTLE OF
TALAVERA.

AMONG a variety of engagements of much or little importance,
in which I participated during a campaign in the Peninsula, I have
the honour of reckoning the well-contested and glorious battle of
Talavera. I was at that time attached to a corps of hussars, which,
the night preceding the conflict of the 28th of July, was ordered up
from the rear to the left of the height on which the right division
of the British force joined the left of the Spanish, and so many
violent attacks were made by the enemy. The ground in front of
this position was open, but in many parts intercepted by deep gullies
formed by the rain from the mountains, and at that time dry. During
the night a second attempt was made. On the evening of the 27th, as
soon as the advanced guard was withdrawn, the enemy pushed forward,
and about five o'clock commenced a general action by a heavy can-
nonade upon the British line, and an attempt to take possession of it
was made on this height, of which the French obtained a momentary
possession ; but were again repulsed, and pursued with great
slaughter nearly to their own lines. In this state of alarm the night
was spent ; but, being placed somewhat out of the way, we were
comparatively quiet. Bodies of dragoons arid other cavalry were
in our immediate neighbourhood, and on our left was a valley run-
ning between the height and the mountains, which took the direction
of Escalona, well occupied with masses of infantry. The line of the
combined army extended nearly three miles, the right flank pro-
tected by the Tagus, and the left resting on the height above men-
tioned, which commanded the greater part of the field of battle.

Night had made little difference in our dispositions ; and, when the
day broke, the contending parties were to be discovered drawn up
in order of battle, as on the preceding evening, within 600 yards of
each other. From the rising ground on which we stood, the well-
defined lines of the hostile armies were clearly to be distinguished.
Cavalry, artillery, and infantry, were drawn up opposite in the
greatest precision ; and now and then, we could perceive aides-de-
camp riding swiftly off to the different positions, and the glittering
uniforms of general officers threading the formidable array. I had
scarcely been off my horse during the whole night, and felt far from
fresh ; but my company were in fine condition, and, drawn up in close
column, the embroidery of their uniforms glittering in the misty
morning sun, and their dark feathers streaming in the breeze, cut
a most gallant figure. Little was said ; all hands were on our
bridles, and our eyes eagerly directed towards the mass of French
heavy infantry before us. Nearly an hour elapsed before any thing
was done. The vapours of early morning were clearing off, and
the hazy sun mounting redly in the pale sky ; but presently, out

364 THE BATTLE OF TALAVERA.

darted a jet of flame from the sombre rank of French guns on our
left, and all was bustle amongst the groups of horse artillerymen
around them. Life seemed to have been instantaneously imparted
to both lines : flash succeeded flash, and report broke on the echoes
of report, till the lateral streams of sulphureous smoke, issuing succes-
sively from the grim mouths of the guns, circled broadly upwards,
and began to roll majestically over towards us. Presently our own
cannon began to answer : many bodies of light and heavy infantry
to our left advancing forwards, expanded their flanks, and drew out
in the valley : files of horse artillery, the trampling of their hoofs
mingling with the heavy roll of the following gun-carriages, were
galloping up into array ; and the voices of officers, the rattle of
drums, the thundering of the enemy's cannon, and the now frequent
discharges of that portion of the British which had come up, grandly
announced that the battle was commencing in reality. Under cover
of this heavy cannonade, the enemy pushed forward two divisions of
infantry to storm the height on our flank. By this time the whole
field was filled with clouds of white smoke, and it was only through
their intervals that I could catch a cloudy view of those who were
advancing. They reached the height, and rushed on at the charge
step; but from the jets of snow-white smoke which shot forward
from the melee, the unintermitting rattle of musketry, and the
flash of bayonets, I could see that their reception was warm and
unwavering. We were placed just on the ascent, and had a full
though not clear view of the conflict. The ground was most bravely
contested by our light-armed infantry, and through the smoke we
could see man after man fall beneath the thrust of the British bayonet.
The firing became hotter and fiercer : the officers were, on both
sides, to be seen running here and there, cheering on their men, and
combating in the thickest of the press. Meantime, fresh bodies of
men were brought forward from the rear of the two divisions ; they
were as gallantly received ; and the foremost ranks of the enemy,
falling into fragments, were thrown into irretrievable disorder. This
was the time for fresh efforts : the English soldiery pushed bravely
forwards, striking down the foremost, 'fusilading those who were
remote or detached, and carrying forward the whole, like sheep
before the bayonet. Amidst the rattle of this partial engagement,
pealed the thunders of the French and British artillery : showers of
balls were flying in all directions; horses and men falling, and fresh
tides of stifling smoke rolling upwards in extending masses. I could
see nothing but smoke, and the hundred flashes of the cannon. The
whole scene was filled with snow-white drifting vapour, through
which, phantom-like, groups would now and then flit into evanescent
existence. The noise of the ordnance was prodigious, and their
successive bangs, intermixed with the dropping fire of musquetry,
seemed the precursors of a universal destruction. Rumbling echoes
boomed heavily over the distant mountains, while a hundred rattlings
seemed to ring in various directions through the nearer atmosphere.
The attempt of the enemy to storm the height had entirely failed:
repulsed by the bayonets of Major General Hill's division, covered
by their guns, they retreated in the smoke to their own lines.

THE BATTLE OF TALAVERA. 365

From this period till about mid-day, the action was chiefly main-
tained by the fire of artillery ; that of the enemy being considerably
more numerous and of heavier metal than our own. Their shells were
thrown with great precision, and did considerable execution. One
of our ammunition-waggons was blown up with a tremendous ex-
plosion, and we in return dismounted several of their guns, and
blew up two of their tumbrels.

.Our part in the battle had as yet been next to nothing, and our
Colonel gave orders for our companies to retire successively into
securer ground. I had better opportunities now of witnessing the
state of the engagement. The firing ceased for a time on both sides,
and the wind blowing off the smoke, disclosed each of the hostile
armies : much destruction had been made in their advanced divi-
sions; dead men and horses were lying about in considerable quan-
tities, and I could perceive the wounded being taken off on both
sides to the rear. While engaged in this painful duty, the British
and French soldiers shook hands with each other, and expressed their
mutual admiration.

A great deal of activity was to be discerned in the whole length
of the enemy's line. Fresh guns were hastened up, fresh bodies
of cavalry and infantry changing their dispositions ; generals issuing
their orders, and aides flying in various directions. They were
forming in the rear several heavy columns of infantry, and another
attack was soon to be looked for.

Just at this moment, an aide gave our commander directions to
file off to the left, attended by some bodies of Dragoons, and face a
column of French, which was advancing by the valley. The time of
action, and danger approached. The cannon again began to thun-
der ; fresh clouds rolled over the field of battle, and through the
misty shroud, that spread like an immense canopy above and around
us, I could vaguely perceive, — for my senses were in too much excite-
ment to distinguish accurately — the whirling gallop of advancing
squadrons, the busy artillery-men, changing, pointing, and discharg-
ing, the rush of compact brigades, the cocked hats of field-officers,-
and clouds of feathered shakoes. The whole scene was one of the
most extraordinary activity. I saw, and knew nothing of what took
place at even a comparatively speaking small distance. The battle
was to me confined to a small space. All beyond was cloud, thun-
der, and uncertainty. The French were again advancing in consi-
derable numbers, under cover of the whole of their artillery, and
bodies of infantry were defiling on our left, in order to cut off that
flank. The firing was very hot at all points, and around me the
death-dealing bullets were doing full execution.

The enemy had now pushed forward to the centre of the valley.
The engagement in all directions grew warmer and warmer.
Wounded officers were every minute being conveyed out of the
confusion ; and fresh troops were constantly brought up. A steady
and destructive fusilade was kept up by our infantry upon the ad-
vancing columns of French ; but so many, and so constant were the
charges, and so frequent were the attacks of fresh troops, that some
of our advanced lines gave way, and the enemy poured like torrent*

M.M.— No. 10. 3 A

366 THE BATTLE OF TALAVERA.

into their interstices. The loss in these points was very great : dis-
severed groups of infantry were hurrying hither and thither in com-
plete disorder; while, to add to their confusion, they were surrounded
with fire and smoke, and exposed to the murderous artillery dis-
charges of the enemy. At this moment a strong column of the
French infantry was observed to be slowly advancing by the valley.
All the officers in our part of the field were galloping here and
there to concentrate cur regiments of cavalry ; and soon quantities of
Dragoons and Hussars rode up, and were thrown into masses. The
word "charge" sent the leading divisions into the smoke and melee
before us, and, ere the drifts of vapour had well rolled over their
figures, we were commanded to dash after them. Never shall
I forget the scene. Men, horses, plumes, flew past me like a
chaotic panorama, while before thundered the din of the thickening
conflict. On we rushed; our prancing steeds striking up the dust,
and grass ; trumpets blowing, drums beating, cannons knelling,
feathers, manes, and pelisses waving, swords glittering, and hoofs
tramping. Sweeping on like a whirlwind, flying-on fusilading
infantry, plunging cavalry, scattered around us, we darted into the
smoke, and bore down with the full weight of our irresistible
charge right upon the centre of the enemy's column. Every thing
instantly became matter of life and death. Broken by the sweep of
the attack into fragments, both assailants and assailed combated
singly, or in parties. We were most gallantly received ; my horse
began to reel and pant in the closeness and desperation of the
encounter, and bayonets and swords were crossing, and bullets
whistling by me, much too closely to be agreeable. I cut mean-
time around me with the full swing of my arm, and had the
satisfaction of bringing down many a tall grenadier to my horse's
feet. Four or five of my Hussars, who were in my neigh-
bourhood, I could see making desperate efforts to push on.
Down fell man after man, while their straining steeds, excited to
madness by the spur, rode grandly over dead and dying, and bore
their blood-stained riders deeper and deeper into the press. Mas-
terless horses were flying about the field ; others falling to the earth,
struck down by cannon balls. Bearing all down however before us,
we swept on like a tornado, galloping over dead steeds and dying
men, cutting to pieces all that opposed us, and trampling life out of
the overthrown. Owing to the great inequality of the ground, and
the gullies with which it was intersected, we, — together with the
cavalry that accompanied us, — were unable to preserve that solidity
so necessary in a charge, and our loss was therefore considerable. I
saw many an officer, his embroidery defaced with blood, brought
down by bayonet thrusts, or sabre strokes. Notwithstanding all this,
we penetrated a solid column of the opposing enemy, and put to rout
every line of infantry near us. The ground over which we had so
swiftly and victoriously passed was a complete wreck : overturned
guns, loose artillery-horses, colours, prostrate chargers, whole files of
light infantry and grenadiers, actually ridden down in the positions
they occupied, were scattered in every possible direction. In the
distance, sullenly rolled dense tides of sulphury smoke ; and from

WAR. 367

the lightning-like glitter of steel on the height to our left, I could
see that the conflict had been there, of no less severe a nature. Our
troopers were now riding about over the broken remnants of the
enemy's column of infantry, and the smoke began gradually to clear
a little off. By our powerful diversion, we had decided the battle
in this quarter, and our advantage was rendered complete by a vi-
gorous charge made by the bayonetsof General AlexanderCampbeH's
brigade, supported by two regiments of Spanish infantry, on that
portion of the enemy which had pushed on, on the right. Eighteen
pieces of cannon, planted by Colonel Robe of the Royal Artillery
in an oblique direction, at the same time were brought to bear on
the flank of the enemy's column, both as they advanced, and as they
retreated, beyond the reach of the British musketry.

After having maintained our forward position for some time, we
were obliged to retreat, fresh bodies of French troops having been
advanced, and a battery of artillery opened in our direction. But
this had been the enemy's grand attack, and though they opened a
heavy fire of cannon and musketry on the brigade of guards, of Gen-
eral Sherbrooke's division, which in its charge had advanced too far,
they soon found that their efforts to force our lines had been ineffec-
tual, and began to retreat. The brigade, exposed to a dreadful fire,
was extricated by the advance of the first battalion of the 48th re-
giment, supported by General Cotton's brigade of cavalry. The
French, seeing themselves foiled in all their attacks, shortly after
commenced retreating across the Alberche to Santa Olalla. A rear
guard of 10,000 men was left in the heights behind the river ; but
this body was also withdrawn on the 31st.

WAR.

BARD of Spania, wake thy ivre !

Sing the toils — the woes of war :
Flush the warrior's glow of wrath —
Contempt of foemen — scorn of death —

O'er thy rugged hills afar.
Sing the scene where havock reigns —
Bid them " tremble " at thy strains !
Note Destruction's giant path
Through the crimson tide of death !

List the squadron's loud huzza,
" Cheering " to the charge again ;

Bid that phalanx disappear —

Fallen in their fierce career,

A mass of carnage on the plain !

Let the storm of battle rise —

The victor's shouts — the wounded's cries !

" Onward ! — Onward point the brave

" To victory, or a bloody grave ! "

368 WAR.

" They fly !-— they fly— the Carlists fly !"

Let the dreadful havock cease !
Bid the beamless sun descend —
Bid eve's lengthening shadows bend

In darkness o'er the vale of peace.
But ah ! that peace ! — So sad its reign —
So drear its silence on the plain —
That not the war-cry's madd'ning bray
Inspires such horror and dismay !

Bid Zumalcarraghy's spirit rest —

Pour the " death song " o'er his grave !

If he fought for freedom — blest ;

If ambition fir'd his breast —

He fought — he fell, ignobly brave !

O'er his grass -bound covert low,

Time's o'er whelming stream shall flow ;

Thy warriors' sons will trembling gaze,

When his blood-smear'd arms they raise.*

Bard of Spania ! change the strain !

The widow's orphans* sorrows tell :
Mark the matron's bursting sigh —
And the virgin's wilder eye

Brooding o'er the last farewell !
Hush'd be now their weary woes —
Tranquil be their dark repose —
Let the daisy's artless bloom
Deck each mourner's lowly tor

Ye who fire the train of war,

Explosive of a nation's joy —
Can ye for some idle name —
For int'rest — or inglorious fame —

Bid the " stateless " sword destroy ?
The hapless orphan's " curse " shall swell
The clangour of your funeral knell !
Posterity shall join the stave
Of execration o'er your grave \

Bard of Albion, hush thy lyre !

Hush the sad un soothing strain!
And never may such notes of woe,
Dread, and indignation flow

From its trembling chords again.
Oblivion ! draw thy mystic gloom
O'er the soldier's silent tomb ;
Hope ! limner sweet of future bliss,
Portray the fairy scenes of peace !

C. C. C.

( 369 )

ON BORES.

Cease rude Bore " Old Song.

WITH the forms, habits, instincts, and capacities of nearly every beast
of the forest, bird of the air, and fish of the sea, we, the lords of the
creation, are, thanks to Buffon, Audubon, Wilson, and the other learned
zoologists, ornithologists, and icyonthologists, by this time tolerably
familiar — tolerably do I say ? — entirely, perfectly. We are as well
acquainted with the internal politics of a bee-hive, as though we had a
" voice potential" in their senate, or presided at the cabinet council at
which the bill of pains and penalties against their queen is resolved
upon. We know all that is remarkable in rats (no offence to any
man of quality), beautiful in butterflies, or wonderful in woodcocks.
The diet of Worms has supplied no with-food-for meditation, and a
convocation of politic cows has often made us ruminating animals,
" chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancies." There is, however,
one animal, or rather — would it were not so — one class of animals —
which, though common as blackberries, and indigenous to every clime,
from " Indus to the pole," has yet, by some unaccountable negligence
yet unexplained, entirely escaped the researches of our naturalists ; the
name that it bears is not to be found in the index of the Naturalists'
Library. Nor is its form to be seen " as our rarer monsters are " on
the acres of canons affixed outside those perambulatory menageries,
which haunt our fairs, attracting the admiring eyes of the rising gene-
ration, to " that within which passeth show." The animal to which
I allude is of the class mammalia, genus homo, and is called a bore
(male and female after their kind) ; unde derivatur I know not, nor
have any of the authorities which I have carefully consulted been able
to give me any information. By the by, the first of the class men-
tioned in history are three who paid a condolatory visit to the man of
Uz in his affliction ; but that, as I said before, is " parenthetical and
by the by ; " however, to pass that by for the present, there is one
thing which I can confidently assert, and defy contradiction ; and
that is, that there is not on the face of the globe a more obnoxious
animal. It is true that the spring of the tiger is more deadly — (espe-
cially should he take an honourable member by surprise, not having
given notice of his motion), the hug fraternal of the bear less en-
durable for the time being. At all events, should chance decree them
the victory, a few minutes decide the matter ; they do not " cruel let
you linger in your pain ; " and, on the other hand, a couple of balls
well bestowed, and you are freed for ever, and " so being gone, you
are a man again ; " but, " oh what damned minutes counts he o'er,"
who has the misery to be encountered by a bore, with a tenacity
which " age cannot wither nor custom stale !" he will cling to you
" for the hour by Shrewsbury," or any other clock;" he will conjugate

370 ON BORES.

the verb to bore in all its moods and tenses ; he will " vex the dull
ear of a drowsy man" with something even more tedious than a thrice-
told tale, he will " cleave with horrid din " the drum or tympanum of
your ears, and yet — fie upon our laws — we may not slit his weasand,
or knock him o' the pate ; and " why is this wherefore what should
we do ? " We all know that in many parts of the globe various animals,
the dog, the monkey, and even a species of vulture, are held sacred ; but
then that is not unaccounted for. In some instances religious feelings
are enlisted in their defence, and in that of the last they are patronised
by the oriental utilitarians ; for they gratuitously act as scavengers ;
but of what earthly use is it even pretended is the bore ? Why should
he be suffered to " live, and move, and have his being ? " Is he not a
decided nuisance ? At all events, why not send him to end his days
amid a dungeon's gloom ? but no ! our laws, more merciful than just,
will not even justify us in committing a nuisance. We have all of us
heard, and some of us been engaged in, a wild boar hunt. Wherefore
are we not permitted to exercise ourselves in chasing a tame bore ? I
pause for a reply. It has been my — I hope peculiar — ill-fortune to
suffer more boring perhaps than any one in three hundred; but
I know not wherefore. Whether it is that I am of a silent and grave
temperament — whether they (the bores) see or fancy they see in me
any outward and visible sign, any incipient symptoms,, proximate or
remote, giving the world assurance of a boree, (that is, one capable of
being bored), I know not ; but this I do know that I have won golden
opinion from all sorts of bores. I have been bored until my eye-
lids would no longer wag, till I have thought that, compared to what
I have endured, Sindbad's old man of the mountain must have been a
remarkably pleasant travelling companion. I have been maddened
until even MY powers of endurance have refused their office. They
have aroused the lion in his lair; let them take the consequences of his
fang, I do disclaim in them, and my revenge shall be proportioned to
their dire offence. They best can paint it who have felt it most. I
will no longer bear the silent system. I intend to give the world a
full history of the species, genus, and classification ; a description of
the various sorts of bores in the habits as they live, and with the
habits they have contracted ; anecdotes of bores political — (of which
there are several very fine specimens to be seen nightly in the neigh-
bourhood of Westminster, "where they most do congregate "); the-
atrical, medical, military, scientific, domestic, literary, and legal, with
various well-authenticated anecdotes of some of the most remarkable
of the order. I will arouse the world to a full sense of all that it has
endured, till, arising as one man, they who would be free themselves
will strike the blow, and free themselves for ever from the hateful
oligarchy of the bores. For my poor part, I ask no public thanks, [no
silver salvers, and no rent. For the agitation which I am about to
commence, I am content with the grateful thanks of a " liberal and
enlightened " people, the blessings of the poor, and the gratitude of
posterity, that will gild my humble name, and with that I shall be
happy, be content, like Thomas Thumb. I shall have " done my duty,
and I've done no more." Vale.

MAR. W .

( 371 )

ODE TO AN ALBUM.

O Register of lover's sighs!

Journal of tear-filled eyes —

Side-winded Maker

Of declarations — Taker

Of hints conveyed in sonnets —

Patterns of modish bonnets —

And " clever " things ; from folks who have not much care.

O olla podrida ! O literary Dutch fair I

Picture of innocence, or rather those who ape her,

Edging of gilt ; but surface of white paper,

Well-freighted vessel, outward bound

In calf, with songs for Ply-mouth Sound !

In fine, O universal showman !

Of character, both grave and merry,
Thou'rt very like a Woman —

Very!

Are not thy many-tinted pages

Types of her eras, years, and stages ?

Behold the girl, unmarked by grief,

Unsullied by thy whitest leaf.

Then, having finished her scholastic labours,

Regard her from her continental neighbours,

Borrowing an azure tint, though very slight

Just strong enough to be like your French white.

At length, with scrawling lines in you

She straight becomes a deep-dyed "blue,"

Next to the " grande passion " she glows,

And sees all things " couleur de rose ;"

Mankind is seen through Love's "pink specs ;"

Until the ring her finger decks :

Then, enter Jealousy's green eyes,

Which, mixing with her blue propensities,

Imparts a dash of brimstone — This makes my sum

Of similes — for thou my friend art dumb !

O " trivial, fond, record " of bagatelles !
O cornucopia of charading belles !
Measure done up in quarto, fare thee well !
Flirt, till you make with inky tears each pen full ;
Coquette with every brush, with every pencil ;
Copy the sex, my parallel obey : —
Receive afresh impression, every day :
Rove like the bee, collect each mental sweet,
And bring the treasure to thy mistress' feet.

W. W. W,

( 372 )

THE PROSCRIBED ;

Ti-anslated from the French of M. De Balzac, by Margaret Patrickson—
from an unpublished Work.

Jacqueline, left alone in the house, ascended hastily to the
chamber of the unknown gentleman, to see if she could not pick up
there something that might let her a little into the secret of this
mysterious affair. Like the philosophers who give themselves such
infinite pains to complicate the clear and simple principles of nature,
she had already constructed a shapeless, incongruous romance,
which sufficed to explain to her the union of these three extraor-
dinary individuals under her humble roof. She rummaged the
coffer, examined all she found, and could discover nothing wonder-
ful. She only saw upon the table an inkstand, and some sheets of
parchment; but, not knowing how to read, her discovery was thrown
away upon her, and she remained as much in the dark as ever.
Female curiosity led her to the chamber of the handsome young
man, from the window of which she distinguished her two guests
crossing the Seine in the boat of the ferry-man.

— " They" are"[like two statues ;" said she to herself. " Ha !
har! they are landing opposite the Rue du Fouarre ! How light the
little darling is ! he leaps on shore like a bullfinch. The old gentle-
man looks beside him like a stone saint in a cathedral. They are
going to the ancient school of the Four Nations. Presto! they are
gone. I see them no longer. — It is here that he lives, the poor
cherubim !'' added she, looking round upon the furniture of the
room ; " how gallant and pleasant he is ! Ah ! these great lords
are differently made from us."

And Jacqueline descended, after having passed her hand over
the counterpane, dusted the coffer, and asked herself for the
hundredth time during the last six months: " But what the devil
does he pass his blessed days in doing ? He cannot always be look-
ing up at the blue sky and the bright stars, that God has hung up
there, like lanterns. The dear child must be labouring under some
affliction. But why should the old master and he scarcely ever speak
to each other ?"

And then she lost herself in a wild confusion of thoughts, which,
in the brain of a woman, are apt to get entangled like a twisted
skein of thread. The elderly stranger and his young companion
had, indeed, entered one of those schools which at this period ren-
dered the Rue du Fouarre, so celebrated throughout Europe. The
illustrious Sigier, the most famous doctor in mystical theology of
the University of Paris, was ascending the stairs of his pulpit at the
moment that Jacqueline's two lodgers arrived at the ancient school
of the Four Nations, and entered a large hall on the ground floor,
level with the street. The cold flags were strewed with fresh straw,

THE PROSCRIBED. 373

on which a good number of students had one knee rested, the other
remaining raised, in order to take down in short-hand the extempo-
raneous effusion of the master, by means of those abbreviating signs
whose lost import throws into despair the decypherers of modern
times. The hall was full, not only of scholars, but also of the most
distinguished members of the clergy, the court, and the judicial
order. There were to be seen learned strangers, men of the sword,
and rich citizens. There the eyes were met by specimens of those
well-developed faces, protuberant foreheads, and venerable beards,
which, in the pictures of the middle age, inspire us with a sort of
religious devotion for our ancestors. Some meagre visages with
brilliant deep-set eyes, surmounted by bald craniums, time-tarnished
through the fatigues of an impotent scholastic divinity, the favourite
passion of the age, were contrasted with young ardent heads, with
grave sedate countenances, with warriors' faces, flashing fire, and
with the varied rubicund visages of a few financiers, breathing
gold and calculation. These lessons, dissertations, and themes,
sustained by the most brilliant geniuses of the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries, excited all the enthusiasm of our fore-
fathers. They were their bull-fights, their Italian operas,
their tragedy and comedy, their great dancers, all the theatre in
fine. The representations of mysteries were but the successors of
these spiritual combats, which perhaps gave birth to the French
stage. At that time, an inspired eloquence, which united to the
charm of the human voice, skilfully managed, the subtleties of rhe-
toric, and the most daring researches into the secrets of God, satis-
fied curiosity, moved the passions, and was the fashionable exhibi-
tion of the day. Theology then comprised all the sciences. It was
science itself, as grammar was formerly with regard to the Greeks.
Theology opened a rich future to those who distinguished themselves
among those intellectual gladiators, in which, like Jacob, the orators
wrestled with the spirit of God. The embassies, the arbitrements
between sovereigns, the chancellorships, the ecclesiastical dignities,
all belonged to those whose speech had been painted in theological
controversy. The pulpit was the tribune of the epoch. This
system continued till the day when Rabelais immolated the disputa-
tious wrangling of the schools* with his terrible raillery, as
Cervantes exterminated chivalry by a written comedy.

In order to comprehend this extraordinary age, the spirit which
dictated its chefs-d'oeuvre, unknown in our times, although in truth
immense, to explain even its barbarism, it would suffice only to study
the constitutions of the University of Paris, and to examine the
strange system of instruction then in all its vigour. Theology was
divided into two faculties, that of theology, properly so called, and
that by decree. The faculty of theology had three sections ; the
scholasticai, the canonical, and the mystical. It would be super-
fluous, consequently tiresome, to explain the attributions of those

* I had a great mind to anglicize the French word erg-oiisme by cutting off
the final /?, but I durst not, in spite of its conciseness, and classic claims to
legitimacy. — T.

M.M.— No. 10. 3B

374 THE PROSCRIBED.

divers portion of the science, since one alone, mystical theology, is
the subject of the present study. MYSTICAL THEOLOGY, then,
embraced the whole of the divine revelations and the explanations
of the mysteries. This branch of the ancient theology has remained
secretly in honour until the present time. Jacob Boehm, Sweden-
borg, Martinez, Pasqualis, Saint-Martin, Molina?, Mesdames
Guyon, Bourginon, and Krudener, the great sect of the Ecstatics,
and that of the Illuminati, have, at various periods, worthily sup-
ported the doctrines of this science, whose end has something in it
fearful and gigantic. Now, as in the time of the doctor Sigier, man
seems to want but wings in order to penetrate daringly into the
sanctuary, where the Almighty conceals himself from our eyes.
This digression was necessary to render intelligible the scene at
which the old man and the youth who so lately left the banks of
Notre Dame, came to be present at ; and will thus defend from all
reproach, a study strictly historical, but which rash and confident
judges might perhaps suspect of falsehood, or tax with hyperbole.

The doctor Sigier was a great man, celebrated during his life-
time, and in the pride of his age. His countenance, preserved from
oblivion in the chronicles or records of the University, presents
striking analogies to that of Mirabeau. It was stamped with the
seal of eloquence, but of an eloquence animated, impetuous, terrible.
The doctor bore upon his brow the signs of religious belief and
ardent faith which were wanting in the other case ; and his voice
possessed, moreover, a persuasive softness, and a tone calculated at
once to awaken and to soothe. At this hour, the daylight which the
windows, composed of very small panes of glass, garnished with lead,
shed around but parsimoniously, coloured the assemblage with a
thousand capricious tints, creating here and there the most vigorous
contrasts, by the mixture of light and darkness. Here eyes spark-
ling in obscure corners ; there black shining locks, upon which the
sunbeams shone as if with pleasure, rose luminously above faces
buried in the shade ; there several time-shorn heads, preserved only
from absolute baldness by a scanty circle of white hair, appeared
above the crowd, like a crenated parapet silvered by the moon.
All these heads, turned towards the doctor, remained in mute
impatience. The monotonous voices of the other professors, whose
schools were adjacent, resounded through the silent street like the
murmuring of a heavy tide. The steps of the two strangers, who
arrived at this moment, excited general attention. The doctor
Sigier, ready to begin, saw the majestic old man standing, and cast
his eyes around in search of a place, but not finding one, the crowd
being so great, he descended, approached him respectfully, and
arranged him a seat on the stairs of the pulpit, lending him his stool.
The assemblage greeted this attention by a long murmur of
applause, as they recognised in the aged stranger the hero of an
admirable thesis recently pronounced at the Sorbonne. When the
unknown was placed, and cast upon the auditory beneath him that
profound glance in which seemed to be conveyed a poem entire of
misfortune and melancholy, of suffering and sorrow, more than one
heart thrilled with indefinable emotion. The youth shared the fate

THE PROSCRIBED. 375

of his venerable friend, and seated himself upon one of the steps, in
an enchanting attitude of grace and sadness, his body resting against
the pulpit. Then the silence became profound, and the threshold of
the door, even the street itself, was in a few instants obstructed by a
crowd of scholars who deserted the other classes.

The doctor Sigier was about to sum up, in a closing discourse,
the theories that he had advanced upon the resurrection, and upon
Heaven and Hell, in his preceding lectures. His curious doctrine
was responsive to the sympathies of the age, and satisfied those im-
mediate longings after the marvellous which have tormented man
from the creation of the world.*

The doctor commenced by recapitulating simply, in a calm tone,
and without employing emphasis, the principal points already laid
down. " No intellect was to be found corresponding in all points
with another. Had man a right to demand of his Creator an amount
of the inequality of the moral powers which he had bestowed upon
such individual? Wilhout desiring to penetrate all at once into
the designs of God, were we not compelled, in point of fact, to ac-
knowledge, that, in consequence of their general dissimilarity, the
various degrees of intellectual power must be divided into grand
spheres or orders? From the sphere in which shone the least intelli-
gence unto the most translucid in which the soul perceives the road
that leads to God and immortality, did there not exist a real grada-
tion of spirituality? Did not the minds belonging to the same sphere
comprehend each other fraternally in soul and body, in thoughts and
feelings?" And here the doctor unfolded some marvellous theories
relative to the sympathies. He explained in Biblical language all
the phenomena of love, the instinctive repulsions, the lively attrac-
tions which forget or set at defiance the laws of space ; the sudden
cohesion of minds which seem at once to recognise each other as
kindred spirits. Then, as to the various degrees of force of which
our affections were susceptible, he resolved them by the place, more
or less remote, that each being occupied in his respective circle.
After which he revealed sophistically the grand idea of the Supreme
Being in the co-ordination of the different terrestrial spheres. By
means of man he said, these spheres created an intermediate world
between the intelligence of the brute and between the intelligence
of the angels. The word divine nourished, according to him, the
word spiritual ; the word spiritual nourished the word animated; the
word animated nourished the word animal; the word animal nourished
the word vegetable, and the word vegetable expressed the life of the
word [sterile. The successive transformations of chrysales that God
thus laid upon our souls, and this species of infused animation which,
from one zone to another, goes on communicating its vital influence
always more lively, more spiritual, more clearly-seeing ; developed
confusedly, but perhaps wonderfully enough for his inexperienced

* This extravagant attempt of man to clasp an infinity which always eludes
or escapes from his debile grasp, this last contest of mind with itself, was an
undertaking worthy of an assembly, brilliant with all the great lights of the
age, and where, perhaps, sparkled, for the moment, the most comprehensive
of human imaginations.

376 THE PROSCRIBED.

auditors, the progressive improvement impressed by the Most High
upon all nature. Aided by numerous passages drawn from holy
writ, and which he employed as commentaries on himself, in order
to express, by bold and sensible images, the abstract reasonings in
which he was deficient, he appeared as if brandishing the spirit of
God himself, like a torch of living fire, through the profoundest
recesses of creation, with an eloquence which was peculiar to him,
and whose accents excited the attention and enchained the conviction
of his auditory. Unfolding in this manner this mysterious system
in all its consequences, he gave the key to all the symbols, he justi-
fied the vocations, the particular gifts of genius in its various walks,
and the diversities of human talent. Become in an instant a physi-
ologist by instinct, he accounted for the animal resemblances inscribed
so often on the human countenance, by primordial analogies and by
the ascending impulse of all-created matter. He compelled you to
join, as it were, in the sport of nature, while he assigned a mission
and a future to minerals, plants, and animals. After having — the
Bible in his hand — spiritualized matter and materialized spirit, after
having shown an over-ruling Providence in all things, and imprinted
the seal of respect on his least works, he admitted the possibility of
advancing, by means of faith, from one sphere to another.

Such was the first part of his discourse, whose doctrines he con-
trived to apply, by adroitly managed digressions, to the feudal
system. The poetry, religious and profane, and the rude, unpolished
eloquence of the times, might range at large in this immense theory,
in which all the philosophical systems of antiquity were confounded
in one general mass. Armed with the mystical demonstrations by
which he explained the actual world in which we live, the doctor
Sigier constructed another intermediate world, whose gradually ele-
vated spheres separated us from God, as the plant was divided from
us by an infinity of circles, all necessary to pass, before arriving at any
community. He peopled the heavens, the planets, the stars, the
sun. In the name of Saint Paul he invested man with a new
power. It was permitted to them to mount from world to world,
unto the sources of existence. — The mystical ladder of Jacob was,
at the same time, the religious formula of this divine secret, and the
traditional proof of the fact. He was expatiating in the vast regions
of space, drawing after him en the wings of his own inspiration the
impassioned souls of his auditors, making infinity felt by them, and
plunging them in the celestial ocean. The doctor thus explained
very logically the nature and existence of Hell by other circles, in
an inverse order from the brilliant spheres which aspire to Heaven,
and in which suffering replaces light and mind. The tortures were
comprehended as well as the joys. The terms of comparison were
easily found in the transitions of an earthly existence, in its varying
atmospheres of grief and intelligence. Thus the most extraordinary
fables of Hell and Purgatory were found to be naturally realised.
He made an admirable deduction on the fundamental reasons of our
virtues. The pious man, treading the narrow path in poverty,
serene in his conscience, always at peace with himself, and persisting
in not belying himself, even in his secret heart, in spite of the dis-

THE PROSCRIBED. 377

couraging spectacles afforded by triumphant vice, was a fallen and
punished angel, who, remembering his origin, and foreseeing his
recompense, accomplished his task and obeyed his noble mission.
The sublime acts of resignation, of which Christianity has afforded
most touching examples, then appeared in all their glory. He
placed the martyrs on their funereal pires, or at the glowing stake
of ardent flames, and almost despoiled them of their merit in
stripping them of their sufferings. He showed the internal angel in
the heavens, whilst his outward covering or external man was in the
blood-thirsty pincers of the executioners. He painted, he made
known by celestial signs, by privileged beauties, angels among
men, as if he himself existed in a sphere above them. He went
then to tear from the inmost recesses, from the very entrails
of the understanding, the veritable sense of the word fall which is
to be found in every language. He seized upon the most futile
traditions, in order to demonstrate the truth of our origin, and ex-
plained with incredible lucidity the passion that all men have to
mount, to raise themselves above others; instinctive ambition, per-
petual revelation of our destiny. He embraced, and led those who
heard him to do the same, at one glance the entire universe, and de-
scribed the substance of God himself, ever flowinglike an immense flood
scarcely contained within its banks from the centre to the extremi-
ties, and from the extremities towards the centre. Nature was one,
and compact. In the work to all appearance the most insignificant,
as in the most vast, all obeyed this law. All created matter pre-
sented, in miniature, an exact image of it, be it in the sap of the
plant, be it in the blood of man, or in the course of the stars. He
heaped proof upon proof, and embodied his ideas always by pictures
full of harmony, melodious by their poesy. He advanced boldly to
confront objections. Thus he crushed, as it were, under the moral
weight of an eloquent interrogation the monuments of our sciences
and all the human superfetations for which society seizes upon the
elements of the terrestrial world. He demanded whether our wars,
our misfortunes, our depravations, presented the great movement
impressed by God on all worlds. Arid then he turned into ridicule
the impotence of man. He showed us our noblest efforts every where
effaced. He invoked the manes of Tyre, of Carthage, and of Baby-
lon; he summoned Babel and Jerusalem to appear; and he sought
for, without finding them, the ephemeral traces of the human
plough. Humanity was floating over the world like a vessel whose
track disappears under the peaceable bosom of the ocean. Such
were the fundamental notions of the discourse pronounced by the
doctor Sigier: ideas which he enveloped in the mystical language
and barbarous Latin in use at that period. The Scriptures, of which
he had made a particular study, furnished him with the weaponsr
armed with which he appeared to his age, in order to urge on its
inarch. He covered his hardihood, as with a mantle, by his great
knowledge, and his philosophy under the sanctity of his manners.
At this instant, after having set his audience face to face with God,
after having compressed the world in an idea, and almost unveiled
the idea of the world, he contemplated the silent, palpitating: assem-

378 THE MONKEY.

bly, and interrogated the stranger by a look. Excited, doubtless,
by the presence of this extraordinary being, he added these words,
freed here from the corrupt Latinity of the middle age. " Whence
do you believe that a man can draw these fecund truths, if it is not
from the breast of God himself? What am I? The feeble trans-
lator of a single line bequeathed to us by the most powerful of the
Apostles; a single line amidst a thousand others equally brilliant with
light. Before us all, St. Paul had said : In Deo vivimus, movemus, et
sumus ; "in God we live, and move, and have our being." To-day,
less believing and more learned, or less informed and more incre-
dulous, we should demand of the Apostle to know what good end
this perpetual progress was to answer? Where this life distributed
by zones is going to ? For what the intelligence beginning by the
confused perceptions of marble, and proceeding from sphere to
sphere, unto man, unto angels, unto God"? Where is the source,
where is the sea? Whether the life, arrived at God through worlds
and stars, through matter and spirit, redescends towards another
end ? You would wish to see the world on both sides. You would
adore the sovereign, on condition of seating yourselves a moment on
his throne. Insensate that we are ! we deny to the most intelligent
animals the gift of comprehending our thoughts and the end of our
actions; we are without pity for the creatures of the inferior spheres,
we chase them from our world, we refuse them the faculty of divin-
ing the human thought, and we would arrogate to ourselves the
knowledge of the most elevated of all ideas, the idea of the idea !
the light of light! Well then, go, set out! mount by faith from
globe to globe, take your flight in the measureless fields of space !
Thought, love, and faith are its mysterious keys. Traverse the
circles ! proceed to the throne. God is more clement than you are :
he has opened his temple to all that he has created. But forget not
the example of Moses. Take off your shoes before entering the
sanctuary, cleanse yourself from all spot, quit entirely your body ;
for God— God is light!

THE MONKEY.

(Translated from the French.)

AN Ape in Paris pass'd his life,
To whom they gave a loving wife :
He mimick'd cruel husbands too,
And beat his lady black and blue,
He broke her bones — she broke her heart and died :
Her son deplor'd her wretched fate, and cried !
The father laughed — well pleased that she was dead
He soon found other ladies in her stead,
And whom he beat as soundly, as they say,
For he frequented taverns night and day.

Nothing that's good from mimics think to see
Whether they authors or may monkeys be. —
Authors, of all, appear the worst to me.

( 379 )

BRIGHTON— DIEPPE— ROUEN.

FOR variety, cheapness, and comfort, the road to Paris by Brighton,
Dieppe, and Rouen is much to be preferred. With this conviction
on my mind, I started from Piccadilly one fine morning in the
month of July, arrived at Brighton about noon, caught the steam-
packet on the point of leaving the pier, and was soon on board her,
in the midst of light hearts and cheerful faces, bound to the opposite
shore, and anticipating the delight which most people expect to find
in the contemplation of a people whose manners and customs differ
materially from their own. In the early days of steaming across the
waves, the roaring of the furnace, the hissing of the steam through
the safety-valve, and the Babel-like confusion of a crowded packet,
would have appalled many a heart, and conveyed some ideas to a
poet of the horrors of infernal regions ; but custom has now rendered
all these things familiar to the most timid, and even add to their
pleasures. In a few seconds the ringing of the last bell, and the cry
of " cast off" resounded through the vessel : the wheels began to
move ; the old steamer, with many a groan, seeming to quit with
reluctance the gay throng assembled on the pier to watch her
movements, was soon compelled to betake herself to the deep.

The town of Brighton, seen from any point, is beautiful; but the
view of the neighbouring country from the sea, in fine clear
weather, such as we fortunately enjoyed, baffles all power of
description. The bay of Naples or of Geneva, and the scenes
spread around the confluence of the Hudson and the East River at
New York, have been celebrated, and justly so, by various writers;
but I must confess that neither of them surpasses in magnificence the
shores of Brighton. Princely buildings, hills covered with verdure,
mountains rising on mountains in the back ground, a variegated
throng of beauty and fashion moving on the far-extended pier,
which seems upheld by fairy hand over the heaving element; the
glitter of gay vehicles on the shore, and flocks of sheep browzing on
the surrounding eminences, form altogether a coup-d'oeil, which, if
minutely described, would appear to be a work of fiction. It is true,
we saw all this under the most favourable circumstances ; for the
heavens were cloudless, the sun throwing its splendid rays over the
whole scene, and the green expanse of water in which we floated
was rendered more vivid by its beams, reflecting every object on its
surface, and reminded us of the calm abodes of the fabulous
Halcyon.

Long did we gaze on these beauties, now every hour fading from
the sight ; but in their undefined forms not less attractive. Every
tongue was silent; and every eye was turned on the shores of our
Albion, till the mists of evening cast a veil over the interesting
scene. The tongue now resumed its office; the wind freshened;

380 BRIGHTON DIEPPE UOUEN.

the calls of appetite put the steward in motion, and voices, fatherland,
French, Italian, and German broke the charm of meditation.

But were there none who, pacing the deck, and blowing1 forth the
fragrant odours of the cigar, thought of those left behind in the land
which had now disappeared ? Oh ! yes : the half-escaped sigh, the
contemplative gaze towards the shores of dear fatherland, told
unequivocally what was passing in the breasts of many, and which
deeply affected a few. Parents, children, friends, flitted across the
mind, and recalled to some the delights of" sacred home," and to
others the pangs of unrequited love or friendship. Oppressed myself
with reflections of a sombre cast, I betook myself to a couch, and
dreamed away two hours more of my variegated life.

On my return to the deck, the scene had completely changed, and
the wind had increased so much, that the steamer staggered like a
drunken man. The ladies were qualmish, and the dandies who had
strutted about, but a few hours before, with all the importance a
fashionable coat, looked unutterable things. About ten o'clock we
descried the lights of Dieppe. The night was dark and cloudy, and
the entrance to the harbour not very easy. However, at eleven, we
were safely moored alongside of the custom-house quai, having
crossed the channel in ten hours. Experiencing but little difficulty
from the custom-house officers, we were soon seated at the excellent
hotel still kept by my old friend madame de la Rue, who, when I was
a stripling, fleeing from a college at Paris, to avoid the horrors of
the great revolution, in the time of Louis XVI, was a pretty little
girl, and mingled her tears with mine as I left her father's house, in
company with other fugitives, to embark on board a fishing-vessel,
in a gale of wind, to return to the embraces of an affectionate mother.
After a long conversation on the dangers we had past, and the
changes that time and circumstances had made, we returned thanks
to Almighty God for our preservation, yand 'once ^ore enjoyed the
.comforts of a good bed and of a friendly roof over our heads. This
was the fifth time that the old lady and I had talked over our
youthful days since the Restoration ; and I find her ever unchanged,
unchangeable, happy in possessing obedient children to relieve her
from the turmoils of business, and meriting, by the kindest attentions,
the applause she receives from her numerous visitors.

The town of Dieppe, as a single object, has nothing sufficiently
.captivating to detain the visiter a day ; but the scenery in the
neighbourhood, some parts of which is connected with the history of
the only g ood monarch (as the French themselves say) that France
ever possessed (Henri IV.) cannot fail to gratify, in a high degree,
the lovers of the sublime and beautiful in nature. These were
familiar to me; and I therefore determined, with the friend who
accompanied me, to quit as soon as possible this ever fish-smelling
port ; and early the next morning I took my place on the very front
pinnacle of the immense machine called a diligence, with some risk
of breaking my neck in the ascent. The postillion smacked his
whip, as usual, to announce his departure ; the horses set off with a
celerity one could not have expected from a survey of them ; hoofs
clattered over the pavement, chains rattled, all the dogs in the town

BRIGHTON —DIEPPE ROUEN. 381

seemed assembled to bark at us; the whole producing a charivari,
which brought all the shopkeepers to the door, to laugh at John Bull
seated in the place usually occupied by the canaille, and wondering
that he should prefer it to the comfortable coupee beneath. But John
likes to see and be seen. He aims, wherever he goes, as far as I have
observed, at originality ; and cares little about what the natives say
of him.

As we ascended the long and steep hill which rises from the town,
in almost a straight line, for the distance of two miles, we had full
leisure to view the celebrated vallee cTArque extending far to the
left, and passing in review before our mind's eye, the extraordinary
events of which it has been, at several periods, the theatre, and of
which the splendid remains of the castle,* and the obelisk erected
in late times at the expense of the Duchess of Berry, are eloquent
memorials. At length, arrived with much difficulty at the summit
of this " proud rising," and rested some time to refresh the horses
and postillion, the conductor (an important personage about a French
diligence) gave the word, and on we trundled, with almost as much
noise as a whole train of artillery with all their materiel would have
made at the same pace. We now descended rapidly again into the
valley, at the utmost speed of the horses (about ten miles an hour),
and the jerks and creaks of the ponderous vehicle became truly
appalling ; but the horses, sure-footed if not fleet, performed their
business admirably, although little supported by the miserable rope-
harness by which they are managed.

Rattling along at the rate of about six miles an hour, we passed
through a country eminently adorned by nature, but possessing little
of the artificial beauty with which, in England, we love to improve
even the beauties which a beneficent Providence has bestowed on
us. The ch&teaux of the wealthy citizens and even the nobility,
here, still retain the formal arrangements of the olden time. All is
'stiff and formal ; no artificial hill and dale as with us ; no meandering
walks or gurgling rivulets are created by the skill of the landscape
gardener ; a few trees cut into fantastical shapes, and an avenue of
fruit trees, are almost the only indications of a chateau, a name given
to every house above the common size inhabited by an independent
proprietor. Frenchmen, in general, seldom identify themselves with
the soil which gives them the means of subsistence. It is at Paris
alone that they seem to enjoy life. The calm delights of a country-
seat, domestic recreations, the society of an amiable family, and the
task of instructing their children under the paternal roof, are joys
seldom courted by our Gallic neighbours. Paris is the summum bonum
of their earthly happiness. " // n'y a quun Paris" is the first ex-
pression they are taught to utter, and which seems to influence the
whole course of their lives. However, as estates in France are let
out in small farms, the fields are well tilled, produce abundantly,

* This castle was built in 1046, and was dismantled by Henri IV., after
his victory over the Duke de Guise. Travellers visiting Dieppe, would b.e
much gratified in inspecting its now ivy-covered ruins.

M.M.— No. 10. 3 C

382 BRIGHTON — DIEPPE ROUEN.

and are more delightful to the eye of the philanthropist than the
ornamental grounds of the English exclusif, who must have

" Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds,
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds;"

for although the proud domains of the liberal part of the English
aristocracy are not always shut against the public, and the " sic vos
non vobis" of the Latin poet may be justly applied to them, they
not the less occupy the soil which, if applied to agricultural purposes,
might obviate the necessity of corn-laws, diminish the price of the
staff of life, and afford sustenance to the half-starved population,
doomed to witness the waste and dissipation of their opulent neigh-
bours, the crumbs even from whose tables are often withheld from
suffering humanity, by those who live upon our vitals.

But let us pursue our journey. When we arrived at the entrance
of the celebrated valley which stretches for about nine miles towards
the Seine, a scene opened upon us which is worth a journey from Eng-
land to contemplate. It may, indeed, be called " the happy valley ; "
for here the industry of the mechanic and manufacturer is aided by
nature in a degree scarcely found in any other part of the world.
A stream, small but beautiful in its windings, puts in motion innu-
merable mills, where spinning and all the operations of the loom are
in full activity. It is here that French taste has blended convenience
with rural beauty ; and the workshops and bleaching-fields are so
contrived as to give the air of palaces to edifices in which the
labours of thousands of workmen contribute to the welfare of their
country. The sound of cheerful labour strikes the ear on every
side, and a long line of vehicles of all classes announce the near
approach to a populous and commercial city.

On leaving this interesting valley, and ascending the hill at its
western extremity, we obtain the first view of the steeples of Rouen;
the Seine winding on the right hand, through rich and romantic
vales, and bearing on its lucid bosom vessels of all classes and nations ;
some striving against the stream with favouring wind, to gain the
port, and others descending gaily to brave the dangers of the ocean;
whilst in the distance a steam-boat, spreading its murky smoke
around, and pursuing its course against the current, seemed to mock
the labours of those dependent for their progress on the caprice of the
elements. A striking emblem of human pursuits and human cha-
racter ! The steady laborious man plods through life with much
difficulty, and often in vain attempts to stem the tide which sets
against him. With all the prudence of experience, he tacks and
veers, trims his sails, and anxiously watches to take advantage of
every favourable breeze : but all his pains, perhaps, are unavailing,
whilst some favourite of fortune, some steam-headed wight, vapours
by him with exultation, and reaches his destination amid the plaudits
of an unreflecting throng, from whom are concealed the paddles,
without which he would lie a mere log on the waters.

Another half-hour brought us to Rouen. We passed the quais,
where all our rattle and " circumstance" scarcely attracted a single
glance from the multitudes employed about the shipping; and, after

i LOV'D THEE. 383

threading- the rue-du-pont, we arrived in safety at the bureau des
messageries royales, where we descended with some difficulty from
our elevated position, amid the bawlings of a host of runners from
different hotels, to solicit the honour of our company. " L?h6tel de
Londres!" "T 'hotel de Paris ! I' hotel du grand Roi d' Angleterre ! " and
others, were sounded in our ears till we had gained a footing on terra
firma, when one of these officious commissionaires seized a cloak,
another a coat, another a portmanteau, with which they would
have marched off in different directions, if I had not made a sign
to an important personage, yclept a gendarme, who, by a single wave
of his magic hand, stilled in an instant the raging of the wordy tem-
pest. Stranger! whoever thou art, whether thou speak French or
not, make but a sign to one of the gendarmerie, who are always in
attendance on the arrival of a diligence, and it will avail thee more
than the best French thou couldst ever learn in the very best French
school of thy country, even by the patent systems. All was now quiet;
but the imploring looks of the waiters, with their respective cards,
held invitingly forward, spoke plainly, " Donnez-nous la preference,
mes bons Messieurs ! Venez chez-nous, de grace ! "

Having at length secured our baggage on a barrow, and arranged
with our conductor, I gave the word to march : " A V hotel de Londres,
mes amis ! " In a twinkling we were in motion, followed by a train
of beggars, and were soon seated at the excellent table- d'hote of
niadame Marc, at which we entreat our readers to leave us till next
month, when, Deo volente, we will present them with further details
of our rambles, shifting the scene, perhaps, to countries less known
to English travellers, but more worthy of their notice.

I LOV'D THEE!
BY MRS. C. B. WILSON.

I LOV'D thee when the rose bloom'd on thy cheek,
And life's fair morn in glowing hope was dress'd ;
I lov'd thee more than words or tongue could speak,
Thou wert my bosom's shrin'd and hallow'd guest !
Say not, Oh ! say not, Time can ever see
My heart's true pulse forget to beat for thee.

I lov'd thee when the rose had fled thy cheek,
And early grief planted the lily there; —
1 lov'd thee — and still dar'd that love to speak-
When sorrow ting'd with snow thine auburn hair ',
Say not, oh ! say not, Time did ever see
My heart's true pulse less warmly beat for thee.

I lov'd thee in thy SpRiNG-time's blushing hour —
I lov'd thee in thy SUMMER'S ripen'd noon ;
T lov'd thee in the blossom, bud and flower —
The tears of April — and the smiles of June !
Fear not, then fear not, WINTRY hours will see
The heart grow cold, that ever beats for thee !

( 384 )

BATHOS.
A ROMANTIC TALE.

"BATHOS, the art of sinking in poetry; the profound/' — Johnson' s Dictionary .

WHEN a man has been earnestly pursuing any important investi-
gation, whether metaphysical, scientific, or topographical, and has
succeeded in arriving at a satisfactory conclusion ; — that man, on
that particular result, has an unquestionable right to be dogmatical :
hence I do assert, with the firmness of one who has made up his
mind after an extensive and pains-taking experience, — that the
only locality for making love is Kensington gardens !

Shall I ever forget my first visit to those umbrageous shades ?

" The last trace of feeling with life will depart,

Ere the charm of that moment shall pass from my heart."

It was a lovely day. The sun shone brilliantly — the birds carolled
merrily — the nursery-maids simpered bewitehingly ! As I traversed
the great walk, I felt the superlative consciousness of being the
happiest fellow within the bills of mortality. I had just risen from
a luncheon at the " Three Compasses," Bayswater, which, as I was
going to drive out, was a slight one, a mere snack — three chops
and a pint of sherry. In the exuberance of my content, I flung
myself upon a garden-seat to moralize upon the satisfactory state of
my'mind. But who can philosophize without a cigar? I drew
one from my case. <l Blest," thought I, " with the certainty of a
present competency, and the contingency of a future independence,
— with a rich aunt in promising ill-health — a case of the finest
Havannahs ever imported from Houndsditch — and a portable tinder-
box that never misses fire — how could I be unhappy ? Pleasure has
" marked me for her own" — who shall remove the broad arrow of
felicity ?

Vain question ! Delusive dream of delight ! I was just lighting
my third cigar, when, at the end of a long avenue, rny eyes caught A
FORM ! and from that moment to the end of the next three weeks I
was doomed to misery \

No philosopher, from Pythagoras down to Sir Richard Philips,
has ever yet accounted for the properties of the loadstone. When
that discovery is made, I am inclined to the opinion that an intimate
connection will be found to exist between it and the human affections.
Some extraordinary attractive influence I certainly felt on beholding
THE FORM. For as the figure approached me I was irresistibly im-
pelled towards it: and as our contiguity increased, so did my agi-
tation.

BATHOS. 38

When my vision was enabled to comprehend the entire fascina-
tions of the angelic form, I was seized with a kind of ethereal intoxi-
cation— invigorated with one intense gush of passion : — an indivisible
sensation of unadulterated love! We met! and I was rivetted to
the spot — stark as a corpse — immutable as the duke of York's
column. At length, completely overcome, I sank exhausted into a
seat beside me.

~fr Alarmed by my extreme agitation, the figure stopped also — turned
upon me a look in which pity struggled with sympathy and actually
became my neighbour in the settle ! My feelings at this moment
were inconceivable ! and, but for a few vigorous whiffs, I am per-
suaded that both my lite and my cigar would have been simultane-
ously extinguished !

How shall I describe the being who sat beside me? Words —
pshaw ! The most perfect symbols bodied forth in the superlatively
superfine vocabulary. of an excited and fanciful imagination, would
be inadequate — useless !

At first the vivid radiance of THE FORM blinded me to all around ;
but I at length gained sufficient strength of vision for a lengthened
gaze. Heavens ! THE FORM uttered a sound — it spoke !

Yes ! ]it turned upon me an enquiring glance ; then raising its
super cerulean orbs towards the firmament, in a voice compared
with which the music of the spheres is but as the drone of a bag-
pipe, it said (powers of pleasure, ministering angels of rapture,
record it as I write !) — " D'ye think it will rain, Sir ? "

I took my cigar from my mouth, and, by one other effort of
visual determination, actually ascertained that which my hitherto
excruciating agitation had prevented rne from knowing : THE FORM
was that of a woman !

" A lady, the wonder of her kind,
Whose form was upborne by a lovely mind,
Which, dilating, had moulded her mien and motion,
Like a sea-flower unfolded beneath the ocean."

When all traces of this astonishingly unexpected discovery had
left me, I became sufficiently calm to answer the sublime interroga-
tory. " Madam," I replied, " I really can't say ; the weather is
changeable, and — '' " Changeable !" she repeated ; while passion
fired her eye with a rapid flash of poetical enthusiasm — " this
world is nought but change — man, woman, beasts, birds, insects —
nay, even flowers are variable ! Behold that plant — " she continued,
pointing to a deadly-lively butter-cup before us — " yesterday 'twas
fresh and blooming — now drooping — withered. So with the human
heart. To-day light, gay, exulting ; to-morrow care-worn, can-
kered, blasted ! *' Man is born to trouble," says Byron, "as sparks
fly upward."

Instinctively I knocked the ashes from my cigar, by way of illus-
tration.

" Aye, Sir, and woman too," resumed the indefatigable angel —
then, with a sigh that cracked my very heart-strings, she said, —

386 BATHOS.

"/ have my miseries, heaven knows. I — who was born with a
daring ambition to be numbered with that congiary of female
master-spirits — that constellation of concentrated essences — that
congregation of congiary geniuses : — The Cornwell Baron Wil-
sons, the Lady Blessingtons, and Honourable Mrs. Nortons — ' am
doomed/ as Mary-Anne Browne says, ' to blush unseen' and wilher
neglected like yonder flower!"

A flood of tears came to the afflicted fair-one's relief.

" Pardon me," she resumed, applying the corner of a cambric
handkerchief to the corners of her eyes, " pardon me, gentle
stranger, for intruding upon you the sorrows of my afflicted bosom,
and pity me. We shall possibly never meet again. Take this,"
she continued, placing something in my hand (which, in the ecstacy
of the moment, I thrust into the waistcoat-pocket nearest my heart).
" It might serve hereafter to draw a tear of sympathy for the sorrows
of Morgiana Marianna Madeline de Montmorency. Adieu ! Adieu
Adieu ! "

Like a swan on the waters, my divinity rose to depart. As she
threaded the flowery mazes of Kensington,

" Her step seem'd to pity the grass it press'd."

On arriving at my friend's to dinner, he failed not to remark the
unusual depression of my spirits.

" Dick," said he, while decapitating the sixth bottle^of Champagne,
" You are disgracefully solid to-day. You arn't in love, are you ? "

The question came upon me like a thunderclap. I was confused —
overwhelmed, and gulped down three consecutive tumblers of Gui-

ness's " bang-up," to conceal my agitation.

how it is," said Joe in his own peculiarly
manner. " What a thundering fool you must be. Come, lad, here's

"Ah! I see how it is," said Joe in his own peculiarly soothing
anner. " What
the punch — drink.

" 'Tis not so sweet as woman's lip,
But, ah ! 'tis more sincere ! "

I obeyed, and after finishing that and another bowl, we topped
off with brandy-and-water, and I departed.

While*jpacing* Oxford-street I became conscious that the whirl-
wind of "passion which lately agitated my breast had made me
extremely exhausted. As the hurricane, in its ruthless course, forces
from their basins streams and rivers; so had the tempest of my
feelings left me inconveniently dry. An anti-hydrophobiac desire for
fluid tormented my glottis ; and, provided it were diluted with a
q. s. of brandy, I could have drunk even — water !

With the fidgetty restlessness of a thirsty person, I thrust rny hand
into [my "waistcoat-pocket, and, curiously enough, tore my glove
against the corner of a card. I found it to be a tavern-card— a sort
of general invitation to dinner and wine : — " Clarence Hotel."

Nothing could have been more d-propos, and it was not long ere
I found myself in a neat private-house-looking tavern. " Here,"
thought I, "can I indulge my sorrows in solitude;" for except a

BATHOS. 387

gentleman in top-boots, Belcher handkerchief, and Petersham coat,
I was the only customer.

On ringing- the bell, a ghostly attenuated foreigner appeared,
towel in hand.

u Waiter," said T, " bring me a tumbler of punch !"

" We have no paunch, Sare I" replied the gar^on

" So I perceive," I remarked, trying to count his ribs, " Let me
have some port."

The fellow opened the door — I heard a voice — again, I trembled
with passion — 'twas the same music as that which enchanted me in
Kensington Gardens ! The soft, thrilling notes were not to be mis-
taken— I listened in an agony of suspense. The words were these :

" Veil, mother, how can I keep the bailiffs off? I've gone my
hardest. Didn't I try it on with a. kiddy in the gardens this
morning? I tipped him a card, and he may come and do the hand-
some yet, for he's a regular spoon and a half! ! !''

I could hear no more — my feelings were wound up to a pitch of
intensity, that left me nothing but the power of running away. Of
this I availed myself, and rushed onward until I sank exhausted on
the steps of a doctor's shop.

I was taken into the surgery, where the whole truth flashed upon
me in one vivid, piercing gleam :— the sentimental card-distributor
was no other than " the goddess of my idolatry" — " the bright
particular star of Kensington Garden." These thoughts, acting like
lightning upon a sensitive mind, produced visible traces upon my
person ; my visage became livid as the ash of an Havannah ; my
lips blue as a lobster, and the agony of my mind caused such contor-
tions in my features, that I was unhesitatingly pronounced a decided
case of cholera! This was too much. I heard no more — my senses
left me.

* * * * * *

On awakening, 1 called to my valet for some hock. The villain
did not answer. I tried to reach the bell ; it was not there. I
fumbled for my repeater— that had vanished. Heavens, I was in a
strange bed — I called out, I roared. To my inexpressible relief, I
heard footsteps approach, and soon a large man in a large coat,
knee-breeches, and ancle-jacks, approached me.

" Vy hallo ! my swell," said the rascal, " vhat coach did you
come by ? "

" Confusion !"

" 1 'spose you are Peg Mol Percy's fancy cove. Eh, my tiny
one?"

" Furies !''

" 'Nough to make a cove furious — she's bilked you this time most
properly.5' And then, with the grin of a demon, the wretch added.
" There's your togs, my flick?" Vhy, she arn't even left your
kickseys. Here I say, Bob," he bawled over the stairs, " Here's a

femman in bed, and I'm blowed if old mother Mol Percy and her
arter hav'nt prigged his togs. Can't ve lend him a blanket ?"
" 1 should think not," said a good-natured voice from below.
" But the kiddy's werry hill."

388 SONNET.

" He can't have nothin' without he leaves the valley."

" Here, I never likes to be hard," said my new companion,
turning to me, t6 Chuck this ere blanket over yourself, and paddle."

"Paddle?"

" Aye ! morris ! Cut your stick. Cause you arn't down in the
inwentory"

" Inventory ? Where, where am I ? ''

" Vhere are you ? Vhy, in the Clarence Hotel, vhat's took in
^execution for nineteen pound six and a tanner !"

Enveloped in the proffered blanket, I procured a hackney-coach,
and was jolted home. Some days afterwards, I learnt that the
infernal card found in my pocket directed the people in the doctor's
shop to the place I had rushed from with such horror, and there I
was deposited.

What could have made me so infatuated with the heroine of
Kensington Gardens ? Was it her beauty ? No, she was decidedly
plain ! Was it the pint of sherry and mutton chops ? No, that was
my usual luncheon, and would have operated in the same manner
before. It was the locality — the place — the scene. Hence I ever
have, and ever will maintain to the last extremity, " that the only
place for falling in love is Kensington Gardens."

UDOLFHO.

[The first part of this paper, which is ingenious enough, induced
us to publish it. It is however objectionable towards the end.
There can be no excuse for the vulgar expressions of some of the
characters. We hope Udolpho will in future purify his style. — ED.]

SONNET.

ALONE upon the beach I see thee stand ;

The Wind is in his cradle, and the Sun

Laughs on the tides that ripple as they run,
Glancing ten thousand smiles from sea to strand ;
The brawling waves are hurrying on to land

With jealous haste to kiss thy heedless feet ;

And many a white sail droops its flagging sheet
Scarce by the sleepy breeze to motion fann'd.
Thine eye meanwhile o'er all the pomp ofheav'n

Roaming, on nought around thee rests its ray ;

And thy fond thoughts are lingering — far away—
With him to whom thy plighted love is given !
And I — must watch thee nurse the joyous dream,
Yet wear a "smile" and be — aught but the thing I seem

T.

( 389 )

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

The Drama Vindicated, with Copious Notes, by JOHN DENMAN,
Esq., S. C. L. of St. John's College, Cambridge. W. H. Smith,
Cambridge; W. Strange, Paternoster Row, London. 18mo.,
pp. 120.

A GREAT part of this little volume is devoted to a sketch of the rise and uses
of the drama in different countries, even amongst the " solitary savage
islanders" of the southern ocean; and in the notes are numerous extracts
from Latin and Greek authors to elucidate the writer's observations, which,
if not altogether original, are, in many respects, just. In his account of the
English stage he has drawn largely on black-lettered lore, and particularised
the different kinds of scenic representations in use among our ancestors, as
far back as the reign of Henry II. ; noticing the principal authors, managers,
and performers of later years ; and commenting on the changes which at
various periods have taken place in theatrical establishments.

Mr. Denman contends that the stage is only secondary to the church in
the propagation of sound morality and virtuous ideas. Let him speak for
himself : —

" I have no doubt but that dramatic compositions, and particularly that
most elevated of human productions, tragedy, are amply calculated to effect
this 'devoutly wished-for end,' since the public exhibition of these have been
singularly recommended as highly conducive to the cause of virtue by both
the most learned and truly pious authorities of modern as well as ancient
times * * * *. The utility of the stage, then, we perceive, is two-fold.
Precept is illustrated by example. It will avail its bitterest calumniators little
or nothing to preach that its ends are not answered : this is a direct falsity —
they are answered in the main * * *. The drama, moreover, is amply capable
of being turned to very powerful account as a political engine," &c.

The author then animadverts strongly on the late management of the two
winter theatres, and observes of them that " though their names are winter,
their process is summery" (a species of wit which smells strongly of the green-
room) ; and referring to the Literary Gazette (bless the oracle !) for further
information on the wintry subject. Turning now to the introduction on
English boards of French plays and Italian operas, and to the badness of the
actors employed in English dramas, Mr. D. calls them "barn-like," and
offers the authority of the Times newspaper and his old friend of the " Lite-
rary" in confirmation of the justness of the epithet.

Whether their acting be " barn -like" or not, the assertion, we can vouch
for it, is rather Barnes-like ; and in this, we conceive, our " literary friend "
will agree with us, and chuckle besides at the brightness of our joke, so much
in the manner of the bright calembour above quoted.

But as to the French plays and Italian operas, we cannot, by any means,
agree with the author of the " Vindication," and his allies ; for, from our
very hearts, we like French plays when well selected, and Italian operas
when well performed ; — the first showing us human nature in another guise,
and the second assisting to mature a taste for good music in this country,
which, for many years, has been much wanted. The only objection we have
to either is the extravagant salaries paid to foreign artistes, and the conse-
quent expense of attending their performances, which the late winter-managers
had wisely obviated by giving access to the public at the ordinary prices of
admission.

M.M.— No. 10. 3D

390 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

We sincerely believe that one great cause of the innovations on the regular
practice of the theatres was the pretension of a few of the principal histrions
to such exorbitant salaries, as to leave no prospect of profit in the exhibition
of plays wherein alone their peculiar talents might be made available. The
high-salary system, and the constant repetition of stock-pieces, having tired
out the play- going community, led to the bankruptcies of Price and others,
who might have sustained their credit by greater economy in some respects,
and by better treatment of secondary performers, whose talents Price, in
particular, was never able to appreciate.

In approving, however, of the introduction of foreign dramas on our stage,
we must not be understood to mean the wretched translations of the most
mischievous of them, which have found a too ready admission to the repertoires
of nearly all our theatres. The whole of the trash of the Porte- St. -Martin,
and of the lowest theatres of Paris, has been dressed up in flimsy English
habiliments by the numerous penny-a-line purveyors who pander to the
vitiated taste of the galleries, and are gladly accepted, at a bread-and-cheese
price, by the grasping manager. Against these let every father, every guardian
of the honour and virtue of the rising generation, hold up his hand. There
are dramas enough, of a harmless kind, in store, to produce the wished-for
variety ; and we would make every manager responsible for the pernicious
effects of the scenes of immorality which he exhibits. If the public licenser
cannot, or will not, do his duty, in this respect, the society for the suppres-
sion of vice should be on the alert, and for once attack the wolf instead of the
mouse.

We might say much more on these heads, if the space allowed for this
article were not so circumscribed. We are obliged to take leave, therefore,
of Mr. D. rather abruptly, observing en passant that, with a great display of
learned quotations, not very accurately printed, he has done very little in
" Vindication of the Drama ; " and we hope that, in his next attempt to make
himself useful to the public, he will hit on a subject more likely to employ
to advantage the portion of reading and erudition which he seems to possess.
The Dedication to Mr. Macready should have been better written. It is
obscure and faulty. Mr. M., as a scholar and a gentleman, and as the son
of a very Worthy man, whose memory we love to cherish, deserves a better
offering. If the work should run to a second edition, we would recommend
Mr. Denman, who is probably a young man, to cast his eye over the latter part
of the said Dedication.

Noble Deeds of Woman. Hookham, Bond Street.

THIS record of the noblest deeds of the noblest women is one of the most
interesting volumes we have for some time perused. It presents a faithful
picture of the greatness of soul which actuates the breast of woman when
placed in circumstances of danger, temptation, or privation ; and these
examples — selected with care from the lives of eminent females — should be
placed in the hands of every daughter, of every wife. The " Noble Deeds
of Woman " are not, however, confined to those performed by beings whose
actions have become celebrated ; woman, in almost every station, exhibits a
greaternobility of sentiment, more earnestness of purpose, and more promptitude
of action than man ; and we are persuaded that it only requires the oppor-
tunity.— the chance of being placed in circumstances demanding the highest
powers of intellect, self-sacrifice, and mental courage, for many women,
moving in their own humble unassuming stations — to become as celebrated
as many heroines instanced in the excellent work before us.

We could make many highly interesting extracts ; but will not disturb
such a well-arranged and lovely bouquet by taking one flower from its place.
Hence we must, with no little confidence and pleasure, refer our readers to
the book itself.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 391

Lays for Light Hearts ; Songs, &c. By J. E. CARPENTER, Author
of "Random Rhymes," &cJ Willoughby, Goswell Street.

THIS book will greatly add to Mr. Carpenter's reputation as an Author. It
has seldom fallen to our duty to peruse a more agreeable little volume ; for,
though put forth without pretensions, it exhibits an agreeable miscellany of
wit and satire. The author has not only made himself conversant with the
passions of his own sex, but has probed the hearts of the fairer portion of the
other, whose vanities and petty foibles he forcibly, though good humouredly,
exposes.

We have to contrast with these some minor poems of a serious cast, and
a variety of ballads which, he mentions, were written as mere vehicles for
music, but which he underrates ; for among them are several touching and
elegant compositions.

We regret that our limits preclude us from extracting a comic article— how-
ever, we select the following, which, though of a grave tendency, is not the
less calculated to amuse.

DEATH.

THOU comest when the flowers

Of Spring are on the ground,
'Mid Winter's ice-crowned towers

There also art thou found ;
A phantom amid pleasure,

Earth's fairest buds to blight,
To wrap Hope's infant treasure

In everlasting night.

Thou dwellest by the fountain,

Thou lurkest in the air,
The valley and the mountain,

DEATH ! thou art everywhere !
All own alike thy power,

The fruit, the flower, the tree,
Each wither in an hour

Subservient to thee.

Yet many in thy keeping,

Whom sorrow hath oppress'd,
Are now all calmly sleeping

Upon thy bridegroom breast :
Then, " Death, where is thy sting ? "

Thy vict'ry, Grave, how won ?
Thou slayest all, grim King ;

Oh, Death ! thou sparest none.

We are bound, however, as candid critics, to confess that the two con-
cluding lines of the last verse perfectly contradict the idea intimated, rather
than expressed, in the six preceding ones. We conceive what the author
intended to say — but he has failed totally in making his idea clearly un-
derstood by the general reader. Let him look to this in future — 'tis the
carelessness of youthful authorship.

The Linwoods, or Sixty Years since in America. By Miss SEDG-
WICK. Churton, Holies Street.

ALTHOUGH the authoress of " Hopeleslie," " Redwood," and " The Lin-
woods," does not, as a novelist, possess the untiring activity of Cooper, the

392 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITER ATUUE.

broad humour of Paulding, or such sudden bursts of keen, vivacious satire,
as emitted by Mrs. Trollope ; yet she is held, by the transatlantic public,
with great justice, in higher esteem than her American literary competitors.
Her novels are imbued with an irresistible charm, the charm of truth, and,
by consequence, its never-failing companion — that of sympathy. Without
the superfine, metaphysical process of minutely scrutinizing and portraying
the secret mechanism, the various movements and phases of the human
heart, Miss Sedgwick exhibits at once, and without seeming effort, the
" open secret " of our affections and impulses, in a manner so quiet — though
not the less unerring — as must engage the sympathies of every reader, be they
ever so homely. Moreover, her characters are evidently not the creations of
imagination; but actual studies from the great " life academy " of nature.
We find, in the novel before us, no exaggerations of fact, in no one instance
a departure from probability, but an easy, calm, and no less interesting flow
of events, presenting a more healthy, nay, greater source of excitement to the
"reading public," than the sudden transitions or "remarkable events" em-
bodied by the great " wizard of the north" himself.

The title of the book, " Sixty Years Since," immediately refers its readers to
the commencement of the American struggle for independence — a retrospect
peculiarly favourable to the novelist, and of which the authoress of the
Lin woods has availed herself judiciously and effectively. We shall present
our readers with an extract, affording a peculiarly favourable specimen of the
description of talent we have given Miss Sedgwick credit for ; as also one of
the easy unobtrusive humour she possesses. It describes the parting of Eliot
Lee from his family, his village friends, and the home of his childhood, on
starting to volunteer in the cause of his country.

" A fine black saddle-horse, well equipped, was at the door. Little Fanny
Lee stood by him, patting him, and laying her head, with its shining flaxen
locks, to his side — ' Rover/ she said, with a trembling voice, 'be a good
Rover — won't you ? and, when the naughty regulars come, canter off with
Eliot as fast as you can/

" ' Hey ! that's fine ! ' retorted her brother, a year younger than herself.
' No, no, Rover, canter up to them, and over them, and never dare to canter
back here if you turn tail on them, Rover.'

" ' Oh, Sam ! how awful ; would you have Eliot killed ? '

" ' No, indeed, but I had rather he'd come deused near it than to have him
a coward.'

" ' Don't talk so loud, Sam — Bessie will hear you.'

" But the young belligerent was not to be silenced. He threw open the
' dwelling-room' door, to appeal to Eliot himself. The half-uttered sentence
died away on his lips. He entered the apartment, Fanny followed ; they
gently closed the door, drew their footstools to Eliot's feet, and quietly sat
down there. How instinctive is the sympathy of children ! how plain, and
yet how delicate its manifestations !

" Bessie was sitting beside her brother, her head on his shoulder, and
crying as if her heart went out with every sob. The youngest boy, Hal, sat
on Eliot's knee, with one arm around his neck, his cheek lying on Bessie's,
dropping tear after tear, sighing, and half- wondering why it was so.

" The good mother had arrived at that age when grief rather congeals the
spirit than melts it. Her lips were compressed, her eyes tearless, and her
movements tremulous. She was busying herself in the last offices, doing up
parcels, taking last stitches, and performing those services that seem to have
been assigned to women as safety-valves for their effervescing feelings.

" A neat table was spread with ham, bread, sweetmeats, cakes, and every
delicacy the house afforded — all were untasted. Not a word was heard, except
such broken sentences as ' Come, Bessie, I will promise to be good if you
will to be happy ! '

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 393

" ' Eliot, how easy for you — how impossible for me ! '

" ' Dear Bessie, do be firmer, for mother's sake. For ever ! oh no, my
dear sister, it will not be very long before 1 return to you ; and while I am
gone, you must be every thing to mother/

" ' I ! I never was good for any thing, Eliot — and now '

" ' Bessie, my dear child, hush — you have been — you always will be a
blessing to me. Don't put any anxious thoughts into Eliot's mind — we shall
do very well without him.'

" * Noble, disinterested mother ! ' trembled on Eliot's lips ; but he suppressed
words that might imply reproach to Bessie.

" The sacred scene was now broken in upon by some well-meaning but
untimely visitors. Eliot's approaching departure had created a sensation in
Westbrook ; the good people of that rustic place not having arrived at the
refined stage in the progress of society when emotion and fellow-feeling are
not expressed, or expressed only by certain conventional forms. First entered
Master Hale, with Miss Sally Ryal. Master Hale ' hoped it was no intru-
sion ; ' and Miss Sally answered, ' by no means ; she had come to lend a
helping hand, and not to intrude ' — whereupon she bustled about, helped
herself and her companion to chairs, and unsettled every body else in the
room. Mrs. Lee assumed a more tranquil mien ; poor Bessie suppressed her
sobs, and withdrew to a window, and Eliot tried to look composed and manly.
The children, like springs relieved from a pressure, reverted to their natural
state, dashed off their tears, and began whispering among themselves. Miss
Sally produced from her workbag a comforter for Mr. Eliot, of her own
knitting, which she 'trusted would keep out the cold and rheumatism :' and
she was kindly showing him how to adjust it, when she spied a chain of
braided hair around his neck — ' Ah, ha, Mr. Eliot, a love token ! ' she
exclaimed."

" ' Yes, it is,' said little Fanny, who was watching her proceedings ;
' Bessie and I cut locks of hair from all the children's heads and mother's,
and braided it for him ; and I guess it will warm his bosom more than your
comforter will, Miss Sally/

" It was evident, from the look of ineffable tenderness Eliot turned on
Fanny, that he ' guessed' so too ; but he nevertheless received the comforter
graciously, hinting, that a lady who had been able to protect her own bosom
from the most subtle enemy, must know how to defend another's from com-
mon assaults. Miss Sally hemmed, looked at Master Hale, muttered some-
thing of her not always having been invulnerable ; and finally succeeded in
recalling to Eliot's recollection a tradition of a love-passage between Miss
Sally and the pedagogue.

" A little girl now came trotting in, with ' grandmother's love, and a phial
of her mixture for Mr. Eliot — good against camp-distemper and the like.'

" Eliot received the mixture as if he had all grandmother's faith in it,
slipped a bright shilling into the child's hand for a keepsake, kissed her rosy
cheek, and set her down with the children.

" Visitors now began to throng. One man in a green old age, who had
lost a leg at Bunker's Hill, came hobbling in, and clapping Eliot on the
shoulder, said, ' This is you, my boy ! This is what I wanted to see your
father's son a-doing : I'd go too, if the rascals had left me both my legs.
Cheer up, widow, and thank the Lord you've got such a son to offer up to
your country — the richer the gift, the better the giver, you know ; but I don't
wonder you feel kind o' qualmish at the thoughts of losing the lad. Come,
Master Hale, can't you say something ? A little bit of Greek, or Latin, or
'most any thing, to keep up their sperits at the last gasp, as it were.'

" I was just going to observe, Major Avery, to Mrs. Lee, respecting our
esteemed young friend, Mr. Eliot, that I, who have known him from the
beginning, as it were, having taught him his alphabet, which may be said to

394 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

be the first round of the ladder of learning (which he has mounted by my
help), or rather (if you will allow me, ma'am, to mend my figure) the poles
that support all the rounds ; having had, as I observed, a primordial ac-
quaintance with him, I can testify that he is worthy every honourable adjec-
tive in the language, and we have every reason to hope that his future tense
will be as perfect as his past/

" ' Wheugh ! ' exclaimed the major, ' a pretty long march you have had
through that speech ! '

" The good schoolmaster, quite unruffled, proceeded to offer Eliot a time-
worn Virgil ; and finished by expressing his hopes that ' he would imitate
Csesar in maintaining his studies in the camp, and keep the scholar even-
handed with the soldier.'

" Eliot charmed the old pedagogue, by assuring him that he should be
more apt at imitating Csesar's studies than his soldiership, and himself be-
stowed Virgil in his portmanteau.

" A good lady now stepped forth, and seeming somewhat scandalised that,
as she said, ' no serious truth had been spoken at this peculiar season/ she
concluded a technical exhortation by giving Eliot a pair of stockings, into
which she had wrought St. Paul's description of the Gospel armour. ' The
Scripture/ she feared, did not often find its way to the camp ; and she
thought a passage might be blessed, as a single kernel of wheat, even sowed
among tares, sometimes produced its like/

" Eliot thanked her, and said, ' it was impossible to have too much of the
best thing in the world ; but he hoped she would have less solicitude about
him, when he assured her that his mother had found place for a pocket Bible
in his portmanteau/

" A meek-looking creature now stole up to Mrs. Lee, and, putting a roll of
closely-compressed lint into her hand, said, 'tuck it in with his things, Miss
Lee. Don't let it scare you — I trust he will dress other people's wounds,
not his own, with it. — My ! that will come natural to him. It's made from
the shirt Mr. Eliot stripped from himself, and tore into bandages for my
poor Sam, that time he was scalt. Mr. Eliot was a boy then, but he has the
same heart now/

" Mrs. Lee dropped a tear on the lint, as she stowed it away in the closely-
packed portmanteau/'

We cannot resist quoting an anecdote of the hero of the above cleverly de-
picted scene, related of him during his introductory visit to General Wash-
ington. It is amusing and characteristic.

" ' Ah, my boy ! ' said the colonel, determined to tell his tale out, ' you may
say that— there's no courage like that that comes by natur, gin'ral ; — he stood
within two feet of me, as straight as a tomb-stone, when, a spent ball bound-
ing near him, he caught it in his hands, just as if he'd been playing wicket,
and said, ' you may throw down your bat, my boys ; I've caught you out ! '
Was not that metal'?"

We cannot close these volumes without especially commending the great
propriety of diction they display ; we never read a work of this class]exhibiting
so much care and aptitude in the style : hence each sentiment is conveyed
with a degree of force and elegance rarely equalled. May we attribute this
high qualification to Miss Sedgwick's evident penchant for Shakspeare ? Her
quotations are frequent, and seem, in some instances, quite involuntary.

The History of Justin Martyr, and other Poems. By RICHARD
CHEREVIX FRENCH, perpetual Curate of Curdridge Chapel, Hants.
London, Edward Moxon, Dover Street, 1835. pp. 185.

THIS is a volume of considerable talent and poetic taste. The subjects which

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 395

our author has chosen are, all of them, deeply interesting. The story of
Justin is treated in a skilful manner, and will not, we think, be deemed voiceless
or songless,

" But musical as is Apollo's lute."

Let us take his lines addressed to England, however, at page 38, as a
specimen of the whole : —

ENGLAND.

" Peace, Freedom, Happiness, have loved to wait

On the fair islands, fenced by circling seas,

And ever of such favoured spots as these

Have the wise dreamers dreamed, that would create

That perfect model of a happy state,

Which the world never saw. Oceana,

Utopia such, and Plato's isle that lay

Westward of Gades, and the Great Sea's gate.

Dreams are they all, which yet have helped to make

That underneath fair polities we dwell,

Though marred in part by envy, faction, hate,

Dreams, which are dear, dear England for thy sake,

Who art indeed that sea-girt citadel,

And nearest image of that perfect state."

There are other short poems of equal beauty and interest, to which, how-
ever, we can only refer the reader. The volume is well got up ; and Mr. Moxon's
name adds to its respectability.

The Natural History of Man. London, William Darton & Son,
Holborn Hill, pp.288 duodecimo, half- bound and lettered.

A VERY interesting and clever book. In short, it needs, as has been well
observed, but little reflection in order to be convinced not only of the utility,
but of the importance, of a work which shall place the knowledge of our own
species on a level with that which we possess of most other living beings.
This knowledge is only to be acquired with the same attention, and on the
same plan of reasoned analysis and classification, which has been employed
on other divisions of Natural History. Man's higher place in the scale of
creation ought surely to be a sufficient incitement to us to pursue such an
investigation as is contained in this charming publication.

The volume is neatly printed, and the wood-engravings tolerably well
done ; but the work has been issued without the date of the year. The map
which accompanies it, showing the boundaries of the five varieties of the
human race, is, we think, unworthy of the Publisher.

The Geographical and Biographical Compendium, containing
Concise Memoirs of Illustrious Persons ; a Gazetteer of Re-
markable Places ; and forming not only a useful Class-book for
Juvenile Students, but a Key to the Author's Geographical
Questions and Exercises. By RICHARD CHAMBERS, F. L. S.
Sherwood and Co. 183.5.

A VERY useful compilation, and one, we suspect, which must find its way into
the library and the counting-house, as well as the schools, in a very short
time. As a book of reference, we have not one superior or equal to it.

396 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

The Family Library. No. LIII., containing the Life and Times of
General Washington. By CYRUS R. EDMONDS, in two Volumes.
Vol. I. London, Thomas Tegg and Son. 1835, pp. 365.

EVERY book published by Mr. Tegg has proved (with very few exceptions)
not only meritorious, but utilitarian. It must be confessed, also, that by
means of such useful publications as the one before us, mankind must go on
to improve in the historical and intellectual as well as the moral and social
qualities.

The life of the American patriot and statesman, Washington, will, we
think, prove a desideratum. It has evidently been drawn up with great care,
and undeviating 'strictness, both as it respects facts and data. We have no
room for extracts, nor do we think the work requires any. It will soon
become popular, and estimated according to its merits, which we incline to
think well of. It will be at once seen that General Washington's Life and
Times will furnish also an outline of the history of America.

The Parent's Cabinet of Amusement and Instruction. Smith, Elder,
and Co., London. 1835.

THIS is a neat and well-appointed little book, well calculated to amuse and
instruct boys and girls. We have literally read several of the short histories
which it contains, and have no hesitation in saying that they are not only
well- written, but amusing and instructive. The Visit to Manchester, together
with the brief memoir of Tarquinius Superbus, the seventh and last king of
Rome, are among the best.

The Cabinet Cyclopedia. By Dr. LARDNER, &c. &c. History.
Vol. II. Longman and Co., London, pp. 341.

EVERY succeeding part of this popular and successful series demonstrates the
utility of the whole, and proves the efficiency of the talents that have been
brought within a comparatively narrow compass, for the express purpose of
giving to the Literary and Scientific a " comprehensive library" so inexpen-
sive, yet so admirably suited to the wants and tastes of the nineteenth century,
that we imagine few persons of condition will be found to be without the
Cabinet Cyclopedia. Dr. Lardner's name is a tower of strength ; and the
publishers, Messrs. Longman and Co., afford us a further assurance that
the work will be finished as it was begun — respectably, and without any
abatement of style or merit. There is something in that.

The present part, or volume, consisting of a treatise on the arts, manufac-
tures, manners, and institutions of the Greeks and Romans, will prove highly
interesting. Both the scholar and the philosopher will, we feel assured,
prize the contents of this new issue of Dr. Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopedia very
highly.

A Treatise on the Causes and Cure of Stuttering, with reference to
certain Modern Theories. By JAMES WRIGHT, Esq., late of
Magdalen Hall, Oxford, &c. &c. London : Whittaker and Co.
1835.

THIS Essay will be read with considerable interest. Mr. Wright has given

us not only an explanatory, but a long, able, and interesting treatise. We

cannot refrain from quoting the following, at page 17.

" I am strongly inclined to believe, that if due consideration be given to the

true, philosophical nature of mutes, and to the effects of those actions of the

THE ARTS. 397

tongue which immediately precede and accompany the utterance of all
vowels, and every vowel, which, with much propriety, may be called vowel
prefixes,~and also, if some little attention be paid to the genuine quality of
accents and the inflections of the voice, — then a clear explanation of the causes
of stuttering, and an easy and permanent method of instruction and disci-
pline for the cure of stuttering, would be firmly established/'

Views in Switzerland, by WILLIAM BEATTIE, M. D., illustrated in
a series of Views taken expressly for the work by W. H. Bartlett,
Esq. London, Virtue, 1835.

WE have just been favoured with a copy of Part XV. of this splendid work,
containing four quarto plates and sixteen pages of letter-press. The subject
of these plates inspires the mind with awe towards the Creator, for scenery
calculated at once to delight the Painter, inspire the Poet, and humble the
Christian, while contemplating the mere outlines of His wondrous works.

THE ARTS.

WE have paid another visit to Mr. Daniell's panorama of hunting
and ensnaring the wild elephants of Ceylon, since we last noticed it,
and, with the many, we cannot but acknowledge ourselves greatly in-
debted to him for the information he has brought us from a distant
part of the globe. We are not only informed, but are most agree-
ably entertained, by this mode of treating a subject which the pro-
portion of a picture would not admit of; and, although the scale in
the present instance is rather limited (a circumstance unavoidable,
as a larger room was not to be obtained), it nevertheless possesses
space sufficient for the artist to depict all that could be wished, and
it has been done in a most effective manner. It is evident, from the
freedom with which it is executed, that Mr. Daniell was perfectly
master of every part of his subject. The huge animals, the figures
of the natives, the trees and plants, the scenery, all appear to be
rendered with a facility and a truth, that perfectly satisfies us. It is
all in unison and harmony, and evidently painted by one hand. For
when many are engaged on the same work, it is probable that an
imperfect whole will be produced. The artist who feels the value of
every feature introduced upon his canvass, and can execute it him-
self, is most likely to produce that, which will draw the public
attention to his labours ; and we understand that the proprietor of
the work in question is gratified by the notice which has been taken
of it, much exceeding his expectations. On the subject of pano-
rama painting, we may, perhaps, make further mention, in our
future Numbers.

M.M.— No. 10. 3 E

( 398 )

NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH.

MUNICIPAL REJOICING. — The good people of Scarborough (that
town, once so fashionably famous, now so capriciously neglected)
were quite beside themselves on receiving the news of the Corpora-
tion Bill (such as it was) having become right earnest law of the land ;
and nothing short of a bonfire could attest at once their burning
hatred of borough abuses, and their gratitude for the besom now
placed in their hands. " Several loads of furze," says the Chronicle,
" were speedily provided, to aid which five or six boats from the
harbour were carried, shoulder high, and thrown into the flames.
These latter (one of which admeasured upwards of twenty tons) were
given by the liberal party, and being ignited, had an imposing
effect." To burn the very craft in the harbour for joy bespeaks an
intensity of patriotism on the part of the Scarborough liberals, which
is equalled only by the liberality of the gift! Think of a whole
squadron of colliers leaving their native element, and navigating the
streets of Scarborough, borne " shoulders high,'' by triumphant
Tritons, even up to the very market cross ! why the transit of Burnham
wood was as nothing, in comparison. Did such a circumstance ever
come within the circle of Mother Shipton's prophecies? It is pro-
blematical. To ignite a fleet of boats by way of an lo triumph !
why, let but the destruction of knavery in Britain be suffi-
ciently extensive, and the people, in their exultation, might make
firewood of the entire navy. It is by no means impossible, when the
city of London shall, by-and-by, be made participant in the advan-
tages of the New Bill, that the reformers, fired by enthusiasm, may
actually make an attempt on the Thames itself. Such an event has
long been threatened, for surely, next to burning boats for joy, must
come the conflagration of the waters whereon they float! Is Kent-
ish incendiarism so bad, after all ? May it not arise from a spirit of
patriotism, and joyousness of feeling? — a warmth of heart, and burn-
ing zeal" — a heated but mistaken imagination *?

What a rare borough must Scarborough be ! What devotion to
freedom on the part of her new freemen ! it makes one kindle to
think of it. A lucky thing it was that the worshipful mayor and
aldermen were not near the harbour that day, else surely they
would have had a narrow escape from incineration themselves.

SPORTING PARSONS. — In the certificate-list of shooters, in the
County of Derby, there are thirty with the word " reverend" at-
tached to their names; in the Yorkshire list, there are ninety-three;
so say the newspapers. If any body would take the trouble to count
all the county-lists in Great Britain, a goodly aggregate of divine
Sportsmen would no doubt be shown. Strange propensity/. The use
of the gun, by the way, seems peculiarly to delight some of our

NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH. 399

clergy ; to bag a covey of English partridges, or of Irish peasants,*
when the season permits, would seem to be a sport of exquisite relish
to them. How inconsonant with the duties of a minister of the Gos-
pel does this appear ! but to doubt its propriety does not, of course,
become us of the laity. Such practices must be right, or they would
not be countenanced by vigilant diocesans. Why, so engrossed are
the minds of some reverend parsons, upon the subject of gunnery,
that it was but a month or two since the patent list actually contained
the name of one holy gentleman, to whom the king's monopoly had
been granted for " certain improvements" in the manufacture of
fire-arms ! Only think of a minister of the Protestant religion, en-
gaged in the composition of his Sunday's homily to breathe of uni-
versal charity and peace, with a mind disturbed by bright crotchets
about weapons of murder ; penning a paragraph of Samaritan gen-
tleness, and anon sketching mechanical diagrams for the more per-
fect destruction of animal life ; trying to save a soul one minute and
to destroy a body the next, and in each instance with the greatest
possible amount of efficacy ! The notion would be droll, were it not
for the shuddering. Is it surprising that scepticism should some-
times but, Satan, get thee behind us '.

CLERICAL DEGREES OF COMPARISON. — Dr. Murray, the Catholic
Archbishop of Dublin, in a letter repudiating the offensive doctrines
contained in Dens's Theology, which " the Exeter Hall mounte-
banks" have so industriously laboured to fix upon his concurrence,
takes occasion to declare, with reference to a point of date, that he
" was not then a bishop, but engaged in the duties of the more me-
ritorious office of a working curate /" What will the right reverend
the orthodox bench say to this anti-episcopal avowal ? Is a " work-
ing curate" a more meritorious member of a church establishment
than a bishop ? We may soon expect to hear C. J. London referring
to the period of his more meritorious labours, when he was engaged
in the translation of .^Eschylus ; or Dr. Phillpotts, to the days of his
political pamphleteering. We live in strange times.

GIN AND BITTERS. — A few days'since, a drunken wretch, in petti-
coats, called a woman, was brought before the magistrates, and con-
victed of breaking three guineas' worth of glass in a gin palace, be-
cause the landlord declined to supply her with a surfeit of Bailey
and Hodges. It appeared that this species of smashing is a habit of
hers. She had repeatedly suffered (?) imprisonment for similar
frolics, and, indeed, had but just left jail the day before, fresh from
' completing her time,' for so requiting some other refractory mal-
content. The bench ^'sentenced her to another month of it, with an
exhortation ; and my lady, in her bitter wrath, forewarned the
publican, with a shake of her fair fist, that her first act, upon ' com-
ing out' again, would be to pay him off retributively, with a com-

* Evidently a literal. Pheasants, not peasants, must be meant, though a
covey of pheasants is certainly an unfieldlike term. — Printer's Devil.

400 NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH.

pound fracture far severer than the last. The simple-minded com-
plainant, strong in his faith of legal protection, grinned grimly a
defying smile ; but the head clerk checked his complacency, with
the assurance that he had better be on the look out ; for that when
released, there was no manner of doubt she would carry her threat
into execution — and this was all the redress the landlord obtained.
It is worth knowing the law upon this point, because many a man,
in a fit of the spleen, would not object to a month's confinement for
the spiteful pleasure of cracking three guineas' worth of flint glass,
and of throwing out a good threat besides, under the impunity of a
police magistrate's presence.

THE KALISCH ORANGERY. A rejected Trifle from Cumberland to
Kalisch took occasion the other day, to complain of certain at-
tacks, which shameful men had made upon his illustrious character.
Alas ! the world's vituperation is the constant attendant upon great-
ness ; the price is bitter, but it must be paid. One consolation is
however left him. Whatsoever be the grounds which " party ran-
cour" may select for outraging his conservative Fumship upon, there
is one, at least, which malice has not been able to take, and that is
his indefatigable and unceasing attention to the business of sove-
reignty. On this point he is unassailable by friend or foe. No
sooner were his arduous duties finished in parliament, than away he
posts with praiseworthy alacrity, and with unimpaired energies, to
meet, at Kalisch, his brother-imperialists, in order to settle Europe's,
the world's, and their own affairs, according to the most legitimate
fashion their quadruple sagacity may devise. Such conduct is right
loyal (as a subject of King William IV.), conscientious, and becoming.
The British people allow to the "grand master" a tolerably princely
income, which, scorning to receive without attempting some service
in return (as a " valuable consideration" for his money), and reckless
of all personal indulgence on his own account, he leaves the lords to the
shooting of grouse, on Scotch hills ; the commons to rusticate with
swinish radicals in the provinces; the ministers to such inglorious re-
pose as they can procure ; the lady regent and her daughter to at-
tend music-festivals and horse-races ; the court to amuse itself with
the sports of little boys, at Sandhurst ; and hurries off to the conti-
nent, there to take in charge the destinies of nations generally, and
the weal of orange-lodges in particular. Really the people, the
heir-presumptive, and his majesty, ought to be very much obliged to
the imperial grand master of gray hairs and whiskers, for these exer-
tions ; for it must be remembered that, in making them, he has no
other warrant than his own pleasure.

LOVE IN A CHEST. — One of the strangest examinations ever heard
of, took place at the town clerk's office, at Lincoln, the other day.
Benjamin Curtis is a servant of Mr. Heanley, of Branston Fen, and
had formerly been fellow-servant with a young female, who, it
seems, had become strongly attached to him. During the last week,

NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH. 401

the girl was observed lingering about Mr. Heanley's premises, and
some suspicions as to the nature of her connection with Curtis, were
awakened. At length a female servant of Mr. Heanley found her,
one day, under Curtis's bed ; the strange girl, however, hid herself,
and could not be found, on other residents of the house being fetched
up-stairs. No further discovery was made until Friday, the 1 1th, when
a rumbling noise being heard in Curtis's bedchamber, Mr. Heanley
ran up stairs, but could see nothing, nor obtain any answer to his
calls. The same noise being renewed ere Mr. Heanley reached
the bottom of the stairs, he again ascended, and, seeing a chest move,
he laid his hand on it, and knocked, and was answered by a low
moan. Curtis was, just at that moment, returned from Lincoln,
whither his master had despatched him in the morning, on business.
Mr. Heanley called him up stairs, and he immediately unlocked the
chest, where lay the foolish, but pitiable, girl, half-dead with suffo-
cation ! Curtis immediately made confession that he had locked
the girl up at her own request in the morning, on receiving his mas-
ter's orders for Lincoln. She had been twelve hours crowded into a
space only three feet long, and one foot and a half wide — how very
odd!

A SENSIBLE GULL. — The family of H. Peter, esq., of Harlyn, on
the north coast of Cornwall, one morning, at breakfast time, threw a
piece of bread out of the window, to a stray sea-gull, which hap-
pened to have made its appearance at the moment. The bird ate
the bread and flew away. The next day, at the same hour, he ap-
peared again, was again fed, and departed. From this time, for a
period of eighteen years, the gull never failed to show himself at the
window every morning at the same hour, and stalk up and down till
he had received his meal (a bason of bread and milk), when he in-
stantly took his leave till the next morning. The only time he omit-
ted to do this was during the period of the pilchards being on the
coast, which lasted about six weeks in each year, and at this time he
omitted his morning visit. At length he brought one of his own
species with him to partake of his meal, and they continued to come
together, daily, for about a fortnight, when they suddenly disap-
peared, and were never seen afterwards.

ORIGIN OF LYNCH'S LAW. — As " Lynch's Law'' has recently
become almost as general as it is proverbial, and as the question is
asked a hundred times a day, *' what is Lynch's Law ?" it may be
well to relate the following anecdote, which may serve as an
answer : — In Washington county (Pennsylvania), many years ago,
there lived a poaching vagabond, who, it was believed, maintained
himself and family, by pilfering from the farmers around him*
Though universally suspected, he managed so adroitly as always to
avoid detection. At length, a Mr. Van Swearington laid the follow-
ing trap for him, in which he was caught. Having a newly-born
calf, he concealed it from his neighbours for several days ; then
rode over to the poacher's, and told him that a young calf had

402 NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH.

recently strayed to his farm, which he had penned, and was anxious
to find the owner. The poacher asked him how long he had it, its
size and colour, and being1 told, said it was his, and that it had gone
off just at the time spoken of. Being thus detected in a lie with a
design to defraud, Van Swearington reproached him with it, and
told him that he would give him twenty-four hours to leave the
neighbourhood, adding that if he remained longer he would prose-
cute him. The poacher only laughed at his threats, while the latter
went to consult with his neighbours as to what was to be done. At
the expiration of twenty-four hours, five or six of them repaired to
the poacher's, whom they found perfectly unintimidated. The
party, however, proceeded to try him in due form, choosing one of
their number, a farmer named Lynch, to be judge. Van Swearing-
ton related the offence, which the poacher of course denied. The
case was submitted to the judge, who decided that the poacher should
be tied up and receive 300 lashes, " well laid on," and then be given
twenty-four hours to leave the place, under a penalty of receiving
three hundred more if found after that time. The first part of the
sentence was inflicted on the spot, with such good intent as to
render its repetition unnecessary. The culprit made off as fast as
his lacerated limbs would permit him.

NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN. — The following is another
proof that Fieschi's infernal machine is no new invention : — In the
year 1789, a watchmaker at Senlis, named Billon, who had been
expelled from a company of the Chevaliers de 1'Arquebuse, to
which he had belonged, determined upon gratifying his revenge,
and took advantage of the occasion of the consecration of the colours
of the National Guards in that year. As the procession, of which
the Arquebusiers, formed a part, must pass before his house, he
arranged a certain number of gun-barrels at his windows, and fired
them all off as the company was in front of it. The commander of
the company, the commander of the National Guards, and several
individuals fell pierced with balls. The outer door of Billon's house,
and that of the chamber in which he was, were both barricaded,
but were soon forced by M. Aulas da Bruyere, of the Marechausee
of Compiegne and Senlis, followed by a lieutenant of the same
corps, and a great many of the inhabitants. The lieutenant was, on
entering Billon's room, laid dead by a pistol-shot, but M. de la
Brueyre seized him, and was dragging him away, when the villain
contrived to put a lighted match to a species of infernal machine
under the floor, which immediately blew up, carrying with it all the
upper part of the house, and burying those who were in it in the
ruins. M. de la Bruyere was however taken out alive, though he
was deprived of an eye, had one of his knee-pans broken, and had
no fewer than twenty-six other wounds in different parts of his
body. He was confined to his bed for eight months. He at last
recovered, received the insignia of the order of St. Louis, and lived
at Senlis till a short time ago.

NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH. 403

AN INTERESTING CASE. — The British brig Governor Temple
arrived at New York a few days since, from Demerara, bound to
the river Gambia in Africa. She put in here to procure some
articles for her cargo. She is chartered by upwards of twenty
natives of Africa, and their descendants, who were sold some twenty
or thirty years ago as slaves in the colony of Demerara, and have
since purchased their freedom, chartered this vessel, and are on their
return to their native land to spend the remainder of their days.
They are nearly all related to each other, and embrace both sexes,
from childhood to the age of 70. All appear well-dressed, comfort-
able, and industrious ; some of them are mechanics, such as cabinet-
makers, coopers, &c., and have, besides earning a stipulated sum
for their masters, earned a sufficiency to pay for their freedom.
One of them paid 1,300 dollars for himself, wife, and two children ;
another 500 dollars for himself; and others in like proportion.
They all appear happy, and anxious to get back to their native
shore. It is a subject of no small interest, and one that must cause
the mind of every beholder to reflect, on seeing a group of Africans,
who were stolen from their homes, transported in a slave-ship, sold
and served thirty years in a foreign land, and who, by their industry
have acquired a sum sufficient to purchase their freedom, charter a
vessel, and return home. All the older ones still hold to the religion
they were educated in, that of the Mahometan faith, and all on
board except one (the captain) are blacks.

NAPOLEON A TORMENTER. — One summer's evening the emperor,
accompanied by Josephine, was enjoying the cool breeze on the
lawn which occupied the vast front of Malmaison. The day had been
oppressively hot, and the ladies of the court were seated in circle,
attending the empress, who was inhaling the sweets of a beautiful
bouquet she had in her waist. Napoleon took up a handful of sand,
without being perceived by the party, and sprinkled the nosegay of
his wife. One may easily guess that the flowers were not much im-
proved by this mode of treatment ; and, on shaking the sand from
her posy, some of the petals, in spite of her care, dropped on the
ground. " Mon Dieu! Buonaparte," said she to him, "what a tor-
ment you are ;" but in that mild even tenour of voice so familiar to
her. " What have t done that you should so ill-treat my flowers?"
" Que tu es enfant," said Napoleon, embracing her — " do you not
see that I wish to give you some that are fresher, and cut by my
hand ?" — " I do not believe you have any such notion," replied the
empress, doubtingly. " Well, then, you shall presently see," said
Napoleon, making his way through the lattice-work paling, and
soon returned with a huge cluster of roses, which he presented to
her in the most gallant way possible. Josephine divided the flowers
with the ladies still sitting beside her, and said with a smile, " I beg
of you to keep all your roses, as I shall do mine, as long as possible,
that you may never forget the hand which gave, nor the hand which
gathered them."

404 NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH.

A FIVE-GUINEA CUSTOMER. — A certain runaway couple were
recently married at Gretna Green, and the smith demanded five
guineas for his services. " How is this?" said the bridegroom, "the
gentleman you last married assured me that he only gave you a
guinea." " True," said the smith, " but he was an Irishman : I have
married him six times before ; he is a customer — you I may never
see again.''

SWIMMING. — Eight of the best swimmers of the Austrian garri-
son at Bregenz engaged for a wager to swim across Lake Con-
stance, from that town in the Tyrol to Lindau, a distance of six miles.
They started at ten o'clock, and at three minutes before three o'clock
a private soldier, named Tutaja, reached the bridge at Lindau.
In thirty-two minutes afterwards he was followed by Lieutenant Ce-
pharowitsch. — The six others only went about half the distance, and
then were taken into the boats that attended them. The wind was
blowing from the west, and the temperature of the water was 17 de-
grees of Reaumur, or 70| of Fahrenheit. This is perhaps the greatest
distance ever traversed by swimming, in fresh water. The two men
who completed their task were perfectly blue when they landed ;
their pulse was scarce perceptible, and several hours elapsed before
their bodies resumed their natural heat. — [Lord Byron's affair across
the Hellespont will be held as a trifling effort in comparison. — ED.]

A GENUINE GHOST STORY. — The following is from the " Jour-
nal of Heart," by the late Mrs. Darner, edited by Lady Charlotte
Bury ; it is given as genuine : — A Mr. Cox (commonly called
Jumper Cox) being at Lady Rother's, near Oxford, was desired by
her to pronounce a few Latin sentences, by way of persuading her
servants, who supposed the house to be haunted, that he was a con-
juror, and had banished the ghost to the Red Sea. " You must ex-
cuse me," said he, " for, in truth, I am not myself convinced of the
absurdity of such persuasions ; and my reason is, because I once fan-
cied that I saw my mother-in-law come to* my bedside and undraw
the curtains ; she then told me that my wife would die before the
end of the year. 'As for myself,' she added, 'you will never see
me again, for I was buried last night : I was not dead — but all is
over with me now !' The next morning I hastened to Wallingford,
where my mother-in-law resided ; I found that she had been seized
with a contagious fever, had died, and had been buried immediately,
exactly on the night, and at the hour, which the ghost had mentioned.
I wished to have had the coffin opened ; but the clergyman repre-
senting that it could be of no service, and might create great discon-
tent among the populace, I desisted. But what surprised me much
was, that, though I mentioned the circumstance to no one but the
clergyman, whose interest it was to conceal it, several weeks after-
wards a young lady, in a distant part of the county, said to me.
' Bless me, Mr. Cox, I had the strangest dream last night. I thought
your mother-in-law came to my bedside, and told me that she had
been buried alive at Wallingford.' "

( 405 )

THE PRINCIPLE OF LOYALTY.

IN times like the present, when even illustrious hands are prompt to
commit the most indefensible crimes — in this era of " fearful change,"
there are few speculations, relative to the political state of the world,
more deeply interesting than those connected with the rise and fall of
so many dynasties. We have commonly viewed these events through
the dim medium of history ; but we have lately seen them passing
before our eyes, and beheld, too, the whole process of elevation and
depression, without any concealment of the springs by which the
pageantry is moved. We have been let into the secret of the manufac-
ture (if such a term may be allowed) of those exalted personages upon
whom so much of the fate of mankind depends, and the expeditious sim-
plicity of it must, we opine, have occasioned surprise. The last addition
to the list of European kings, previous to. these revolutionary times,
was that of the Electors of Brandenburg, promoted to the crown of
Prussia : and what a length of political intrigue was necessary to carry
it into effect ! In later time, nothing more appears to have been
necessary than the *' Je le veux" of one individual, announced in an
article of a treaty which he has dictated. During the career of victory,
it is readily conceivable how this may be done. He who, by his strong
arm, can make himself an emperor, may also make brothers or favourites
kings, and he will endeavour to support them in their thrones as long
as his arm and its strength subsist. But in order to give a firm and
lasting establishment to such a state of things, the empire of force must
be succeeded by an empire of opinion : for the former is perpetually
liable to change hands, unless supported by the latter. It is OPINION
alone that can secure the quiet transmission of authority from one to
another in a particular line, without regard to the personal qualities of
the successor, which is the essence of hereditary monarchy ; and "opinion"
is a thing over which mere force has a very limited influence.

The most powerful aid in this point is to be derived from a principle
which, though known in its operation in all monarchies, has not, as far as
we are acquainted, a specific name in any language but that of the English.
M.M.—NO. 11. 3F

406 THE PRINCIPLE OF LOYALTY.

This is "loyalty," a word signifying, with us, exclusively a passionate
attachment to the existing monarch, as such. How it has happened to
be thus consecrated to royal use in a country generally thought less
obsequious to kings than many others, we have not been able to discover ;
but certain it is, that the same term is differently inflected in different
European dialects (lovaute, Icatd, #c.), and has the more enlarged signifi-
cation of rank, honesty, and of perfectly good faith. Leaving, however,
this verbal discussion, it may be worth while to bestow some consideration
on the origin and nature of this passion, which acts so important a part
as the " cheap defence" of thrones.

A person raised by power above the rest of mankind, may at first be
regarded with jealousy, and even aversion ; but if he be successful in
maintaining his station, it throws about him a kind of nimbus of
grandeur which soon causes him to be looked upon with awe and
reverence ; and these feelings readily slide into those of attachment
and devotion. The simple and ignorant — placed at a distance from
the throne — come to regard him as the source of all those blessings
which they enjoy, in the social institution of which he is the head ;
while the ambitious and designing — regarding him as the fountain of
honour and emolument — treat him with all the incense of adulation, to
gain his favour, and enhance his consequence. By such a process, in the
origin of all monarchical governments, the spirit of loyalty has been
created, and the influence of courts has been too successfully employed
to raise it to the first rank among political virtues. From the remotest
times, the East has been peculiarly distinguished for its devotion to the
person of its sovereigns : and we find Virgil, in the Georgics, making
the Oriental passion of loyalty a comparison for the ardent attachment
of bees to their king. He himself, however, and other poets of the
age, were as extravagant in adulation of Augustus, as if they had been
born the subjects of an Eastern despot : and the long and prosperous
reign of that emperor, doubtless, laid the foundation of that spirit of
loyalty which succeeded to Roman liberty during the Caesarian dynasty,
though its objects were some of the most contemptible and detestable
of mankind. Suetonius has left us a curious picture of one of the early
Roman loyalists, in the person of Lucius Vitellius, father of the emperor
of that name. He, it seems, was the first who paid divine adoration to
that paragon of princes, Caligula, not presuming to approach him but
with his head veiled, and falling prostrate at his feet. When Claudius
succeeded to the throne, he humbly requested of the virtuous Messalina,

THE PRINCIPLE OF LOYALTY. 407

that she would permit him to take off her slipper, and having obtained
this favour (a very moderate one from that lady), he constantly carried
it about with him between his toga and his tunic, sometimes devoutly
kissing it. He paid his court to the all-powerful freedmen of that
reign, Narcissus and Pallas, by placing their golden images among his
household gods. When Claudius celebrated the secular games, Vitellius,
paying his devoirs, gravely wished him many celebrations of the like
kind. His " loyalty," though somewhat peculiar, was thought so
meritorious, that his remains were honoured by the senate with a public
funeral, and his statue was erected before the rostra, with the inscrip-
tion,— " Of unshaken Piety towards his Prince." The merit of this piety
was doubtless estimated at an inverse ratio with that of its object.

The frequent changes of the imperial line, after the first Caesars, much
impaired the spirit of Roman loyalty, though it was apt to revive upon
a few instances of lineal succession ; and Domitian, the third emperor
of his family, received from Statius, Martial, and other poets, more
exquisite adulation than almost any of his predecessors had done. The
line of Constantine, also, was treated with a profusion of " loyal incense ;''
the flavour of which was heightened by the gratitude of a religious
party, and the flowers of Grecian rhetoric.

The European Kingdoms which were formed upon the dissolution of
the Roman Empire, partook, at various periods, of very different de-
grees of the loyal spirit. The " feudal system" was little favourable to
it, as it often raised the vassal to a competition with his lord, and ren-
dered the duty of allegiance in inferiors obscure and ambiguous. It
could not have been active with the Barons of Arragon, when, in swear-
ing allegiance to their sovereign, they used the remarkable form — "We,
who are each of us as good, and who are altogether more powerful, than
you, &c." In process of time, however, as crowns acquired strength,
and obtained the support of civil and religious establishments, the prin-
ciple of loyalty was revived in full vigour, and, up to this day, even with
additional authority. It is, in our time — heaven be praised — fortified by
the two great bulwarks of honour and religion : the first inculcated it as
a " virtue" characteristic of a gentleman ; the second, as a duty only
one degree inferior to the piety towards the Supreme Being. In this
country it seems to have attained its height in the reign of Elizabeth,
when it was enforced by a sort of chivalrous devotion to a female Sove-
reign. " Party" made it also triumphant under Charles II., at the latter
end of whose reign, it appears to have laid every other public principle

408 TUB PRINCIPLE OF LOYALTY.

at its feet. It naturally declined for a time after every deviation from
the ordinary course of regal succession, and recovered itself, with the
advance of the new line, to maturity. The sincere devotion of the Bri-
tons to their present Sovereign needs no comment ; and whatever the
" secret and combined enemies" of the approaching new dynasty, in the
person of the Princess Victoria, may by possibility achieve, his most
Gracious Majesty will rest assured, his English subjects will prove loyal
to that Princess, in just preference to an usurper, even if he were a scion
of the House of Brunswick. It is the great advantage of this " prin-
ciple" of royalty, then, as conducing to the stability of crowns, that it
attaches itself to the wearer of the crown simply as such, and indepen-
dently of his personal qualities. Were this otherwise, its operation
would often be suspended when most needed : that is, when the weak-
ness or vices of the possessor of the crown caused it to totter on his
head. Indeed, the generous attachment of the true and faithful loyalist
cannot be too much admired, who requires nothing but the name of king
to excite his enthusiastic devotion, and gives implicit credit to the owner
of it for every virtue under heaven. He can even create to himself an
object of reverence in a child in the cradle :

See how the venerable infant lies
In early pomp : how through the mother's eyes,
The father's soul, with an undaunted view,
Looks out, and takes our homage as his due ;

says Dryden, in complimenting the birth of that child of promise, whose
succession nothing but the infatuated bigotry of his father could have
frustrated.

Now, that such a support of the modern thrones, which we have
seen erected, will be extremely desirable, is obvious ; and indeed it can
scarcely be conceived, that they can be fairly established without it.
As it respects our own sovereign and his crown, we unhesitatingly de-
clare, that Lord Melbourne, in his own person, by his commanding
talents, and the splendour of his services to the nation, has accumulated
around the wearer of the English crown so much personal admiration,
that his Majesty will need no artificial title to the reverence of his
British, Irish, and Scotch subjects. Notwithstanding appearances (and
we are free to confess, some facts have come to our knowledge,
which have had the effect of startling, if not of affrighting us,) we
hope there is no reason for supposing that the family line of English

THE PRINCIPLE OF LOYALTY. 409

sovereigns will be in any way disturbed. On the same principle, we da
not desire to see disturbed the family lines of foreign sovereigns.
Civilized Europe has not for ages seen men raised to monarchy from
the humbler classes of society ; for though regular hereditary descent
has, in various instances, been deviated from, the family succession has
still been preserved. In the case of the Cromwells, the change from an
Oliver to a Richard at once overturned the whole fabric of their power.
When the Roman empire became the prize of the sword, it was per-
fectly in the order of things, that what one sword had given a stronger
should take away, and appropriate : and the people at length became
entirely indifferent to the lineage of their temporary masters. In what
period of time can it be anticipated that a phlegmatic Dutch republican will
catch the ardour of loyalty towards King Leopold and his partner ; or
that a Westphalian, profoundly versed in the genealogies of German
princes, and bred in reverential respect for quarterings of nobility, will
pay eternal homage to the royal house of Cumberland. There is doubt-
less no reason in nature why Orleans may not become what Bourbons
and Nassaus have been ; but the means by which it is to be brought
about, are not easily assignable : loyalty must long fluctuate between
past and present, before it proceeds in its usual train ; and there is
perhaps more reason to apprehend, that during the confusions and
" changes" of the time, the principle may lose its strength with regard
to the remaining ancient families on the continent of Europe — certainly
not in England, — than to believe that it will be readily transferred to
new ones. The longer the " struggle of party" continues, the greater
will be this danger ; for it is in vain to pretend, that, till the EMPIRE OF
FORCE is past, that of " opinion" cannot be said to reign triumphant.

ED.

EPIGRAM.

MONEY thou ow'st me — pray thee fix a day
For payment, though thou never pay : —
Let it be doomsday : — nay, take further scope —
Pay when thou'rt honest, — let me have some hope.

( 410 )

REFORM YOUR UNIVERSITY SYSTEM.

BY this title, the self-created Conservative will, no doubt, read the
destruction of institutions, and the plunder of " vested rights ;" the
timid but conscientious advocate of " things as they are," discovers the
dangerous hand of restless innovation ; the man who contemplates pub-
lic institutions only as the means of public good, and computes their
value in proportion to the general benefit produced, is reminded that
the Universities halt somewhat behind the demands of the age. We
marvel not at all this. It is beyond the reach of human ingenuity to
frame institutions which shall adjust themselves to the variations of
society ; and it is now upwards of twp hundred years since the Univer-
sities of England began to exist in their present form. If we were in-
clined to pursue the inquiry, and to analyze the component parts of the
system, as adapted to a period so far remote, we question if it would
appear to be a system the best fitted, even at that time, to the purposes
of a national education ' ' in all and every of the liberal arts and
sciences :" — encumbered with a mass of monkish ceremonies ; and ren-
dered difficult of access by the fierce restrictions of political and religious
zeal. We shall content ourselves, however, with confining our inquiry
to the present day, as it is that which concerns the present generation.
Our inquiry will comprise two subjects: 1. The subscription to articles,
or the declaration of uniformity, demanded of all candidates for de-
grees. 2. The expenses of a University education. The first will
occupy our present consideration — the second we shall defer to a future
number. Many years have now elapsed, since this important question
was last agitated and discussed. It then met with the support of the
most distinguished advocates of civil and religious liberty :* an un-
daunted few, who, regardless of the pains and penalties which in those
days awaited the profession of such principles, kept alive the sacred fire
upon the altar of freedom, amidst the thick darkness which clouded the
political horizon. It is no wonder that, in such times, their efforts
should have proved unavailing.

But although, since that period, various classes of the community
have been relieved from grievous and heavy burthens, which they were
condemned, for conscience sake, to bear, the fountains of science and
literature still remain inaccessible to thousands. Though a University
education has become more desirable, and more necessary among the
middle classes of society, the Universities still continue disfigured by
the barbarous restrictions of a barbarous age ; converting those institu-
tions, which were intended for the common benefit of society, to the
advantage of a comparatively small portion of the community. In the

Parliamentary Debates, vol. 17, p. 245, 742.

REFORM YOUR UNIVERSITY SYSTEM. 411

first place let us ask, what is a University ? A University is a national
establishment for education : a school where all the arts and faculties
are taught and studied — founded and privileged by the state — for the ad-
vantage of the nation, and, as such, all subjects of the state ought to
have an equal participation in the privileges and advantages thus
bestowed.

In considering this subject, we must be careful to draw the proper
distinction between the University and the Colleges : and a greater dis-
tinction cannot possibly exist. The former, as we have said, was founded
by the state, for the purposes of education ; the latter took their origin
and endowments from the private munificence of certain individuals, for
the purposes of habitation and maintenance ; and are regulated and
governed each according to the will of its founder. It was very long
after the foundation of the University that colleges began to exist ; nor
did they exist, at once, in their present form. The students experi-
enced great difficulty in obtaining lodgings ; and many were obliged, on
account of the high price demanded, to leave the University altogether.*
This induced persons, who were anxious for the welfare of the Univer-
sity, to bequeath their houses as places of residence for the students :
these went by the name of hostels, and may be considered as the origin
of colleges ; to these hostels were sometimes attached small endowments
for the maintenance of the poorer and more deserving of the students —
hence the origin of scholarships and fellowships. Over all these the
University was paramount ; and all were subservient to public utility,
and the interests of science. Thus should it be at the present day ;
and thus it might be consistently with the welfare and security of the
colleges as distinct and independent foundations. But thus it is not.
The colleges have usurped the functions and privileges of the Univer-
sity ; and have substituted, in their stead, a system subservient only to
the spirit of their own peculiar establishments. Every one who is
admitted to any degree in the University of Cambridge is required to
subscribe the thirty-nine articles ; or to declare that he is bond fide a
member of the Church of England. He must do this, or be prepared
to forego all the advantages which the degree in question may possibly
produce him in after life. Now, if each and all of the colleges were to
exact this test from those persons who are admitted to the enjoyment
of their emoluments, on the ground that those emoluments required the
performance of the duties of the established church, or that this was
in accordance with the wills of their respective founders, we should not
be disposed to dispute the justice of such a course. But all degrees are
conferred by the University : — the University is not an exclusively
ecclesiastical establishment ; but an establishment founded by the state,
for the purposes of national education in all and every of the liberal arts
and sciences ; and all subjects of the state have an equal right to parti-
cipate in the advantages of its studies, and the honours of its degrees.
For the clear understanding of this subject we cannot too often repeat
that the Universities are not mere seminaries for the established church :
it is true that the colleges are principally ecclesiastical establishments.

See Fuller's History of the University of Cambridge.

•H2 REFORM YOUR UNIVERSITY SYSTEM.

The possessors of the fellowships in Cambridge are required to be mem-
bers of the Church of England, and, for the most part, to take orders ;
and are supposed to study theology : not by any law of the University,
but by the private will of the founder, as a condition by which they
hold their fellowships and enjoy their emoluments. But the imposition of
subscription upon those who derive no emolument from these private
foundations, and who, in fact, have a right, as subjects of the state, to
the advantages of a University education, can scarcely be defended upon
any principles of reason or justice.

Of those persons who graduate at the Universities, by far the larger
part, proceed no further than the degree of bachelor of arts. Formerly
the studies were continued, and residence was enforced up to the
degree of master of arts ; and by the statutes of the University, at the
present day, this degree is considered as the starting-point from which
the possessor enters upon that profession which he may choose — the
church, the practice of law, or of medicine.

No subscription or declaration is required at the time of matriculation :
the oath of allegiance and supremacy, and an oath of obedience to the
officers and the discipline of the University, is all that is then demanded.*
Consequently, any person, although unable to subscribe to the articles of
the church of England, may enter himself, and pass through the regular
course of academical study : many dissenters do this, and some have, of
late years, distinguished themselves for their application and attain-
ments ; and yet to these persons the degree of bachelor of arts is
refused ; upon what principle of justice or of policy it is difficult to
conceive. Degress of all faculties are solemn testimonials that the
graduate has accomplished a regular course of study in the University,
and approved his competence by examination : on these degrees are
bestowed, by the civil legislature, certain advantages and privileges in
the courts of law, and in the practice of medicine, as well as in the
church. The practice of the law and of medicine are now, fortunately
for science and society, open to all, without distinction of sect or
persuasion. Why should not these advantages and principles be alike
open to all ? Justice demands that these national privileges should be
conferred on all subjects without distinction ; and it is for them, who
thus withhold, to show by what law they are withheld, and to demon-
strate the danger of concession.

For the information of our readers, we will point out the origin of
subscription, at the time of taking degrees, and show upon what it rests
at the present day.

In the year 1604, the second year of the reign of James I., the clergy,
assembled in convocation, framed the canons and ecclesiastical constitu-
tions.* The thirty-sixth canon contains three articles, the substance of
which is as follows : — I. The king is supreme in all matters, spiritual
and temporal. II. Contains an assent to the liturgy, the ordaining of
bishops, priests, and deacons, and the Book of Common Prayer.
III. States that the thirty-nine articles are agreeable to the word of

* At Oxford all persons at the time of matriculation are required to subscribe
the Thirty-nine Articles.

t See Wilkin's Concilia, vol. 4, p. 386.

REFORM YOUR UNIVERSITY SYSTEM. 413

God It declares that no one shall be ordained unless he has previously
subscribed these three articles.* No positive direction is given as to the
Universities. This is perfectly consistent with the object of this canon,
which was to prevent any one from being admitted, into the ministry of
the established church, who did not fully acquiesce in her doctrines and
discipline ; and the Universities have no power to confer ordination.
The thirty- sixth canon ends thus: — " Academias vero, si quid in hac
parte deliquerint, juris ultioni, et regies censurse relinquimus."

In the year 1613, King James addressed the following letter to the
Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge : —

" JAMES R.

" Trusty and well-beloved, we greet you well.

" Upon signification to you, not long since, of our dislike of the degree of
Doctor of Physic, granted in that our University of Cambridge, without subscrip-
tion to the three articles mentioned in the six-and-thirtieth canon, of the book of
Ecclesiastical Constitutions and canons, made and published in the years of our
Lord God one thousand six hundred and three, and one thousand six hundred and
four, and in the first and second years of our reign of this our realm of England,
to Mr. Burgesse, who upon a humour, or spirit of faction or schism, apostating
from his orders and ministry, hath betaken himself to the profession of physick ;
understanding by your private answer at that time, made unto our challenge to
you for the same, that there was no established decree or ordinance in that our
University for the denial of degrees to such as should refuse to subscribe as afore-
said ; and duly considering with ourselves to how little effect our care and
endeavour of preserving, as well uniformity in order, as unity of truth, in this our
church will tend, if we should not carefully provide for the deriving- of both out
of the nurseries and fountains of our church and commonwealth (our Universities),
we have thought good by these our letters to signify unto you both our apprehension
of the necessity of the establishing of such an ordinance or decree; and also our
pleasure for the performance thereof presently in that our University of Cam-
bridge ; to wit, that by a public ordinance and decree of the body of that our
University, passed by a grace with you, it may be decreed and ordained that, from
henceforth, no man shall have granted unto him the degree either of Bachelor in
Divinity, or of Doctor in any Faculty, Divinity, Law, or Physick, unless he shall
first, and before the propounding of his said grace to the body of the University
in the presence of the Vice-Chancellor, or his deputy for the time being, subscribe
to the aforesaid three articles contained in the aforesaid six-and-thirtieth canon, in
such manner and form as in the said canon is expressed and required.-^ Hereof
we thought it the more necessary to admonish you ; and hereunto require you by
these our letters, partly for that in the said six-and-thirtieth canon the neglect of
the doing thereof in either of our Universities is provisionally left to our censure ;
and partly for that we understand our University of Oxford hath long since made
a publick ordinance and constitution in this behalf, in so much that they grant not
so much as the degree of a Bachelor of Arts without subscription first had ;
whereas with you there hath not hitherto so much care been had in that our
University of Cambridge as to require this subscription of such as receive the
degrees of Bachelors or Doctors in Divinity with you.

" Our pleasure therefore is, that you publish these our letters to the body of the
University, at the next congregation that shall be had there with you, after the
receipt of these our letters : which being done either at the same congregation, or
at the next that shall ensue it, we require you to propound, and endeavour to pass

* Neminem nisi praevia trium articulorum subscriptione ordinandum.
t The canon only requires the subscription at ordination
M.M.— No. 11. " 3 G

414 REFORM YOUR UNIVERSITY SYSTEM.

a grace to the effect aforesaid ; and in due time to certify us of your performing
hereof, and the effect of the same.

" Given under our signet at our palace at Westminster, the thirtieth day of
June, in the eleventh year of our reign of England, France, and Ireland, and of
Scotland, the six-and-fortieth."*

It is not likely that, in those days, the senate of Cambridge would
have used much deliberation before they complied with the desires of a
King ; and accordingly we find that, on the 7th of July following, six
days after the date of the King's letter, the following grace passed the
senate : —

" Placet nobis ut juxta tenorem literarum,a serenissimo rege Jacobo missarum,
hoc in senatu decernetur, ut nullus in posterum sibi concessum habeat gratiam pro
gradu baccalaureatus in theologia, vel doctoratus in aliqua facilitate adipiscendo,
qui non prius coram domino procancellario, aut ejus deputato, tribus articulis,
nimirum regii primatus liturgiae Anglicanae, et articularum religionis dequibus
conveverunt archiepiscopi et episcopi anno Domini, 1562, manu sua subscripserit;
et ut hscc concessio vestra loco statuti habeatur, et in libris procuratorum infra
decem dies inscribatur ! !"f

This grace, exacted subscription from bachelors in divinity, and doctors
in divinity, law, and physic. On the 3rd of December, 1616, three
years afterwards, King James sent a number of directions addressed to
the vice-chancellor and heads of houses, the first of which only applies
to our subject, and is as follows : —

" First, his Majesty signifieth his pleasure that he would have all that take any
degree in schools to subscribe to the three articles." f

It does not appear that any grace was passed by the senate, as in the
former case, making this a law of the University. These " directions "
were accompanied by a letter from the Bishop of Winchester, which is
rather amusing, and is as follows : —

" To the right worshipful Mr. Dr. HILLES, master of Katherine Hall, and
Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge :

" Good Mr. Vice-Chancellor, I have sent you his Majesty's hand to his own
directions. I think you have no precedent that ever a king, first with his own
mouth, then with his own hand, ever gave such directions. And therefore you
shall do very well to keep that writing curiously, and the directions religiously,
and to give his Majesty a good account of them carefully, which I pray God you
may. And so with my love to yourself and the rest of the heads, I commit you
to God.

" From Court this 12th of December, 1616.

" Your very loving Friend,

JA. WINTON."§

How this ordinance of King James was received, does not appear.
It has not always, however, existed without opposition, for we find
that, in the year 1661, a complaint was made against the vice-chancellor
for stopping the degrees of fifty commencing bachelors of arts, who
refused to subscribe.

" The present Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge, without any law of England, or
statute of the University, or canon, or any other colour of law, and especially con-

* Statutes of the University of Cambridge, p. 279.
t Ib.,p.371. t lb., p. 282. § Ib., p. 281.

REFORM YOUR UNIVERSITY SYSTEM. 415

trary to his Majesty's declaration, and contrary to all conscience and reason, could
dispense with his conscience in usurping an arbitrary power, to the open preju-
dice of many of his Majesty's subjects, in their children, to stop fifty Commencers
from commencing, because at twenty-four hours' warning they could not find in
their consciences to subscribe to the lawfulness of the Common Prayer, and the
book of consecration, and to the thirty-nine articles. Yet all these must the ques-
tionists subscribe, and be forced to do it by the arbitrary power of the Vice-Chan-
cellor, expressly contrary to his Majesty's declaration. What authority he hath
since procured for the future, and by what acts we know not; but we are sure
when he did this he had no such." f

This was in the 1 3th of Charles the Second, and 44 years after the
ordinance of King James. In the 13th and 14th of Charles the Second,
the Act of Uniformity passed. This act directs that all masters, fellows,
scholars, chaplains, and tutors shall subscribe, or in default shall lose the
benefit of their masterships, fellowships, &c. Nothing is said as to the
students at the Universities ; much less is any direction given that they
shall subscribe at the time of taking degrees.

In December, 1771, a petition was presented to the Vice- Chancellor
from the Undergraduates, who were about to proceed to their degrees in
the month of January following, praying to he relieved from subscrip-
tion to the thirty-nine articles on taking the degree of bachelor of arts.

On February 6th, 1772, Sir W. Meredith presented a petition to the
House of Commons, signed by 250 persons, principally clergy of the es-
tablished church, praying to be relieved from subscription to the thirty-
nine articles, which petition, after a spirited debate, was rejected.* On
February 28, of the same year, the Senate of Cambridge appointed a
Syndicate or Committee to consider the propriety of abolishing subscrip-
tion :f and on the 23d of June, the following grace passed the senate,
abolishing subscription, on taking the degree of bachelor of arts, and sub-
stituting a declaration.

" Placeat vobis ut ii qui gradum baccalaureatus in artibus ambierint pro usitata
subscriptione tribus articulis in Canone tricesimo sexto comprehensis in hanc for-
mam apud registrarium vestrum in posterum subscribant/'

" I, A. B., do declare that I am bond, fide a member of the Church of England,
as by law established." J

On the 23rd of February, 1773, a debate took place in the House of
Commons, on the motion of Sir W. Meredith, " that the house do re-
solve itself into a committee of the whole house, to consider of the sub-
scription to the thirty-nine articles of the Church of England, or any
other test now required of persons in either of the two Universities."
This motion was rejected. §

On the 26th of March, 1779, a grace passed the Cambridge senate
abolishing subscription on taking the degrees of bachelor of laws, bache-
lor of medicine, and bachelor and doctor of music. This grace substi-
tutes a declaration instead of subscription, and is as follows : —

" Placeat vobis ut ii qui gradum baccalaureatus, vel in Jure civili vel in medi-
cina, et gradum baccalaureatus vel doctoratus in musica ambierint pro usitata

* Kennet's Register, p. 374.

t See Parliamentary Debates, vol. 17, p. 245.

j Statutes of the University of Cambridge, p. 435.

§ Ib. p. 436.

5[ Parliamentary Debates, vol. 17, p, 742.

416 REFORM YOUR UNIVERSITY SYSTEM.

suhscriptione tribus articulis in canone tricesimo sexto comprehensis, in hancf
formam npud registrarium vestrum in posterum subscribant.

" I, A. B., do declare that I am bonu fide a member of the Church of England
as by law established."*

It appears therefore that in the year 1613 the University passed a
grace, bearing date July 13, in pursuance of the King's letter, whereby
all bachelors in divinity, and doctors in divinity, law, and physic, are
required to subscribe the three articles of the 36th canon. In 1616,
King James directs that all persons taking any degree whatsoever shall
subscribe. The University never passed any grace or statute, as in the
former case, constituting this the law of the University : the subscrip-
tion therefore required of persons taking the degrees of bachelor and
master of arts, and also the degrees of bachelor of laws and of medicine,
was only on the authority of the King's direction. Now if in the former
case it was necessary to pass a grace, to render subscription legal and
compulsory upon those of whom it was demanded, it must for the same
reason have been necessary in the latter. It follows therefore that, in
the latter case, the subscription was illegally demanded ; and it appears
that in the year 1661 it was so considered. A declaration that the
individual is bond fide a member of the Church of England, has been
substituted, instead of subscription, at the time of proceeding to the
degrees of bachelor in arts, laws, and physic. The subscription is still
demanded of those who take the degree of master of arts, upon no other
authority than that of King James's direction. No person, therefore, can
be admitted to any degree who cannot, at least, conscientiously declare
himself a member of the Church of England ; and thus a large class of
the community are prevented from participating in the benefits of a
University education.

In concluding our remarks upon this most important subject, we shall
only observe — first, that the imposition of subscription, upon candidates
for degrees, cannot be justified upon any principle of safety to the
establishment : secondly, that it is unjust towards the persons of whom
it is required : thirdly, that it is contrary to the interests of the
University.

And first, it is unnecessary as a safeguard to the establishment. For
the clear illustration of this, let us take a case — and we could instance
many : — Four years ago a gentleman distinguished himself, at the general
examination for degrees, both as a mathematical and as a classical
scholar : he could not conscientiously declare himself to be bond fide a
member of the Church of England, and therefore his degree was refused.
Upon what principle ? Not that the discipline and doctrines of the
Established Church would have been endangered ; for if the individual
in question had presented himself to a bishop for ordination, it would
then have been time enough to have examined his religious tenets, and
to have required his solemn assent to the doctrines and discipline of that
Church, of which he sought to become a minister. Had he been a can-
didate for a fellowship in the college, of which he was a member, the
society might — in conformity with their statutes and in the spirit of their
foundation — have called on him to subscribe; nor should we have
questioned the justice or propriety of such a step.

* Statutes of the University of Cambridge, p. 441.

REFORM YOUR UNIVERSITY SYSTEM, 417

We call on the advocates for subscription at the time of admission to
degrees — for the onus probandi lies on them — to show upon what ground
it can be justified. We assert that subscription is altogether unnecessary,
even at the degrees of bachelor and doctor in divinity : the candidates
for these degrees are required to be in holy orders, and it must be pre-
sumed that no bishop would ordain any one whom he had not first care-
fully examined and approved. The right reverend Bench are the guar-
dians of the doctrines, and the promoters of the discipline of the Church
of England, and these matters may be safely entrusted to their keeping.

If subscription be unnecessary, it follows that it is unjust. For one
party to maintain a right, in such a manner as to be unnecessarily inju-
rious to the rights of another, is manifest injustice. This perhaps will
be denied. We are reminded that the dissenter may come to the Uni-
versity, and enrol himself among the number of its students ; and that
he may reap the same benefit from its lectures as others ; — it is true that
the University, at the close of his studies, confers no degree upon him,
however he may have distinguished himself by his talents and acquire-
ments ; but why all this clamour about a degree ? Is a degree, then, of
no value ? Independently of the respect which such a testimonial in-
sures to the individual upon whom it is conferred, it is attended with
advantages in the world, and with certain valuable privileges in the prac-
tice of the law and of medicine. Surely, to withhold the passport to
these privileges, is unjust, especially when the safety of the Establishment
can in no way be pleaded. But it amounts to a virtual exclusion. If
the dissenter be denied a degree at the close of his studies, he cannot
afford to incur the heavy expense attendant on a residence at the Uni-
versity. He is therefore obliged to content himself with such an educa-
tion as academies* — established and maintained at his own expense — will
produce ; and thus he is forbidden to approach, and to draw from, those
pure and copious fountains of science and literature which ought to flow
for the national good.

Lastly, it is prejudicial to the interests of the University. The cele-
brity of a University — the brightness with which she shines forth as a
great luminary of learning and philosophy — depends on the number of her
members who are employed, whether within her precincts or upon the
wide theatre of the world, in the advancement of literature and of science.
The rude barrier, which excludes all who are not of the Established
Church, lessens the number of these members, and many a brilliant in-
tellect passes unknown ; for genius is of no sect or persuasion. How
many are there who can trace the honours and distinctions, at which they
have arrived in after life, to the studies pursued whilst at the University ;
and which, perhaps, first develop'ed and brought to maturity those powers
of the mind which might otherwise have lain dormant for ever, and even
unknown to the possessor himself. Such an one seldom reverts to the
scene of his academic labours, without mingled feelings of pride and
gratitude. And thus the firmest basis on which the University can rest

* Let it not be supposed that we would here underrate the respectability or the
studies of the dissenting academies ; but we are aware that they depend principally
on voluntary contributions : — a system under which the standard of education can
never be raised to the desired height ; and which must affect the permanent secu-
rity of the establishments.

418 REFORM YOUR UNIVERSITY SYSTEM.

is the respect and esteem of the people. The principle of exclusion tends
to narrow this basis ; and might ultimately produce the overthrow of
the establishment, or at least cause it to sink into comparative insignifi-
cance. For instance, the College of Physicians admit no one, into their
society, who is not a graduate of Oxford or Cambridge ; — these universi-
ties allow no one to become a graduate, who is not a member of the Es-
tablished Church ; — therefore, so long as the College of Physicians ad-
heres to this regulation, no dissenter, however distinguished in the profes-
sion, can be a member of that learned body. We will not stay to con-
sider the justice of this ; but suppose a second Hervey to arise, and he a
nonconformist : can it be imagined that the College of Physicians would
hesitate to admit him a member of their society, because he was not a
graduate of Oxford or Cambridge ? Impossible. Thus these absurd
and unjust restrictions must ultimately defeat themselves. We shall, per •
haps, be told, that this is of no consequence ; that it is not desirable for
the Universities to become schools of medicine. Indeed ! We warn the
Universities to beware how they sink into mere nurseries for the Church.
We believe that no other University in Europe can be pointed out, not
even that of Dublin, where a religious test is required at the time of con-
ferring degrees. Considering, therefore, this question in all its bearings,
we come to the conclusion that the restrictions of which we complain
are prejudicial to the best interests of the University, and unjust towards
the public, unless they can be justified : and, as we have before said, the
burden of justification rests entirely with the advocates for subscription,
— they ought to be removed without delay. We call upon the members
of the Senate to enter immediately upon the consideration of this subject,
in the spirit of good will and sincerity. They must see and acknowledge,
whatever may be the tenor of the statutes which regulate and govern the
Colleges to which they respectively belong, that the charter and statutes
of the University are distinct from, and independent of, all these. If
ever it were necessary to impose the test of subscription, that necessity
has long ago ceased to exist. It now can answer no good purpose. It
is often grievous to the conformist ; it is always injurious to the non-
conformist ; it is not necessary for the protection of the establishment ;
and, unless the University is prepared to afford relief, redress will be
sought through the medium of the legislature.

A FRAGMENT.

THE green grass shook its head .all mournfully,

And tears, in plenty, o'er her grave were wept ;
And sighs, that quieted would never be,

The zephers breathed — while they their vigils kept :
By living, and by lifeless, mourn'd was she ;

Alas ! they could not wake her, for she slept
Her dreamless and her lasting sleep — ah me !

The pleasant and the beautiful again
May throw their ray-like witchery, but in vain. T.

( 419 )

DISPUTE BETWEEN THE PEN AND THE SWORD.

Translated from Cap. XL. of the Rabbin Jehuda Charizi's Tahk&noni.

HERMAN EZRACHI gave me the following narration : — One night I
was lying on my bed, when sleep had fled from mine eyes. While, tor-
mented by lively pains and acute anguish, I was with difficulty moving
myself on my couch, I heard a loud knocking at the door of my house.
The knocking continued without intermission, and I cried out aloud,
" What man is this, who seeks to enter in the midst of darkness, and
in the obscurity of night ?" — " It is," answered he who was knocking, " a
traveller, who hath strayed from his path, and who, devoid of all resourse,
is a prey to the most dismal apprehensions." At the sound of the
words, which issued from his mouth, as sharp as the blade of a razor, I
called my servant and ordered him to admit the traveller. When he
entered, supported by his staff, bearing his baggage, and clad in old and
ragged garments, I began to consider him attentively ; but what was my
astonishment, when under these rags and tatters, I recognised my dear
comrade, the doctor, whose society had been my delight. My joy was
the joy of a man who hath found a rich treasure, — all my griefs
vanished and were forgotten ; a pleasure inexpressible took possession of
me. I caused to be placed before him whatever there was in the house,
and he ate of all the meats which I presented to him. Having concluded
his repast, and returned thanks to God for his bounties, he began to
display all the treasures of his eloquence, and to open all the coffers of his
wisdom. I instantly took ink and tablets, to put down in writing the
words which escaped from his mouth. But scarcely had I begun to
write, when the pen broke in my hand ; I promptly seized another, it
likewise broke ; and I threw it from me in anger. " Why," asked
Chaber Hahkini, " dost thou cast away that pen ? God himself made
choice of it ; beware of destroying it ; for it is the source of blessings.
Hadst thou been acquainted with the magnitude of its merits, thou
wouldst have been reluctant to throw it away thus. Canst thou be
ignorant of the words full of meaning, and the wise discourses, by which
it hath demonstrated its value ? If thou desire, I am ready to inform
thee ; nor will I refuse thee a full communication." — " Speak," said I to
him ; " mine ears are opened to give free entrance to thy words, and the
light of thy countenance hath enlarged and invigorated my sight.
Chaber then said : — -

" In times past, a contest arose between the king's ministers, who
held the pen for the execution of his will, and the generals, who com-
manded his armies.

" Eloquence is our portion," said the first ; " we are the heroes of
council and deliberation. The oracles of prudence proceed from our
mouths, and upon them we have established the foundations of the
empire ; they are the bond which unite and consolidate its structure.
Our hands hold the pen, an instrument of immense value, whose power

420 DISPUTE BETWEEN THE PEN AND THE SWORD.

nothing can resist, which overturns giants, which gives understanding
to the simple. Though its stature be small, and though it exhibit no-
thing remarkable ; though its exterior seem weak and powerless, the
brave who have drawn the sword from the scabbard, are constrained to
retreat before it. Princes, inflated with their grandeur, are annihilated
by it." Then taking up the poetical lyre, they added : —

' Yes ; we are the immoveable supports of glory ; the pen, in our hands,

* is the honour of the diadem ; to us alone is due the pinnacle of gran-
' deur ; we tread under our feet the stars of the firmament. They who
' brandish the sword are only our slaves ; the iron of our spear penetrates

* their heart, plunging into it without resistance.'

" What do you say ?" answered the chiefs of the armies. " Are not
the lions of battle, the brave with intrepid heart ? We cause the flame
to flash from the bosom of swords, which clash against each other,
and the terror which we inspire renders nations deserted and uninha-
bited. The people, who dwell in them, fly from them with a torn
breast ; parents abandon their children to withdraw themselves from
our fury. To us alone belongs the sword, which without a tongue
speaks powerfully, which without an eye-ball pierces every where with
its penetrating glances. Impetuous in its course as the torrent of
Kissoun, and the floods of Phison, it carries along with it whatever
resists. When the pillars of the kingdom assemble in the presence of
the Most High, it reaches above the heads of all ; for it is the crown of
monarchs, the diadem of the Lord's anointed. It watches over the
preservation of those who carry it, and the victims of its vengeance are
as the sands of the sea." Then adopting a more elevated style, they
sang :—

" Like that portion of the offering consecrated to the Eternal, which a

* pontiff raises upon his altars, the sword drawn from the scabbard,
' flashes in our hands and menaces the heads of our enemies. In the
' day of terror, when the brave seek a refuge from danger, our bared

* arms encounter the fight. As flourishes the vine, watered by the rains
' of heaven, so doth our sword bathed in the blood of its victims. It
' passes over the earth with the velocity of lightning ; it takes its flight,
' and the same instant beholds it alight upon the head of our enemies."

When both parties had thus spoken, the Sword and the Pen stepped
forward to assert their rights in person. "It is I," said the Sword,
" who inspire the brave with courage and strength ; it is I, from whom
the vultures and lion's whelps expect their nourishment. While I
exist, they will experience neither hunger nor thirst ; for I feed them
with the flesh of heroes, and I make them drunken with the blood of the
bravest warriors. How can the Pen, which my fires consume, which I
tread under my feet, compare itself with me ? How can a frail half-
broken reed, like the bramble and the nettle, have the audacity to contend
for rank with me ? Should my arm touch it in the slightest manner, it
will break ; the wind hath breathed upon, and not a trace of it remains."

"Truth hath come out of thy mouth;" replied the Pen, "all that
thou hast said is just. Yes ; it is thou, who sheddest blood, thou art
known by thy violence and cruelty. Ah ! what blood hast thou spilt !
how many innocents hast thou murdered ! From the first day of thy

DISPUTE BETWEEN TflK PEN AND THE SWORD. 421

existence thou hast never ceased to depopulate the earth, to fill its
recesses with carcasses, to separate children from their fathers, and to
tear them from the bosom of their mothers. If by thy strength thou
prevailest against me, learn that it is not in my strength that my power
consists, but in the spirit which animates me. With what countenance
canst thou compare thyself with me ? I am a man of a pure and spotless
life, who dwelleth in tents ; thou ! thou art a vagabond who makest thy
dwelling in deserts ; thou hast for thy retreat precipitous mountains,
rocks inhabited by the chamois, a bed dug by the torrent, or the obscu-
rity of gloomy and antique forests. Whosoever beholdeth thee, hasten-
eth to flee : my aspect, on the contrary, inspires joy ; my society, full
confidence. Thou art regarded as a contaminated man, whose touch is
contagious, as a wretch proscribed and banished from civilized society.
Robbers, and wicked people — men who have sinned from their mother's
womb — are the only mortals who seek thy company. As for me, no
wicked man is received in my dwelling ; the sinner hath no share of my
fellowship ; he dare not even raise his eyes upon me. He who walks in
the path of innocence is alone worthy to serve me ; I am found only in
the hands of the virtuous. I receive the homage of the first of mankind;
monarchs have no secrets from me ; it is by my ministry that their in-
tentions are fulfilled ; and, when I am with the king of kings in the
midst of his temple, thou art not permitted to approach !"

" Thy boastings," replied the Sword, "and the lies which thou utterest,
merit no answer. Ask only the ancient days which preceded thy exist-
ence. They will answer and teach thee, that it is by my assistance that
the king triumphs over those who rise against him, reduces rebels to
obedience, subdues his enemies, and the traitors who would cast off his
yoke. Fortified towers, ramparts, and citadels, are conquered only by
me. It is I to whom the king owes the preservation of his power ;
but for the terror which I excite, his grandeur could not be maintained
one moment. I preserve him from his oppressors, I send my terrors
before him, I overwhelm those who attack him, all the cohorts of his
enemies, and all the people with whom he wages war ; at the sight of the
sword, with which his hand is armed, who among them can remain firm ?"

When the Pen heard the discourse so full of haughtiness and disdain,
which the Sword directed against him, he addressed to him the follow-
ing verses : —

4 1 am mute, but when 1 assemble my armies, I make the fiercest men

* tremble at my words. My discourses are the ornament of the head of

* kings; my excellent parables are the joy of hearts. It is I, whom the

* Eternal employed to trace the Ten Commandments which he gave on
« Mount Horeb, that they might be the inheritance of his people. When

* the sword is raised, I unfurl my standard above its heads. On the

* day in which it dare measure itself with me, I remain erect, and it falls
' prostrate at my feet.' "

*'When I had heard this eloquent discourse," says Herman Ezrachi, " I
wrote the words on the tablet of my heart ; I engraved them with a point
of iron. I passed many days with him ; many hours and years elapsed
in joy and pleasure, to the moment when time wounded me with the
arrow of separation, and severed me from the milk of his company."

M.M.-No. 11. 3H

( 422 )

SONNETS, BY EDWARD MOXON, ESQ.

WORDSWORTH, of all men who have graced our age.
Whether the muse they served, or in the state
Stood at the helm, or in cathedral sate,

Or judge's chair, or yet adorned the page
Heroic deem'd, surpassing those of yore
Who shone at Poictiers, Cressy, Agincour !

None have like thee from unknown sources brought

The light of truth, the feeling, and the thought
Dwelling in humblest things ; the human heart

Thou hast ennobled ; and enlarged the spheres
Of our perceptions, giving them a part

In all that breathes ; nor stone, nor flower appears,
Whether in fields or hills retired and holy,
For thy all comprehensive mind too lowly.

WRITTEN IN THE PERB LA CHAISE, ON THE SPOT WHERE MARSHAL NK¥

IS BURIED.

WHAT ! neither flower nor cypress on thy grave.

While all around a hallowed garden blooms ;

And piety low bends among the tombs,
Watering with tears the earth she could not save ?
But not so sleeps the " bravest of the brave ;"

The Hero of a hundred battles ; gory
Though be the shroud he lies in, yet nor wave,

Nor storm, nor time, can e'er efface the story
Of his high deeds. Be satisfied, great shade !

No epitaph thou need'st, or marble heap :
Thee Chivalry her gallant son hath made ;

And History of thee much store will reap.
What need of monument, or tomb array'd,

When ev'n the stranger comes, o'er thee to weep ?

423 )

BETWEEN DECKS.

" Now for a jolly evening ! — our watch don't come yet these two
hours. Bill, nick off the cabbage end of your mutton, and hand us over

sing us a song : criea one or the group
gathered closely around a mess table, on which were disposed no end
of conveniences for drinking ; — pipes, tobacco- stoppers, and boxes, half-
burnt papers, &c. &c.

" I'd sing a song," returned another, " only my woice is a little out of
border, and besides you've had all my stock of songs over and over.
But mine's the right sort of singing when I'm in the way of it — an't it,
boys ? and I makes no bones over it, and that's better."

" You never larnt ?" inquired a neighbour.

" Larnt!— larnt what ?"

" How to sing."

" How to sing ? — devil a bit ! it all corned by natur ! My mother
was a precious good hand at a song, and some of her talent has
corned down to me. Like father, like son, you know, an old saying,
and I don't see why like mother like son should' nt be one, too.
Her father was an innkeeper ; — a very 'spectable kind o' person, — worth
plenty of blunt, had kept house for a matter o' twenty year — and he
got lots of custom to his place, by squatting her in the tap-room, and
letting her sing of an evening to the visitors. She singed vhat they
call Bacchanally songs, and trolled 'em out so deuced well, that all
those what heard her, listened with such relish, that they drank like
fishes, and spent all their coppers like so many kings. Many and many's
the half-crown my mother's put into her father's pocket. He wouldn't
let her marry, though there was plenty of tugging at him for her,
because why ? — because she kept the chink going at the bar, and drawed
more drinkers to the Adam and Eve, — that was the sign of the house,
you know, — than all the other public-houses in the street, could get
together. The woice had been in the family, on the mother's side, a
long time ; her mother's maiden name was Nightingale — perhaps that
was one of the reasons for it."

" It might have been," cried one of the speaker's neighbours, " for
sometimes people's names wonderfully agrees with their employments.
I knowed a lawyer's clerk once at Truro, and his name was Clutchem ;
the schoolmaster said he was born for the perfession ; and his parents
thought so, too, for they put him 'prentice to one in their town."

" Well ! I says," cried another, " that some of you had better sing
us a song, or tell us a story. Bob Wilkins says he can't sing, and you
know, he's our Appolyou, and so"

f ' Appolyou ! — what's an Appolyou ?"

4:24 BETWKKN DECKS.

" What's an Appolyou! — 'Tan't a thing, man; he was a human creator'.
A God, what singed and fiddled, a thousand — ay ! two thousand year
ago."

"And do you call me a God ?" said Bob Wilkins ; "perhaps you
mean that this Appolyou was the God of singing."

' ' Bob, you're as sharp as a needle. Appolyou was the God of music,
you know, and singing and music are nigh hand the same thing."

" I say, Bill !" whispered one of the group on the opposite side of the
table, to his immediate neighbour, " Hard-fist's been reading a book !"

" A strange book to talk about Gods" was the reply. "I thought
there was only one."

" If nobody 11 sing/' said a third, who had hitherto puffed in medita-
tive silence, looking alternately at each speaker, "I'll tell you a story j
(knocking the ashes out of his pipe,) and it shall be a true story. We've
had lately enough friction to last us our life -time. Who wotes for my
story ? Those who says ay ! hold up their hands, and those who says
no ! keep them down. That's a strait-forred way of doin' business.
So ! — let us see ! what ! five up, and three down. Carried — crim. con.
by George !"

" Slip off!" cried two or three, swilling down the grog, and again
looking out for their pipes.

" Well ! — give us the licker. I can't talk till I've just moistened my
throat a little." The speaker, whose name was William Duncan, took
the readily proffered goblet, and gulped down half a pint, by moderate com-
putation. He stopped suddenly, however, in the draught, and breathing
hard, said, holding all the time the beverage within an inch of his lips —
•' Some people thinks, — it's just corned into my head, — that this here
bump was brought into the throat by Adam — the man, you know, what
was put into a garden, and — and — had Eve along with him" —

" Ay ! — ay ! we know," ejaculated all.

" Well! some says that the apple that he eat, that Eve gived him,
sticked in his throat, and there it has been ever since. What d'ye think ?
d'ye think it's likely ?"

" It was the devil that gived it to Eve, wasn't it," suggested Bob
Wilkins.

" The devil ? — no ! — doesn't it say in the scripturs, it was a sarpent ?"

" A sarpent !" cried Bob. " Ho ! — ho ! that's a jolly good 'un. I've
heard she was persuaded to take it, and whoever heard of a sarpent's
having a woice ?"

The laugh ran mightily against the wight who had mentioned the
serpent.

"Well! that's neither here nor there," interrupted the promised
story-teller. " It might have been the devil, or it might have been the
sarpent ; at all events, Adam eat the apple, core and all ; and, according
to the pop'lar varsion of the story ,paid for it by not having it altogether
to disgest. Now, what I wants to know is, whether you think it likely
that his eating the apple caused this here bump in the throat ?"

" Why, look ye here !" returned another, very gravely swaying him-
self backwards and forwards in his seat, as if he was labouring to get
out something extremely profound, — " the devil gave the apple to Eve,
and we know the devil's verv wicked :— now, if the devil's very wicked,

BETWEEN DKCKS. 425

it's not likely he would bear any good will to Adam ; — if it's not likely
he bore any good will to Adam, he would not have tried to do him any
good ; — if he wouldn't have tried to do him any good, and gave the
apple, it's plain the apple must be intended to do mischief: — now, if the
apple was intended to do mischief, it's plain the apple wasn't good to
eat, and if the apple wasn't good to eat, the apple couldn't go down,
and if the apple couldn't go down, it must have sticked in Adam's
throat ; and the end of it is, that if the apple sticked in his throat, as
there wasn't no doctors in those days, and it couldn't be distracted, there
it must have sticked to everlasting : — and that's the reason we've got it
now ;— and there's plenty of logic for ye."

" Logic ! — what's logic ?"

" What I'se been talking — it's the putting a thing in a con wincing
point o' view ; so, there you've got it all now, and tip me over the grog
and some baccer."

" Are you con winced, Bob ?"

" Yes, I suppose I am ;— an't you ?"

" Not altogether. This logic may be all very fine, but I'm bio wed
if I understand it. Howsomever, we're certain that Adam eat the apple,
and we suppose that it sticked in his throat. Come, now for the story."

" Well, boys !" cried Duncan, " it was about a matter o' ten year ago,
that I sailed for a cruise of fifteen months, in the Firedrake, a bran-new,
beautiful-going, thirty-six gun frigate. By George ! but she was a
beauty ; — I fancy I've got her now in my eye ; — all sail set, — decks to
the wind,— starboard tack, — bowling along like a witch, as she was, —
water hissing up at her bows, — green ripples flashing all about her, —
and her streamers flacking aloft, like trains o' fire. I was young at the
time — that is, younger than I am now

" That's deucedly certain !" cried Bob.

" Hold ye'r jaw, Bob — and as merry and happy as the day was long.
Many's the watch I've held on her decks, with the moon a blinking
above, and the water flopping below, the wind sighing through the
cordage, and sights o' dolphins sporting about, poor things ! all looking
as merry as crickets. Many's the good story I've heard aboard her ; such
as 'ud make you crack your sides with laughing ; and many's the jolly
song we've sent to the clouds of a quiet night — but I am getting a little
out of my reckoning. Well ! we cut across the Atlantic in glorious
style, sometimes hard down with a burst of bad weather, and sometimes
slap becalmed — sails like rags — sea like glass. But, on the whole, we
had a very pleasant voyage ; no end of amusements aboard us ; — by the
bye, bless'd if we didn't get up a play ! — upon my soul, we did, and I
was the Fair Penitent, though I didn't make a very good hand at it ;
and our boatswain was a feller in it, that they call Coragio, or Boragio,
or summut like that. Well, more o' that another time. We got to our
cruising-ground all in health and spirits, and began to look about us ;
but we hadn't much work. Now and then, perhaps, a tail of a gale would
take us, and oblige us to take in some of our wings ; but they generally
didn't last long, and we had the old row time, as they call it, of our sar-
vice to go over agin. We overhauled a few merchant brigs, and so on ;
sometimes we let 'em go, 'cause there wasn't much to keep them for,
aboard 'em ; and sometimes we kept 'em for prizes, and had 'em con-

426 BETWEEN DECKS.

demned. Well, the time passed on sleepily, like this, for seven of the
fifteen months, and we beginned to look forred for the time o' being
relieved. Not having much to do, a good many of our men took to
fishing; — good sport we had sometimes, catching all manner on 'em,
good, bad, and indiff'rent. Well, one day — 'twas a precious fine un — I
remember it very well, the sun was up above, all flaring as hot as possi-
ble ; the sea looked so shiny that we could scarcely bear to look at it,
and it was so dreadful close, that all on deck got quite drowsy. I, and
another man, named Tim Bowling — by the bye, he was a bit of an Irish-
man ; at least, his father and his mother was Irish ; they kept a crockery
shop at Cork, very 'spectable people : Tim's grandfather had a post in
the excise, with good wages, and now and then a good deal of condemned
wares ; — pass us the grog, will ye, Bob ? — well, as I was saying, Tim
Dowling an' I — he was a short, sturdy-looking chap, with a devil of a
brogue — was a stretching over the starboard bulwark, with what we
called our haggling-rods in our bands, and a bit of sheep's heart apiece
on the hooks. I said afore, that the day was very sultry. Well, I
was a shutting my eyes, and feeling a little inclined to snooze, and Tim
was a going off in downright arnest. By and by, out slipped his rod out
of his hand, and over he fell ! — Ay ! right overboard, by George !
— But I forgot to tell ye he had lost one of his pins ; — the larboard
one it was- — and wear'd a wooden one. I'll tell you how it was : he
happened to fall in a gale from the fore-yard, when he'd been sent up to
help in taking in a reef : the doctor spliced it as well as he could,— a
clever feller he was, too — I could tell you a dozen antidotes of what won-
derful things he did ; but a inflammation corned on, and nothing could

be done, but it must be lopped off; so but I'm steering a little

wide, a'nt I ?— Let's see ! Where did I leave off?"

" Why, you'd just got him overboard."

" Ay ! — now I've got it. Well, Tim fell smack over, and a devil of
a fuss there was aboard when I sung out. I cocked my eye over the
bulwark, and what should I see, but a perdigious great shark, rising up
out of the deep water, and making way directly for poor Tim. Poor
devil ! he screamed like I don't know what. Down went the swings of
the jolly through the davit-blocks, and the crew pulled hard out for him,
for by this we had made some way, and he had drifted astarn. They
warn't in time, for the shark had got hold of his leg ; — but it was the
wooden one, though, and master shark had no soft morsel. He looked
as if he couldn't make out for all the world what he'd got in his throat.
Well ! the shark tugged at Tim's pin, and the boat's crew tugged at
Tim, till there was such splashing and haggling in the water never was
seen. You never seed such fun. But they got him at last aboard, and
he began to beat about with his tail, like a fury. A hatchet soon
brought him to his senses, and after Tim had been brought aboard
again, and the boat was runned up, we had leisure to cut him open, and
see what was inside. A mighty fine feller he was, indeed ! I don't
know how many feet long. We found inside, a boat's rudder, a straw
hat, a baccer-box, a spirit-flask, a sugar- box, compass, and beer-barrel ;
all in a very undejested state. We got off his skin, and throwed him
overboard ; and there's my story."

" Talking of falling overboard," said Bob Wilkins, as William Dun-
can resumed his pipe, and began to smoke vehemently, " puts me in

BKTWKEN DECKS.

427

mind of a gallows good story that I knows myself for a fac'. When I
was aboard the Dry-head, 40, Captain Trunnion, there was a fo'castle
man named Ned Curtis, a very good feller, and one what tooked all
things very easily. I remember once he fell much in the way as your
man did, Duncan, only he was in a worse perdicament, as the sea was
running high, and we was making good way. The captain jumped to
the side, " Hillo, Curtis!" says he, " is that you overboard'?" " Ay,
ay, sir!" singed out Curtis. " Forward there ! down with a boat —
quick — a man's overboard !" cried the skipper. " No hurry, sir," said
Curtis, "take ye'r time; I feels very comfortable." But Ned wasn't
left to feel himself comfortable very long : he was soon hauled in, and
set again on his pins on deck. Well ! we was lying snug enough off
Havant, and this Ned Curtis had a wife ; a strapping craft, broad in the
beam, with a high starn, and very bluff in the bows ; — enough to have
made five on him. She was a taller-chandler's daughter, and Ned had
taken a fancy to her, when he was passing by her house, when she was
down below in a cellar on a melting-day, looking at the men. Ned
happened to leer down, and she happened to leer up, just at one moment,
and it was a slap shot o' both sides ; so he stopt, and not knowing well
how to get another sight on her, walked into the shop, and asked the
price of tens dips. He bought a pound on 'em, and dallied about the
shop, waiting to see if she'd come up, taking a long time in forking out
the blunt, and another long time in counting it, and passing the change
into his starboard locker, and another long time in looking at piles of
soap, tin things full of oil, and papers o1 starch. But at last up com'd
the young 'oman, looking as red as the field in a marchant-man's bunt-
ing. Somehow or 'nother they all scraped acquaintance, and after a
little conwersation forred, they bore up for the parlour, and cast anchor
round the fire ; Ned was at that time jolly good company, so I don't
wonder that he made his way among em : he'd ha' done it with Old
Nick — he'd got such a confounded insiniwatin way with him. Well !
the short and the long of it is, that they was spliced, and she used to
come, and stay a week or two aboard, sometimes, along with him. They
lived very comfortably together : she was of a 'commodating temper,
and he was of a light-hearted, and pleasant, and yielding disposition ;
so they got on famously, and was, as the second leeftenant used to say,
a pattern of connubural facility ; never having many breezes, and keep-
ing, generally speaking, very fair weather atween them. She was a
little fond o' drink, to be sure ! but that warn't no great harm, as every
body's got their failings, and a taste o* grog is very comfortable some-
times, as we all knows. Howsomedever, I'm steering a little wide.
Well, one day she was a leaning out o' one of the weather bow-ports, a
draining the water from a pot o' tatoes, and the craft giving a heel over,
she was fairly chucked overboard. A precious scream she giv'd when
she found herself a tumbling ; all on the deck was in fine commotion,
and Ned com'd running up, quite flubbergasted ; he runs to the port,
and looks over. But all wa'nt no use ; — the poor 'oman swimmed like
lead, and down she was, afore you could say '« Jack Robinson !"
" Shiver my timbers !" cries he, slapping his hand agin his forehead,
" if she hasn't gone over with the key of the tea caddy ! Bless' d if I musn't
break it open /" That's a fac', cause I heerd it. BILL ROGERS.

Late H. M. S. " Fire-Fly."

( 428 )
A DAY AT COWPER'S TOMB.

ON FIRST SEEING DEREHAM CHURCH, WHERE THE POET IS INTERRED.

BENEATH the shadow of yon ancient tower,

Asleep in death, while many are not old
Who saw the passing of thy funeral hour,

Thou restest — all thy griefs at length controll'd.
The stranger witnesses this sylvan slope,

These roofs half hid, and yet he heeds them not ;
Or heeding, is not stricken with the hope

Of meeting aught uncommon in this spot :
Yet here, hereafter, oft shall virtues come,

In willing pilgrimage, to view the shrine
Of one, who oft struck erring genius dumb,

And bid her, rob'd in purity, outshine.
Here, till reward is given to the just,
The bones of Cowper moulder into dust.

ON THE POET S INFIRMITIES.

How delicate those links which form the chain

Of human reason, and how quickly marr'd !
For, if too fine and sensible, how vain

The hope the chain unbroken can be spar'd.
A man in age — the child of fancy — weaves —

Though mouldering still — garlands of fresh hope,
Until the cold world blights them all, and leaves

Him madly in despondency to grope.
Ill-fated bard ! full dearly didst thou pay

For thy blest gift of gentle poesy ;
Ah, who would covet its divinest ray,

If, for possession, this the price must be ? — -
But surely they who hastily infer
Religion cans' d thy madness — greatly err.

ON NOTICING, AT THE POET*S TOMB, THAT " THE TASK " RESTS AGAINST
"THE HOLY BIBLE, "BOTH BEING ENWREATHED WITH AN OLIVE BRANCH.

HAPPY the man whose writings all shall lean,

As thine, upon the Bible for support ;
He need not weep, though they, as thine have been,

Become of ribald mockery the sport.
Old Time shall reverence them, and when his scythe

Is rais'd to cut their memories away,
His nerveless arm, for booty ne'er more lithe,

Shall drop, unable to make them his prey.
Thrice be the gratitude of all the good,

Who travel after thee on life's rough path ;
Of grace full many a promising young bud

Through thee may ripen into holy faith ;
Thy dark despair may cause their own to cease,
And prove to them the olive-branch of peace.

A DAY AT COWPER'S TOMB. 429

STANDING ON THE POET's TOMB.

HUNDREDS before me on thy grave have stood,

And idly read this marble- sculptured verse,
Then thoughtless passed into the buoyant flood

Of life, all gloomy feeling to disperse.
But I, when far away, will ponder long

On the mysterious waywardness of fate,
Which with thy spirit's energetic song

Did wed thy body's miserable state.
A little urn will hold all that man knows,

Entirely, of thyself ; for what knows he
Save that thou sprang'st from dust ; — thus spirit grows,

Unknown its essence, boundless as the sea ;
We feel its influence, though removed to heaven,
Unsate the wonder how the spell is given.

ON HEARING A FAVOURITE MASS, BY MOZART> AFTER WRITING
THE ABOVE.

THE pealing organ, in a solemn roll,

Gives echo to the tone my feelings take ;
Two mighty spirits now entrance my soul,

A mystery within me to awake :
My heart beats quicker, and my nerves are brac'd

With thrilling rapture, which but few can tell,
Whom chance, or pure design, hath never plac'd

In sweet association with such spell.
O, there are moments when the wretched'st life

With ecstasy untold may be full fraught,
And the pleas'd spirit, in emotion rife,

To sweet oblivion of the body wrought ;
And such a one, long lapse between, is this

Foretaste on earth of heaven's harmonious bliss*

ON LEAVING THE TOMB.

AND I do turn me to the world again,

And to the petty troubles of my state :
Would I might do so without fear or pain !

But who can triumph o'er the wounds of fate ?
It is not mine to wander as I list,

To seek with kindred natures intercourse ;
The grief, which I did dream dismiss'd at this,

Back to its inmost fount this clay doth force ;
But I have striven with it oft before,

And master' d then,- — it shall be conquer'd now :
While viewing inwardly what I adore,

The world shall see no murmuring on my brow :
Ah me ! how hard the current to divert,
Which, let to flow, may lead us to our hurt.
September, 1835. THKTA.

M, M.— No. 11 31

( 430 )

PATRIOTIC SONGS OF SPAIN.

THE following specimens of Spanish Songs are offered as illustrations
of the popular feeling on national subjects, rather than as finished
productions of the modern Iberian muse. The translations are faithful
transcripts of the sentiments expressed by the enthusiastic authors, and
the spirit of the bard has been preserved as closely as an accurate and
concise doing into English verse would permit. The manner in which
the excited Spaniard pours forth his lyric rhapsody, must be an apology
for crude language and doubtful taste, while the noble, and frequently
sublime ideas which spring up amidst the weeds, demand our admiration
and seize upon our sympathies. In Spain, every event is the subject of
a song — not only of one song, but of a different one in every village ;
and if the odes which have been chaunted during the last tumultuous
years of political and military struggle, were known to the literary
world, Spain might perhaps claim as high a place in this prolific age of
poetry, as her Garcilasso and Calderon obtained for her at an earlier
period. The two songs, here presented to the public, are taken at hazard
from a great variety on similar subjects, and from the dictation of
exiles, who have felt the enthusiasm they breathe, and who have been
engaged in the scenes they celebrate.

It has been the fashion for foreigners acquainted with the Spanish
language, to turn their attention, almost exclusively, to what is called the
golden age of Spanish literature, and to exhaust their admiration on the
feeble, though highly-finished and Italianized, pastorals of the age of
Charles V. Recently, indeed, a search has been made further back, and
a volume of chivalric ballads has been produced, although with moderate
success. But, as yet, the rich mines of this present century have been
little explored, and few people are acquainted with the tragedies, poems,
and biography of Quintana, or even with the inimitable comedies of
Moratin ; although in Quintana's Odes on Trafalgar, and on the Invention
of Printing, there are as free flights of lyric poetry as may be met with
in the wonderful productions of our day and nation. Spain, however,
when she has cast off the load of tyranny and misfortune which weighs
her down, will introduce herself and her literature more forcibly to the
observation of Europe. In the meantime, these unpolished rhymes are
merely intended as curiosities for the inspection of a nation which has,
in vain, expended its inestimable blood and treasure to preserve that
liberty, in praise of which they abound. Of this the English reader
may be assured, that their sentiments are infused in the hearts' blood of
the rising generation of Spaniards, and that scenes are preparing which
will try the purity of its tint,

CANCION PATRIOTICA. PATRIOTIC SONG.

Cortad ninfas lauros Pluck, maidens, a crown of the green
De vuestro jardin, laurel tree —

Ya vuestros amantes A gift for your lovers the wreath shall
Guerreros decid, be.

PATRIOTIC SONGS OP SPAIN,

431

** Quereis merecer nos
Lograr nuestro 'si,'
Venced en amores
Venced en la lid.

" Si corona y besos
Quereis conseguir,
Y de nuestros lazos,
El nudo feliz,
Del Frances aleve
Triumfantes venid,
Puos vence en amores
Quien vence en la lid.

And tell them — "Our hands are the

warrior's right —
He conquers in love, who shall conquer

in fight !

" Would he win the fresh braid, would
he taste of the kiss,

Would he mingle with us in the bond-
age of bliss ?

The trophies of Gaul let him wave in our
sight—

For to conquer in love, he must conquer
in fight.

" Dela gloria al templo
Suvireis asi ; alii
Noinbre eterno
Y eterno vivir
El guerrero goza,
Tambien goza alii,
De nuestros amores
Quien vence en la lid.

" The Temple of Fame shall receive

him, and there

A column eternal his titles shall bear !
But his lady shall yield him a dearer

delight —
The guerdon of love for the glories of

fight !

" Partid heroes, hijos
De Cortes, del Cid,
Vuestra insignia sea
Veneer 6 morir ;
Y de nuestros ansias
Id, seguros, id.
Pues vence en amores,
Quien vence en la lid."

" March, sons of the Cid and of Cortes —

on high
Wave the words of your banner, ' to

conquer or die !'
Our prayers and our hopes with your

valour unite —
For the victor in love must have van-

q ished in fight."

CANCION KN LOOK DE LA
BATALLA DEBAYLEN.

BATTLE OF BAYLEN.

Coro.

Venid vencedores
De la patria honor
Recivid el premio
De vuestro valor.

Tomad los laureles,
Que habeis merecido,
Los que os han rendido,
Moncey y Dupont.

Chorus.

Victors, in battle tried
By many a valiant deed —

Approach — your country's pride,
And take your country's meed !

Your brows with laurel shade,
A wreath your valour won,

When ye snatch'd the glorious braid
From Moncey and Dupont ;

432

Vosotros, que fieles
Habeis acudido,
Al primer gemido
De nuestra opresion.

Venganza os llamava
Del sangre inocente,
Alzasteis la frente,
Que jamais temio ;
Y al ver os, los Dueiios
De tantas conquistas,
Huyen como aristas
Que el viento arollo.

Vos, de una mirada
Que echasteis al cielo,
Parasteis al vuelo
Del aquila audaz ;
Y al polvo arrojasteies
Con iras vizarras
x Las alas y garras
Del ave rapas.

Son a vuestros plantas,
Alfombra serena,
Laureles de lena,
Palmas de Austerlitz,
Son cantos de gloria
Volver los cautivos
Sus gritos altivos,
En llante infeliz.

Llegad ya provincias
Que valeis naciones,
Ya vuestros pendones
Deslumbran al sol ;
Palido el tirano, tiembla,
Y sus legiones
Muerden los Teronnes
Del suelo Espanol.

Gloria 6 flor del Betis,
Que haveis bien probado
El brio heredado
Del suelo natal ;
Que alii sin cultivo
Crece, y selevanta
Del triunfo la planta
La oliva immortal.

PATRIOTIC SONGS OF SPAIN.

Ye faithful to your land,

Who heard her cry of grief,
And grasped, with ready hand,

Your swords for her relief !

From guiltless blood, when wide

The voice of vengeance rose,
Ye reared your front of pride,

That never quailed to foes !
The lords of conquered Spain,

From the flashing of your eye,
Fled, like chaff along the plain,

When the breeze drives lightly by.

The blasting look ye threw,

When ye turned to heaven your sight,
Might the eagle's rage subdue,

As he tower'd in his flight,
And in the dust, at length,

Your fiercer anger's flame
Could cast his winged strength,

His savage talons, tame.

Wreaths at your feet are strewn,

A carpet broad and bright,
Of Austerlitz the crown,

And Jena's fatal fight.
Your songs of triumph flow,

The captives answer not,
But change from scorn to woe,

And weep their hapless lot.

Each province in the fray,

Might cause a nation's wail,
When their ensigns hid the day,

As they flung them to the gale.
The pallid tyrant shook,

When his dying legions round,
The last possession took,

They may hold on Spanish ground.

Hail, Betis ! to thy bold-
How well their deeds disclose

The heirs of valour old,

On their native soil that rose.

There, triumph's plant in birth
Is unconstrain'd and free —

From rich uncultur'd earth

Springs the deathless olive-tree.

PATRIOTIC SONGS OF SPAIN,

433

Gloria 6 valeroso
Del solar Manchego
O cuan bello riego
Dais a vuestra mies !
Los surcos se vuelven,
Sepulcro a Tiranos,
Sangrientos los granos,
Se mecen despues.

Gloria 6 flor del Turia,
De marte centellas,
Pues vivos como ellas,
Al campo volais ;
La hueste enemiga
Rompeis imprevistos,
Y apenas sois vistos
Victoria cantais.

Y en tanto en el Ebro,
Los pechos son muros,
Que atienden seguros
" Morir 6 veneer;"
Siempre el sol los halla
Lidiando con gloria
Siempre con victoria
Los dexa a el caer.

O que hermosos vienen,
Su porte cuan fiero,
Qual brilla el acero
Qual suena el arnes.
Estos son guerreros
Valientes y bravos,
Y no son esclavos
Del yugo Frances.

Ninfas vengan lauros,
Frescos, verdes bellos,
Enjugad con ellos
Tan noble sudor ;
Ni olvideis la oliva,
Que es planta gloriosa,
Ni aun alguna rosa
Que os brinde el amor.

Hail to Manchego's power !

All hail, illustrious band,
Who bathe in hostile gore

The crops that load your land !
The gaping furrows seem

A tomb for tyrant trench 'd,
Where the floating harvest's gleam

In a bloody tide is quench' d.

Hail, Turians ! void of fear !

Ye sparks of martial flame ;
For your valour blazed as clear,

When ye sought the field of fame ;
You scatter' d wide the foe,

As you suddenly dashed on,
And he scarce exchanged a blow

Ere the victory was won.

Hail, band from Ebro's wave !

Your breasts, a rampart wall,
Waited, heedless of the grave,

To conquer or to fall.
The sun your deeds beheld,

When his beams awoke the day,
And the enemy was quelled,

Ere his light had passed away.

How beautiful their line,

As they proudly march to war !
How their burnished weapons shine,

And their harness rings from far.
Each by his gallant mien,

A warrior bold and brave,
And not a man, I ween,

To the Gallic yoke a slave.

Ye maids ! bring laurel boughs,

Fresh, green, and fair to see,
And wipe their weary brows,

Where the drops are rising free.
Forget not ample wreaths,

From the glorious olive-grove,
Nor the opening rose, that breathes

The blushing pledge of love.

( 434 )

ON BORES.

No. 2.

" Many men

Are cradled into poetry from wrong —
They learn in suffering what they teach in song." — SHELLEY.

THAT which the " self- torturing sophist," Rousseau, observed of the
Genoese, we may justly apply to the world in general — " they will never
forgive the benefits which we have conferred upon them." They envy
us the fame which we shall acquire — the blessings which will be
showered on our name — the glory which will encircle us like a halo.
Why is this, ungrateful world ? " Why do you use me thus ? I have
loved thee ever." Have we not disclaimed all right and title to honours
— emoluments — votive offerings, and public rewards — all the pride of
pomp, of public dinners, commemorative medals, and titular distinctions ?
Yes : let us live in obscurity — " wrestle with our lot," as best we may;
and when we shall " shuffle off this mortal coil," be there raised no sculp-
tured cenotaph to perpetuate our memory — but let there be chiselled on
our tomb this simple epitaph — " Hie JACET THE HISTORIAN OF THE
BORES." We trust this egotism will be pardoned : these remarks have
been wrung from us by the persecution which we have suffered — the
misery of a whole life has been concentrated within this " little month"
— those now have bored who never bored before, and those who always
bored now bore the more. But we have strung ourselves to the task,
" as hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve," and will proceed, " in spite of
thunder." Let us, ' ' without more circumstance at all," introduce to
the notice of the world —

CHAP. I. — MUSICAL BORE.

" The music breathing from his face." — BYRON.
" Give me excess of it." — SIIAKSPEARE.

Mr. Apollo Viotti Skeggins — for in that euphonious appellation he
revels and luxuriates (though there be those who allege that the parish
register bears the more humble patronymic of Paul Wyatt) — was born

on but what matter when or where he was born. That he was born,

is all that concerns this history ; and of that fact we should think there
are few so hardy as to dispute. Even from his boyish days — nay, from
earliest infancy — Viotti gave decided indications of that excessive relish
for music which has been such a fruitful source of discord to his friends
ever since. It is recorded of Mozart, that when he was engaged as
organist at some church in Germany, his voluntary at the conclusion of
the service had the effect of rivetting and enchaining the congregation to
their seats, instead of what is technically called, " playing them out."

ON BORES. 435

In like manner, it is said that the soothing melody of his nurse's
" Hushaby, Baby," had the effect of keeping little Apollo in a state of
waking watchfulness, instead of lulling him iato " tired nature's sweet
restorer, balmy sleep ;" and it is stated, on authority which we should
be sorry to doubt, that, on Mrs. Skeggins the elder, his grandmother,
presenting him with a silver-gilt coral, he absolutely inverted the order
of nature ; for he could not be made to comprehend the " Dulce et Utile"
of the mineral ; but applied himself, with a perseverance worthy of a
better cause, to the whistle which enriched its opposite end, whose pierc-
ing sounds seemed to lap his senses in Elysium. In the second
stage of childhood, his love of sweet sounds appeared to gather a fresh
vigour ; it literally grew with his growth, and strengthened with
his strength : the gentle admonitions of his mother, and the " whips and
scourges" of his father, were alike ineffectual in curbing his darling
propensity. He would, " many a time and oft," leave his lesson — or yet
more strange, his dinner — to follow the vilest sounds that ever were, by
the utmost stretch of courtesy, denominated music. The newsman's
horn was to him " more musical than is Apollo's lute ;" and he was
quite intoxicated with the liquid strains of "Drops of Brandy," with
which the guard of the Regulator was wont to " salute the opening
morn," at the town in which Skeggins resided. He cared no more for
Punch than a member of the Temperance Society ; but he would cry
" Ha, ha!" at the trumpet which heralded his approach. And he has
been observed to take a very deep and lively interest in the dispute as to
whether the instrument which Punch is rather imperiously ordered to
take away, is an '* organ" or a " nasty bell." It is certain, that the
celebrated fireman's dog was not a more constant attendant at a fire,
than was Apollo, who would run hot-footed for miles to have the felicity
of performing a concerto on the metallic tube of those mortal engines.
" Tops" delighted him not, nor pop-guns either; but give him a drum
or a penny trumpet, and he was yours for ever. We have never been
able to gather any anecdotes of his school days, except that he once got
well whipped because he chose to write " Dulce est Mori," instead of the
well-known line, "Dulce est pro patria Mori :" the former he asserted
was the more correct, and insisted that it referred to the well-known
violinist and present leader of the Opera. The death of his father, before
he (Viotti) had quite reached man — or rather boy-hood — to use his own
words, "made him quite comfortable ;" and coming, as he did, into the
possession of a handsome fortune, he resolved to devote himself, body
and soul, to the cultivation of the favourite passion of his soul. He shut
himself up for six months with a professor of the French horn, to the
acquisition of which instrument he did seriously incline ; and though he
talked about their living in great harmony, it is certain that thev soon
came to blows. However, be that as it may, at the expiration of that
period he had mastered God save the King, with Variations, which
rendered it a matter of some difficulty for its oldest acquaintance to
recognise it (which, as he said, was as certain an indication of fine
playing as obscurity of style is of fine writing) ; and one night he roused
all his neighbours from their downy beds, by his masterly performance of
" We're a' Noddin'," and " When Harmony wakens." The scene, by the
bye, is immortalized by Buss, who by some lucky accident happened to be

436

ON BORK:*.

among the spectators. Of every pursuit, save his favourite science, he
is profoundly ignorant. 'History is to him nothing but an old music-
book Talk to him about^eform, and he answers about Rossini ; politics
give place to Pasta ; and although he cannot give you the title of any
one act passed during the late session of Parliament, his memory bears
a faithful record of every piece performed at the last Birmingham Musical
Festival. We have said that he is profoundly ignorant — take this by
way of illustration : happening to cast his eye on a bookseller's catalogue,
stitched into the Harmonicon, and seeing a work called VIRGILII OPERI,
he immediately gave orders for it, because, as he said, he had never
heard of its performance in England, and had no doubt it would make
a capital hit. He once looked into the Bible, and made a grand dis-
covery : the psaltery, sackbut, and dulcimer, he could not understand —
but he found the antiquity of the serpent, which, as he said, was bass,
and very deep, from nearly the beginning of the world. It may perhaps
be imagined, from what has been said, that at least Apollo possessed a
fine taste for music. If we have conveyed such an impression, it is
erroneous, and we beg to contradict it. In fact, his taste was quite
Catholic, and he would even feed on garbage: the "sweetness long
drawn out" of the bagpipe, whose playing " I' th' nose" — we have it on
Shakspeare's authority — makes some persons behave rather indelicately —
would " take his reason prisoner;" and " All round my Hat," was an
equally enchanting melody with, " Al Idea quel Metallo."

In our endeavour to convey some general notion of this Musical Bore,
we have refrained from more than alluding to what we have suffered in
his acquaintance ; there is a species of humiliation in speaking of our
own affliction, which to a proud mind is even less endurable than the
affliction itself: like the Spartan youth, we may feel it devouring our
very vitals, but we may not bear to enlarge upon our shame. We need
only say, that we have known Apollo Skeggins even from his boyish
years — that he has, from circumstances unnecessary to relate, had ever
a constant access to us. Having said thus much, the world may form
some trifling notion of the extent of our sufferings. He one night took
his seat next us at the Opera, and fearful lest we should think he was a
stranger to the beauties of " La Gazza Ladra," he has favoured us with
a regular humming accompaniment to the music, which at " Di Piacer"
was decidedly getting into a whistle, till recalled to a sense of decorum
by a general hush and call for " silence." Then he was continually
getting into quarrels with gentlemen who had not adopted the precaution
of taking off their shoes in entering the sacred precincts of Fops' Alley ;
and was with difficulty persuaded from sending a cartel, " breathing hot
defiance," to Count D'Orsay, because he chose to speak in something
above a whisper to the Countess Blessington. He one night sat next
us at the theatre ; the play was " Hamlet ;" the performance he bore
with most exemplary patience — but word he spoke not, till Hamlet says
that ' ' Murder, though it hath no tongue, will speak with most miraculous
organ /' on which Viotti whispered us, that he " should greatly like to
hear it ; he had heard the organ at Haarlem, which he thought the finest
in the world, but he had no doubt that this one was a finer." He like-
wise pricked up his ears at the request of Hamlet to Guilderstein, to
" play upon this pipe," and could not conceal his vast indignation at his

THE POET TO MIS LUTE. 437

refusal. " The poor young fellow," he said, " seemed so much to wish
it, and he was sure that the audience would be quite delighted."

" He is religious in it, and enters no church but such as possesses
the finest organ. Does he travel ? still is the " ruling passion" strong
upon him — it is literally a " Voyage Musicale." The Plains of Mara-
thon, and the Pass of Thermopylae, awaken no responsive feeling in his
breast ; but he spent three days in determining the site of the Temple
of Apollo. He thinks it a redeeming trait in the character of Nero,
that while Rome was burning, instead of playing the engines, he played
the fiddle ; and had he lived some centuries ago, we should have had our
suspicions that his were the hands which, according to Seutonius,
" unseen strewed flowers on his tomb." He knows nothing of the
extent, commerce, or antiquities, of the cities he has visited ; but he
knows to the greatest accuracy the admeasurement of the orchestras.
He once journeyed into Scotland, and could get no further than Fife.
Does he " take his ease at his inn," it is at the sign of the Harp or the
Horns. In every window of his house, eolian harps waste their sweet-
ness on the desert air ; all his spoons are^c^/e-headed, and his furniture
fluted. In short, he thinks music — breathes music — lives music — and
will doubtless, " swan like, die in music :" ay, and when the last trumpet
shall sound its awful summons, we warrant, Apollo Skeggins will be
found no laggard. MAR. W — — .

THE POET TO HIS LUTE.

OH, wake once more ! though sad the strain,
And trembling now the hand that flings
Its timid fingers once again
Across thy long-neglected strings.

For I have felt the withering power
Of sorrow, since I heard thee last.
And thou alone in this drear hour
Art left to tell me of the past.

Oh, sad is now my lonely fate,

For all I loved in life is fled ;

And I sit weeping, desolate,

O'er cherished hopes now cold and dead.

And thou and I have long been parted,
For 'mid the wreck of all below
Thou couldst not heal the broken-hearted,
Thou could'st but tell me of my woe.

The weeds that are my casement wreathing,
Have turned around thy broken strings;
And the wild wind across thee breathing
Sighs like some wandering spirit's wings.

Yet wake once more ! I would not have
Thy once-loved tones for ever mute :
Thou soon may'st wail above my grave,
But I shall hear thee not, my lute. * * *

M.M.— No. 11. 3 K

ADVENTURES OF A SERENADED

IT was the latter end of a gloomy and cheerless June ; there had heen,
throughout the month, so many anachronisms in the weather, that all sage
prognosticators had forsworn their barometers, and Moore's Almanack was
scouted as a false prophet. But this sullenness of nature had at length
been subdued ; and, as intricate discords in music frequently precede
the most gentle and liquid melody, so in the harmony of the visible
world, it seemed as if the year's sadness had passed away, and summer
had come forth triumphantly, to perform her work of joy. I was escap-
ing from the durance vile of a town life, and hastening to the green
fields, of which I loved to babble, with a light and a happy heart. Few,
indeed, can luxuriate in the freedom of soul, such as I then felt, if there
have not been some previous restriction on its free agency, something
to clip its wing in the loftiest flight of exultation, and remind it of the
stale world which it must not entirely disregard. As I mounted the
Aurora, light post coach, the vehicle seemed little inferior to the car of
Phaeton. My good friends to the right and left, whose elbows gave me
a palpable argument of their materiality, were deified in my eves, as
fellow wanderers to Elysium ; and even our portly charioteer, embow-
elled as he was in a professional Witney, and bearing in his speech
some testimony of human extraction, appeared little less than a minister-
ing angel ; of comely dimensions indeed, and not quite so ethereal as
might be expected for gentlemen in that capacity. There is some-
thing, too, in the swift motion, by which we are hurried through the air,
that seems to give our spirits a still more exquisite tone. I became,
indeed, .more and more enthusiastic, so that when our journey was com-
pleted, the common catastrophe of warm gin and water, or an abdica-
tion of one's boots, in favour of some household slippers with an illus-
trious pedigree, was bathos so profound, that human nature could not
be reconciled to it ; however, as I had not the wishing cap of Fortuna-
tus, nor a horse with wings at my disposal, that I might emigrate to one
of last year's visible planets, or to that rascally Comet, which afterwards
gave me the ophthalmia, I was e'en content to look unutterable things
at the deserted grate, and ponder over a curious dilution of brandy.
" Marvellous strange is it," thought I, " that the fashion of these things
should be so much altered ; a man is not honest now-a-days, unlesshegives
up his romance for a table-spoonful of most equivocal liquor. The silent
stars are fast losing their jurisdiction over adventurous knights-errant ;
nor is it conceivable what Byron could have been dreaming about, when,
in the feeling of antique times, he exclaimed ' The Devil's in the moon
for mischief ;' and yet more strange, that people should go on in their
perverse adherence to decorum and police regulations, although they
sigh over the loves of Petrarch, and loiter in the Arcadia of Sir Philip
Sydney ! Do they reverence the chivalry of those days, and yet wil-
lingly retreat from the condition of its heroes ? Can they listen to the

ADVENTURES OF A SKRENADER. 439

fond tales, and gaze at the beautiful forms, which history presents to
them, and feel no disposition to emulate, in their own persons, those
idols of song and deities of love ? Methinks (and here I kicked down
the fire-irons) it were well, if one, at least, could enjoy the inspiration
which they have bequeathed to us. It were something, if the minstrels
of lovely Provence might look down upon one of their fraternity, though
detected on the unhallowed and unpoetical ground of Worcestershire !"
It was enough. This climax was an exact antidote to the opinion that —

4«Fire, water, woman, are man's ruin,
And greai's thy clanger, Vander Bruin."

I felt the aggregate soul of the Trouveurs and Troubadours rushing
upon me, and so, without further deliberation, I threw down the Lady's
Magazine for seventy-eight ; omitted to kiss the bar-maid, thereby losing
all credit as an orthodox traveller, and, according to my wont, in " our
own countrie," stole my guitar from the case which inclosed it, and sal-
lied forth from the inn. It was a night of peculiar beauty, for creation
was clothed with smiles, to greet the return of truant zephyrs, and dila-
tory summer ; the heavens were slumbering in their own peculiar luxury
of repose, and I might have believed, from the quiet character of the
scene, that the fair spectacle was unsullied by the observation of any
other eye than my own. And in addition to the congeniality of such a
night, with the curious state of my mind, there was a delicious intricacy
in the arrangement of the little streets which I was parading, so that I
might fancy I had lost my way, without doing my conscience any vio-
lent outrage. In fact, I accomplished this desirable object, by strolling
far and wide, before I commenced any attack ; and, that I might not
pay undue attention to the route pursued, my serenading tactics were
episodically brought into play, by first mustering my whole artillery of
canzonets, and then selecting a piece of ground, where they might be
exercised. "Wake, dearest, wake," and "Oh! come to me," were
called out for active service ; a light cannonade was to be directed from
an able-bodied collection of Spanish airs, and I began to practise the
French " u" for several melodies wherein that efficient vowel occurred.
Shortly, I marked a building of some promise, which retired a good way
from the road-side, and determined to take up my position on an ele-
vated bank which looked obliquely towards the house, so as to have a
sufficient view of any Dulcinea who might present herself, and yet be
shielded, from the cruelty of her eyes, under an ash which trembled
around it. I felt the importance of my situation, and looked at the
moon, moved forward, and as the strings of my instrument brushed
accidentally against the leaves through which it passed, I felt a secret
qualm as the notes stole out, and the ear of night was assaulted omi-
nously by the sound of — A flat ! Should I retreat or stand my ground ?
It was a pusillanimous question, and I decided like a Wellington ! I
was then at the foot of the sloping bank ; my left thumb had resolutely
assumed its post for immediate operations. I fetched a deep sigh,
(alas ! it was not for the purpose of clearing my throat), ascended the
little hillock, and then — the gamut ! Every incident of that evening
clings tenaciously to my recollection. I remember, that the first essay
of my musical powers was in an elegant Italian waltz, to which I had

440 ADVENTURES OF A SERENADER.

adapted words in character with the occasion. I remember, too, the
quavers which my voice was pleased to insert ever and anon, more from
lack of steadiness, than abundance of execution. And, most of all, I
remember that I languished through one well-approved Irish melody,
three serenades, and the better half of Sola's volume, with no effect.
And yet there were lights in some of the rooms, and the moon would
have exhibited any apparition in those apartments which were in dark-
ness. I gazed and quavered — looked and sighed; then marched nearer
to the house — fancied there was something in an upper window, and
then scampered back again. This mode of warfare did not, however,
long continue. Euterpe, Clio, or some of those accomplished females
aided my courageous efforts, and in another moment, some moving
thing did verily appear. How I palpitated ! how I bellowed ! The
divinity or what not, (for I could see nothing but a white outline, very
beautiful, no doubt) still listened, and I launched into " Di Piacer."
Nothing could be more prosperous. My tenor notes, generally of a
mongrel description, exerted themselves very vigorously ; and I had
proceeded into the ' bowels of the song without impediment', till I arrived
at the dubious " che faro ?" when, as if the seraphim in the third story
understood Italian, my eyes were straightway greeted by the waving of
some " pendant flag, or pocket handkerchief," provoking a nearer
approach.

It were difficult, now, to say with what specific feelings I welcomed
this invitation. That a resolution to accept it, was not instantly taken,
cannot be denied. Something of doubt and wonder started up in my
mind. I felt an indescribable awe, though it was of short continuance,
as the uncivil moon illuminated the scene around me. That paddock
and pale sunken fence, and thick coppice, should interpose themselves
between me and my love, was nothing. That I had my goodly limbs
accoutred in vast overalls, and a ponderous Bengy, was less than nothing ;
but that a sad-looking plaster of Paris edifice, with three tiers of three
windows, was staring me out of my fancy and my enthusiasm — this was
the cause ! I could not, like Troilus, sigh my soul towards such Grecian
tents, though all the Cupids in the Troad lay there that night. I could
not — but in less time than would be occupied by a detail of these shame-
faced thoughts, one of the most polite clouds I ever saw, threw us all into
shade. The disastrous building was no more a simple brick messuage,
or tenement, and I myself no longer an example —

" How greatly love is
Embarrassed at first starting with a novice."

With no bad grace I accomplished a vault over a set of double rails,
marched triumphantly through a stunted hedge, and with great success
withdrew my boots from the briars and bushes, the mire and the swamps,
which strove to detain them. With the loss of a little breath, and the
gain of much mud, I came to an open area, fronting the castle-gate.
Strange achievement ! What could I have thought of on the road ?
This has much puzzled me since. The complacence with which the
challenge was accepted, the little ceremony employed in pursuing the
scheme, and the nonchalance which characterized the progress of the
exploit, have occurred to me often, as most professional and proper.

ADVENTURES OF A SERENADER. 441

How had I forgotten man-traps ? Did the interference of spring-guns
appear impossible ? Might not a keeper raise the neighbourhood, and
mine own calves be discovered the next morning, enthroned in their
mud and their melancholy, and holding private communion with the
stocks of the parish ?

How was it that a knight, little tried, and less celebrated, should
undertake with effrontery so desperate an enterprise, and receive the
encouragement of his ladye with such equanimity ? Of a truth, and I
confess it freely, it was no usual or indifferent occurrence in my history,
to enjoy favour in such expeditions. Often as I have made similar
experiments, so often may I enumerate unfortunate results. Thrice did
I essay to melt thy tough heart, oh, most inveterate Susan Hopkins !
I knew not, at the time, thy titles or thy consequence, for though my
gallantry was frequent and long, yet thy stubbornness was decided, and
thy aversion most explicit ; before it was hinted to me that thy liege
lord was sexton of St. Botolph's parish. Thou too, most antique Mis-
tress Sullivan, to whose window-curtain I paid devotion for a week and
a day — thou whom I never saw, and scarcely ever heard of — thou whom
I might have loved but that thy grandson did horsewhip me for the
attempt ; thou wilt confess, on thine own part, how little I have been
indebted to woman's love. Nor were these solitary failures : twice did
a proctor at the University deem that a disturbance of the king's peace,
which more truly was the ruin of my own ; when I ingeniously tried to
become enamoured of some female, eminent for all the local charac-
teristics of virtue and beauty ; when I caught a cold instead of inspira-
tion, and was fined six and eight-pence for being a mere idiot ! My
laborious and unrequited serving of one inamorata, threw me into a
fever. The under men-servants of another angel threw me into a horse-
pond — and with these " offences at my back," had I no hesitation, no
shivering apprehensions, no uneasy disquietude, as I stood before the
mansion ? Most Quixotic hardihood ! Rather did I chuckle in pros-
pect, and actually had the impudence to indulge in speculations, how
the lady might be able to contrive an escape from the indignation of her
relations and fellows ! Without remorse did I transfer all doubts and
trepidations from myself, to the object of my suit ; and presumingly
affected a regard for the dangers of my fair patroness, in preference to
my own.

The pause, however, occasioned by these ruminations, was soon con-
cluded. For, on a sudden, the white outline had disappeared from its
post ; the window was dark and desolate — so I gave up my compunc-
tions, and recommenced my attack. Through various ditties did I wan-
der with much pathos. My determination to lose no ground was abso-
lute ; so trotted I still onward, little caring for false notes or eccentric
flourishes. I had arrived indeed so far at last in the expenditure of my
voice, that if ever a shake were set a going, instead of the contiguous
notes seeming like neighbours who have come to blows, the effect was
rather that of two speculative gentlemen, entering into partnership,
where there was an occasional demur on either side, an equivocal con-
cession, and at last a mutual blending, to the utter confusion of the par-
ties. I was not unrewarded for my painful exertions. A flitting some-
what came and went ever and anon. If it chanced that the image was

442 ADVENTURES OF A SERKNADER.

multiplied to my anxious eye, I threw the blame of the delusion on that
very anxiety, and was satisfied with the dramatic unity of my amour.
If, too, any noise or noises assaulted my ear, little agreeing with the
assumed character of my incognita, I charged the elements with the
unkindness, and moved a little farther from that obstreperous Laurestinus.
I confess that my voice was growing a little that is a very little, out of
order, and my execution began to disgrace the fingers once disciplined
by Martial Bruni, when the salutation of the handkerchief was again
proffered. Nearer still marched I. That a sign should next be commu-
nicated— perhaps an intimation in writing — perhaps actually a word
of favour, "of such sweet breath composed!" I had not a doubt.
Underneath the window I took my stand, and with wistful eye contem-
plated the deity at whose shrine my devotion was offered. A moment
more — and .as I gazed with hushed breath at the window — pop!
down fell an ocean of inconceivable liquids ; my cheek was at the
same time grazed by a china vase in its descent ; my poor guitar was
smitten by the enemy, and I myself, blinded, wounded, and exasperated,
was solaced by a roar of laughter from the civil engineers above. My
first impulse was that of revenge ; my next, that of fear. For as I was
the aggressor, I could expect no satisfaction ; and, as if to corroborate
this persuasion, a general muster of lights, and medley of voices from
within, arrested my attention. Male and female, treble and bass,
shrieks of laughter, and growls of rage, united in one glorious concert.
I faresaw readily that the matrons would sneer and the maidens would
quiz ; that the old men would threaten, and the young ones thrash me ;
so, without delay, I seized my prostrate and mangled instrument, wiped
my eyes most tragically, and galloped from the scene of my disaster
— another Buonaparte from another Waterloo ; at once a sadder and a
wiser man. When I had regained the inn, so ignominiously treated a
little while before, I discovered that my guitar had suffered a compound
fracture, and that my face was indeed a quaint spectacle, varigated with
some donations of mud from my boots, and many parti* coloured fancy
patterns, engraven thereon by the cataract of strange waters with which
I had been deluged. I marched up to bed, and grumbled through the
night, rose in time for the next morning's coach, and having learnt from
the waiter all the particulars of the family so hospitable to me on the
preceding night, I made a solemn vow, to which I have adhered most
religiously, never again to serenade the second wife of i retail tallow
chandler !

FILIAL AFFECTION, AND PARENTAL LOVE.

THE extensive authority of parents under the Chinese laws is well
known. A Chinese of forty years old, whose aged mother flogged him
every day, shed tears in the company of one of his friends. — " Why do
you weep ?" — " Alas ! things are not as they used to be. The poor wo-
man's arm grows feebler every day."

( 443 )

THE OMNIBUS.

HAVING finished my business in the city, and wishing to return to
the west-end, I stepped into one of those unwieldy vehicles, so convenient
for those who have more time than money, and more patience than
either — videlicet, an Omnibus. The day was intensely hot, and although
the numbers that thronged the streets were undiminished, yet they
moved sluggishly, and seemed to toil rather than walk along. The
omnibus " dragged its slow length along," so tardily as to make it
doubtful to a casual observer whether it moved at all, and it was not till
he had contemplated each of the spokes as they were successively
presented to his view, that he could be at all certain. Having no business
immediately to attend to, this gradual progression was to me imma-
terial ; so, without troubling the driver to stop, I stepped in. As 1
entered, I observed, sitting at the opposite end of the omnibus, a short
spare figure, dressed in any way but in unison with the weather. He
wore a fur cap, fitting close to the head, with lappets hanging over his
ears. A coat, double-breasted waistcoat, and cloth trousers, completed
his attire. In his hand he held a large umbrella, and over his arm hung
a thick great-coat. He appeared as if he had gone to sleep in the depth
of winter, and not having awakened for several months, had dressed
himself according to his last ideas on the subject. Several times I thought
I observed him bend forward, as if going to address me ; but each time,
on turning towards him, he had resumed his previous posture, and was
looking certainly every where but at me, though where in particular I
could not exactly determine. At length I made one of those common-
place but convenient remarks, which, like pioneers, serve to open the
way to a conversation. In a short time, I learned that he was going off
from the west-end by the coach in which he had booked his place, that
same afternoon, at three o'clock. It was then a quarter past two, and
we were at the Bank.

" I don't think, sir," said I, "you will have much time to spare."

" No," he replied, " I don't think I shall ; I thought so when I got
in. But I have still three quarters of an hour, and the distance is only
three miles. But then, to be sure, omnibuses go very slow."

" Yes, sir, they do," said I; " and as the streets, at this hour, are
thronged with carriages, there is no certainty as to the time we may be
detained. We have been waiting here ten minutes already.'*

" Ten minutes! have we indeed, sir? I did not think it was so
long. Dear me ! my watch, too, is stopped. I thought I would get it
mended yesterday; but then I thought I had better let it be till I
returned from the country."

I now perceived that my fellow-passenger was one of those men whose
minds are so wavering, that they never resolve to act until the oppor-
tunity is past. As I knew that it was quite problematical whether he
would get to the coach-office in time, I suggested to him the expediency

444 THJt OMNIBUS.

of getting out of the omnibus, and taking some more expeditious con-
veyance.

" Yes, sir, very true, as you say; I shall not have much time ; and it
is half-past two now. Well, I think, as you say, I had better get out —
we go on very slowly now. Yes, I am afraid I shall be too late ; I had
better get out."

Unfortunately for his nearly-formed resolution, the horses at this
moment began to move at a much quicker pace ; when the traveller,
saying something about " making up for lost time," resumed the seat
which he had half quitted.

" Omnibuses are a great convenience, sir," observed one of the
passengers, as a very fat gentleman entered, and sat down with a force
that shook the vehicle.

" Very," said the fat gentleman, pursing up his mouth with an air
of authority, which showed that, having delivered his opinion, he con-
sidered there could be no doubt on the subject.

" They were first introduced in France, I believe," said a very tall and
very thin boy, sitting by the side of the last speaker, who I found was
his father : the two as they sat side by side looking like a round of beef
and a skewer.

" Poor people, the French," said the father, taking no notice of his
son's remark: " very poor people. Wouldn't live with them for the
world. Only stopped in the country a night. Could'nt get any thing to
eat. Asked for some soup, and they brought me carrots and water ;
nasty wishy-washy stuff. They called it Soup In — In — D — n it, it was
not fit for a Jew !"

This was followed by a hearty laugh, the fat gentleman evidently
liking his own fun better than the soup ; and certainly his " fair round
belly" did not appear to have been produced by feeding on carrots and
water.

" What do they call it, Tom ?" said he, addressing his son, after he
had recovered from his laugh.

*' Oh, vou mean soup a la Italienne," said Tom, in a tone which
plainly told that he, too, had been in France.

His reply caught the attention of a person who had just entered, and
turning towards Tom, he said in a foreign accent, " do you speak
French ?"

" Oh yes, sir, Tom speaks French," said his father, looking round, a
little proudly. Gratified vanity appeared in the boy's face for a moment
at this declaration of his talents, but it was checked by the reflection that
the truth of it might be soon put to the test.

" Have you been in France ?" continued the foreigner.
"Yes."

" How did you like it?" and then, without waiting a reply, he sunk
back on his seat, and ejaculating ' La Belle France,' sunk into a reverie,
probably produced by the recollections of his country.

Our attention was now attracted by a crowd of men, who, armed with
sticks and other weapons, were pursuing a dog that, with tongue lolling
out, was running down the street, barking and snapping at every thing
that opposed him.

" Dangerous," said the Fat Gentleman. " Dogs ought not to be let

THE OMNIBUS. 445

lo'ose in this hot weather. I never see a dog in such weather, but I
think of being smothered."

" I was once bitten by a mad dog," said a melancholy-looking person,
sitting in the corner opposite to the traveller. " I have got the mark
still ;" and he proceeded to turn up his cuff in order to give us ocular
demonstration.

A general shrinking towards the door followed this intelligence, and
several declared it to be ' very hot/ which the drops of perspiration
which had suddenly appeared on their foreheads sufficiently attested.

" But I had the piece cut out directly afterwards," said the Melan-
choly Gentleman, on observing the consternation his information had
caused. Each resumed his place, although several still looked at him
with suspicion.

During this conversation the traveller had grown extremely uneasy.
Every passenger that entered seemed to revive his hopes, while every
stoppage of the omnibus (which did not seldom occur) having a contrary
effect, kept his mind vibrating like a pair of scales, from side to side,
and prevented him having a moment's rest. Comparative ease seemed,
however, to be afforded him as we galloped round St. Paul's Church-
yard ; but, alas ! it continued only till we reached the top of Ludgate
Hill, where the driver, being no doubt a man of taste, very considerately
pulled up to enable us to admire the beauty of the Cathedral.
" Stupendous structure, sir," observed one of the passengers.
" Very, sir," said the Fat Gentleman. " Very grand. Nothing can
be finer. Some say it's not so grand as what d'ye call 'em at Rome — "
"St. Peter's," said Tom, filling up the hiatus in his father's
memory.

"Ah! St. Peter's," continued his father. "But it's impossible, sir.
It can't be grander. Why, the hands of the clock are six feet long."
Of course, after such proof there could be no further dispute.
The traveller's anxiety had prevented him from attending to the con-
versation, but his attention was aroused on hearing the word 'clock/ ,
that anxious sound in which he was so much interested ; and starting,
he eagerly inquired the time, adding, that he was going off by the
coach at three, and was afraid that he should be too late. Three or
four watches were immediately pulled out, while at the same time the
owners were telling him the ' exact' time : the exact time being differ-
ent in each case. Hope or despair appeared in his countenance accord-
ing as each statement receded from or approached to the dreaded hour.
Numerous tales, too, were told of hair-breadth 'scapes from being left
behind by unrelenting coachmen, whose duty being to take the coach to
its destination, leave the passengers to take care of themselves.

" Unpleasant to be left behind, sir," said the Stout Gentleman. "I
was once left behind myself, sir. I was to go off at four o'clock. Had
paid for my place. As I was going along the Strand, the clock struck.
I ran all the rest of the way. Had not 400 yards to go. Did'nt take
two minutes. Coach had gone. I said it must have gone before the
time. Clerk denied it, and said if I went to the corner I might see it.
Very pleasant suggestion, sir, to see it going without me. Lost my
money, sir. Never book my place again."

At this tale, the traveller's fears grew ungovernable ; and starting up,

446 TOM MOORE AT BANNOW.

he called to the Cad to stop. Putting one foot on the ground, ready «to
start, he hurriedly inquired the way to the Green Man and Still.

" Green Man and Still ! Lord bless you, sir ; vy, you're not near it.
Ve does not come that vay."

*' Which is the way, then ?" gasped the traveller, his agitation almost
choking him.

" Vy, sir, you must go up there," pointing in the direction ; " and ven
you comes to that 'ere corner, you must "

At this moment the clock of St. Martin's Church struck three, and
without stopping to hear the rest of the direction, the terrified Traveller
rushed up Cockspur-street, in the vain hope of reaching the coach-office
in time.

TOM MOORE AT BANNOW.

" ALL the addresses having been read and answered, a young man>
named Martin M'Donald Doyle, of the parish of Tintern, was introduced
to Mr. Moore by his friend and neighbour, Mr. John M'Brien, as an
humble follower in the train of the Pierian Maids.

Mr. M'Brien said, — "Sir, I beg leave, as one of this deputation, to
introduce to your attention, an amiable and humble Irish youth, and a
scion of promise. It is unnecessary for me here to expatiate on his merits
— your honourable friend and his kind patron (pointing to Mr. Boyse)
who knows how to appreciate them, will speak to you of him as he
deserves."

The modest aspirant to Parnassian laurels then stepped forward, and
addressed his immortal prototype, in the following vigorous strain, re-
cited with great emphasis and feeling; —

TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ. BANNOW.

Welcome ! thou minstrel of the West,

While thousands throng to greet, to bless thee ;
In feeble strain, among the rest,

A rustic rhymer dares address thee.
Unskilled to pour the polished lay,

And nurs'd in life's less favour'd ranks,
He ventures, in his homely way,

To welcome thee to " Bannow's Banks."

When first I sung, 'twas when thy strains

Their wizard spell around me threw —
Of tears, and loves, and flowers, and chains,

I fondly tried to sing like you ;
And if 'twas MOORE'S entrancing songs

That plumed my muse's early wing,
To whom if not to MOORE belongs

The little she has sought to sing ?

TOM MOORK AT BANNOW. 447

Lone, pining, in her dark retreat,

A nameless, friendless thing she grew,
Wild as the wild flow'r at her feet,

As simple and as lowly, too :
In sooth, she was a lonesome muse,

And few would care to list her voice,
Till as she sung of Ireland's woes,

She touch'd the manly heart of BOYSE !

You first awoke her infant lyre —

He bade the puny numbers thrill ;
You kindled first her minstrel fire —

He trims, and feeds, and fans it still
From you the mimic warbler springs — ,

You urged her tiny wing to soar ;
If you approve the strain she sings,

Can " minstrel boy" solicit more !

Oh ! long shall Bannow's unborn race,

As countless ages roll along,
In Bannow's rural records trace

This visit of " The Child of Song ;"
Then pardon this untutored lay,

And deign t'accept his humble thanks,
Who, rhyming in his brain-sick way,

Thus welcomes thee to Bannow's Banks.

The production of the youthful Minstrel was listened to with profound
attention, and rewarded with the most gratifying applause and approba-
tion of all present. Mr. Moore immediately took him by the hand,
shook it with great heartiness, and said — " I am happy to meet such a
brother poet here ; it is the first time we have met, it must not be the
last."

Mr. Moore now mixed with the admiring crowd, with a courtesy of
manner and affability of deportment, which won all hearts ; conversing
with all classes, and acknowledging, with his own peculiar warmth of
heart, the impression indelibly made upon him by this signal and flatter-
ing manifestation of public feeling in his regard."

*** We have presented our readers with this portion of the detailed
account of the " Bannow Meeting," held to welcome Mr. Moore to the
hospitable home of his dear and sensible friend Mr. Boyse, &c., con-
ceiving it would be acceptable to them ; and in the unpretending hope,
that it might meet the eye of Mr. Moore himself, and his Irish friends.
The Bard of Erin must have felt highly delighted with the fervour of
fondness, and admiring enthusiasm, which greeted him on every side,
on this truly interesting occasion. Long may the delightful master
hand which conjured up the " honied words" that are to be found in Lalla
Roohk, live to enjoy the recollection of pleasure so pure — of veneration
so beautifully elicited ; long may he live to sing of Ireland's fame and
unfading beauty.

ED.

( 448

THE POEMS OF SHAKSPEARE.
" His native wood-notes wild."

THE neglect to which more than two centuries have agreed in con-
signing what are called (and it is no figure of speech) the Poems of
Shakspeare, has ever astonished us. It is certain that, though, in some
instances, we may be led by our veneration of the Saint into a super-
stitious adoration of his most worthless appendages, we may have, in
other cases, committed a parallel injustice, in restricting the supposed
presence of the Divinity to some one shrine, better suited, perhaps, but
not more hallowed.

It is hard to discover a standard, wherewith to measure these appa-
rent caprices of taste ; through the influence of which, while one poet
has been enabled, by the golden chain of a matchless production, to
draw up all his inferior creations — another, like chaos separating into
elements, with a portion of his material has supplied the atmosphere of
the Gods, while the rest of his substance is left to be trampled upon
by men.

The effects of genius, like those of artificial agents, are, and have
been, contradictory : the warrior's fame has sometimes proved itself his
best ally, and has saved him the bodily exertion of conquering ; the
writer's fame has often insured a preternatural duration to the meanest
effort of his pen. Renown, like the steam-engine, while it is an applicable
strength, multiplies in a mighty ratio the hero's animal power ; or, like
paper credit, jvhile public opinion continues propitious, imparts a nominal
value to the meanest scrap issued by genius. But it also shares with
these extraordinary forces the risk of a recoil, or the natural aversion of
the crowd to experiment.

We have an instance, in the world's behaviour to Shakspeare and
Milton, of a whimsical anomaly in public opinion. Milton's smaller
poems, like the ring about Saturn, have caught splendour from the
principal body; — Shakspeare's satellites have been eclipsed in the
excessive blaze of his drama, like Mercury in the vicinage of the sun.
Perhaps the reason of our different treatment of the vassals, should be
sought in the differing natures of the paramount productions. Where
the great work is an object for the bulk of its worshippers of unapproach-
able awe, where the common reader is called on for such an exertion, as
discourages him from frequently recurring to it, he is glad to escape into
those more superficial or careless effusions, where towering genius
preludes or relaxes. Charmed with the sagacity that can identify the
mark of the Paradise in the Allegro, he celebrates, with exaggerated
rapture, a work which at once soothes his vanity with the hope that he
can feel Milton, and exempts his indolence from the solemnity of Scrip-
tural reference. But when the poet's Magnum Opus has an obvious
human interest, it engrosses the curiosity of the many ; so that spec-

THE POEMS OP sHAkspEARi:. 449

tators, satisfied with what catches the eye, and incapable of even desiring
an analysis of those philosophic perfections, which raise Shakspeare's
poetry above any dependance on representation, have so long regarded
him as exclusively a dramatist, that they have lost all conception of his
other merits.

But there is no evil without its accompanying good. If these Poems
have been comparatively unread, they have been also comparatively
uncriticised ; and this, as the world is constituted, particularly since it
grew Chrestomathian, is no slender advantage. The enthusiastic
pilgrim, who would approach in the desire of raising to their due estima-
tion these prostrate miracles of talent, will have no previous rubbish to
remove — no digested nuisance of irreverent predecessors to disgust him
with his task — no mechanical defilers to encounter, who love to leave
against every pillar of antiquity the Oriental proof of their critical
manhood. Here is one spot of Shakspeare's glory, on which he can
ponder without an interrupting sound ; or if the holy silence be infringed,
it is by Coleridge, who comments on our favourite, as Cayster on its
swans, by wafting his melody and reflecting his form. Nor can we much
less congratulate our fortune, that this part of his works, at least, has
escaped the Aristarchs of former ages. It was a good allegory of the
wit, who compared Shakspeare's rents by his critics, to Actseon devoured
by his dogs ; but it was not sufficiently expressive. The human soul is
more akin to the canine spirit, than is Shakspeare to the pack of his
commentators. Had not a German brain conceived the almost blas-
phemous idea, that Homer is a body corporate, we might safely assert,
that Shakspeare has been worse treated by his critics, than any other son
of genius. But it is not merely from tbe pedants and fribbles of
literature —the Bentleys and the Theobalds — that this great man has
suffered wrong ; the apologies, and the censures of great critics, and of
great poets, have entered into conspiracy against him. Pope applies for
a rule to show cause, why Shakspeare should be exempted from Aristotle's
code, on a plea that contains an unnecessary and degrading falsehood,
" that he wrote to the people" — i. e. to the upper gallery, or at highest
the pit — '* and that, at first, without patronage from the better sort, or
aim of pleasing them." He then varies the words, but not the sense of
his assertion, by saying, " that he formed himself on the judgment of
the players ;" quite forgetting Ben Jonson (something more than a
player) and Southampton (the favourite's friend), to whom, by Shaks-
peare's express declaration, " the first heir of his invention" is dedicated ;
quite forgetting —

" Those flights upon the banks of Thames
Which so did take Eliza and our James/'

We would not have our readers charge us with the literary Toryism of
making " Eliza," or " our James," the defenders of our poetical faith, or
with the irrationality of preferring the critical acumen of kings to their
subjects (of George the Fourth, for instance, to Southey the First) ; but
we merely wished to show the ground of Pope's argument to be as false
as the structure. Dr. Johnson, though by some fine remarks, and by
his glorious demolition of the unities, he may be supposed to have
acquired some right to be wrong, has yet stretched his gigantic privilege

450 THE POEMS OF SHAKSPEARE.

beyond its fair limit, when he dared to assert that Shakspeare " in
tragedy, often writes with great appearance of labour, what is written at
last with little felicity" — " that the effect of his throes is tumour,
meanness, tediousness, and obscurity" — " that in narration, he affects a
disproportionate pomp of diction, and a wearisome train of circumlocu-
tion, and tells the incident imperfectly in many words, which might have
been more perfectly delivered in few." Does this characterize the
author of " Othello," or of " Irene ?" Is our egotistical doctor his own
theme ? When this learned Theban alternately thunders and chuckles
over Shakspeare's "love of quibbling," he is, to a believing reader,
what he asserts a quibble is to Shakspeare — " a luminous vapour that
deceives the traveller." Whoever has witnessed the childishness of
agony, that shocking levity with which men in deep woe grasp at a
word, or hunt down a thought, will impute these apparent blemishes to
their true cause — Shakspeare's knowledge of the unaccountable moods of
the mind. But let this incomparable bard pronounce, in his own lan-
guage, his own justification : —

<l Sorrow, like a heavy hanging bell
Once set a-ringin<j, with its own weight goes ;
That little strength rings out the doleful knell.
So Lucrece, set a-woik, sad tales doth tell
To pencil'd peusiveness and coloured sorrow."

Equally unfounded is Johnson's censure of the moral tendency of Shak-
speare's plays. He owns, that from his works " a system of social duty
could be collected ;" but he blames him because " his precepts and ac-
tions drop casually from him ;" that is, he blames the great painter of
this world, for the exact portraiture of that present providence, the mo-
ral governance of which no one denies to appear accidental, though the
combined result of the whole can only be explained by the employment
of infinite wisdom. Shakspeare was too great a philosopher to imagine
that the world could be imposed on by that stale ethical falsehood, that
every action, good or bad, is to meet its immediate and appropriate re-
ward ; but has unpretendingly enforced this general product of his reflec-
tion, that the balance of happiness will be found in the aggregate in
favour of goodness. We are perfectly convinced, that those authors,
who have gone on a contrary principle, of representing the world as one
large court of law and equity, always sitting without one drawback of
fee, vacation time, or quibble, if they have done anything, (which is
improbable), have done harm ; and that the disciples (if such there be)
of Rasselas, Celebs, or lazy Lawrence, cheated ere long of their fair
hopes, will have to exclaim before they die, with the greatest disciple of
Zeno's school, " Virtue, what art thou but a name ?" Had this charge
of immorality been made against Beaumont and Fletcher,* the next
best poets of the day, who seem more completely emancipated from the
trammels of law and morality than might be expected from the sons of a
judge and a bishop, we should, without a sigh, have resigned them to
the critical lash. But we can never consent that Shakspeare should be
charged with error, in what is one of his most signal merits — that ex-

* See Campbell's Essay on the British Poets.

THE POEMS OF SHAKSPEARE. 451

quisite grace * and unobtrusive observance of nature, with which he
contrives to leave on the mind a general moral effect, gathered from the
discordant examples of society.

But there is a heavier charge against Shakspeare, which Johnson
would not produce, but which we will ; that is, the leaning of his politics
to prerogative, and the false ideas, which, from the force of his genius,
he has been enabled to convey to posterity of English history. All the
concealed bias of his historic drama, (for he is too great a master of his
art, to make himself the open advocate of sect or party ; and his objects
in politics, as in morals, are effected by secret impulses,) is to check that
spirit of democratical enthusiasm, the growth of which, especially in the
breasts of the puritans, must have been obvious to the clear-sighted
spirits of England, ere the timbers of the fatal ship f " Soveraigne"
were yet green acorns. Much allowance should be made for the preju-
dice of a player against the puritans, those avowed enemies of the stage,
whose successful rebellion, and the subsequent restoration, have since
proved a death-blow to the genuine English drama : much indulgence
should be granted, in the particular of passive obedience, to " the king's
majestie's servants," who might suppose themselves in duty and by
wages bound to speak for their master. However great may be a man's
talents, they must ever take a colour, more or less marked, from the pre-
judice of the day ; and Shakspeare' s doctrines will appear sound and
moderate, when compared with the party spirit of Johnson ; who fas-
tened with the angry indefatigable grin of a bull- dog, on the nose (lite-
rally speaking) of puritanism ; or, with the gross servility of the high-
born Beaumont and Fletcher, who deformed the plot of their most beau-
tiful play by the weakness of a warrior, who would fight his best friend
for a look, and yet endures with patience the most stinging wrongs ra-
ther than violate the divine right of + kings to commit them. In con-
sidering that coloured mass of British story, which Shakspeare has
bequeathed us, we should never forget that he wrote, at least in part,
under the house of Tudor ; (nor was the change of house in his latter
period, a change for the better,) a family, who by their connexion with
great events, which in their effects still continue to influence the national
opinion, have obtained a vantage-spot in public estimation, of which

* There does not exist a better example of this intention to obviate evil, than
the silent refutation of Jacques's magnificent misanthropy, where he has closed his
tirade against human nature, with that disheartening description of extreme age —

"Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing,"

by the immediate entrance of Orlando with Adam. What more beautiful antidote
to discontent, what more effectual sweetener of Jacques's bitterness, than the ap-
pearance of one, whose age was " as a lusty winter, frosty, but kindly ?"

| The name of the ship for which Hampden refused to pay, ** the building of
which cost his Majesty the affection of his subjects, who quarrelled with him,"
says Evelyn, with a cavalier candour, " for a trifle, refusing to contribute to their
own safety or his glory."

J So antiquated, in its literal force, is the doctrine of divine right, that the for-
bearance of Amyntor in the Maid's Tragedy appears now unnatural ; yet we fear
there were many in Beaumont's time who would have acted similarly. In like
manner, we have lost all conception of the effects produced on the army of the
rebel slaves in Justin, by the Scythians shaking scourges at them.

452 THE POEMS OF SHAKSPEARE.

infamous crime and detestable policy alike rendered them unworthy.
This artful dynasty had itself wielded the pen, and could well estimate
the value of its service, when skillfully guided, Its last representative,
in whom all the wicked energies of that house were concentrated, the
man- queen Elizabeth, has contrived to ensconce her bloated iniquities
behind the webs of a thousand poets and historians. These have sent
her down to posterity the virgin, the heroine, the good queen Bess.
No doubt the enemies of her house suffered in proportion ; for whenever
the cardinal virtues are forced into one camp for greater security, the
cardinal vices are detached to the other.

We have small hesitation in avowing, that Shakspeare has contributed,
perhaps from necessity, to produce or fortify some of these errors ; and
we can hardly blame him for leaning partially to that queen who is said
to have suggested subjects to his muse. But whenever the remoteness
of the scene presents an occasion, that love of freedom, which ever
burns in the breast of the truly great, bursts forth uncontrollably.. Let
those who doubt, compare this plebeian in his conception of Brutus and
Cassius with the republican Dante, or the patrician Sackville ;

" Oh, bloody Brutus, rightly dost thou rue,
And thou, O Cassius, justly came thy fall.*"

Johnson asserts Shakspeare's genius to have had a natural tendency to
comedy. " His tragedy seems to have been skill, his comedy instinct."
To decide at the bottom of which depth of the unfathomable ocean
the most treasure lies strewed, may, at first sight, seem an inquiry as
hopeful as the decision between Shakspeare's excellences. We have no
sufficient data for such comparison ; yet, to us, it has always appeared,
that into the mirth of Shakspeare, as into the Irish music, there entered
a pathos, f the reverse of which we could never discern in his sorrow.
Our surmise will be allowed to receive confirmation, if we can produce an
instance of the same subject treated by Shakspeare and some author .of
a decided comic cast, in which the former shall have differed from the
latter by introducing a sympathy into a ludicrous situation. The prac-
tical joke of a duel between cowards has never been so ably conducted
as by Shakespeare, in his Twelfth Night, and by Johnson in his silent
Woman. The mutual fears of Ague cheek and Viola, and of Daw and
Lafoole, are excited in a manner very similar. It would be hard to
adjust the scales of humour between Sir Toby and Truewit. After the
former has acquainted the supposed Cesario, that "his interceptor, full
of despite, bloody as the hunter, attends him at Orchard's End," how
artfully does he raise the climax of horror, when he assures him, " souls
and bodies has he divorced three — and his incensement, at this moment,

* Millon has been praised, and deservedly, for having seen through the false
taste of his age in Gardens. Shakspeare detecttd error in a wider field — elo-
quence. The speech of Brutus to his people is in the fashion of the time — of Sir
Edward Coke, for instance,— though Shakespeare has improved him, as he Little-
ton. The correction and reprimand of his contemporaries are in the matchless
speech of Antony, which none other of that day could have conceived, and which
Curran considered the best study for an incipient orator.

t Vide the death of Falstaff, or the meeting of Master Launcelot Gobbo and his
papa.

THK POEMS OF SHAKSPEAUK. 453

is so implacable, that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death and
sepulchre :" and how he still rises above himself in his address to Sir
Andrew Ague- cheek, " Why, man, he is a very devil; I have not seen
such a virago, &c. &c. A. Pox on't ! I'll not meddle with him. T.
Ay, but he'll not now be pacified ; Fabian can scarce hold him yonder."
With an equally ludicrous gravity, Truewit magnifies his adversary to the
affrighted Daw. "I have known many men, in my time, vexed with
losses, with deaths, and with abuses, but so offended a wight as Sir
Amorous did I never see or read of," &c. &c. And when Daw asks him
whether he is armed ? T. " Armed ! Did you ever see a fellow set out
to take possession ? D. I, sir. T. That may give you some light to
conceive him ; but 'tis nothing to the principal." And then to his
rival — " Enter here, if you love your life. A. Why, why ? T. Question
till your throat be cut — do — dally till the enraged soul finds you. A.
Who is that ? T. Daw it is ; will you in ?" He afterwards informs
him — " Daw walks the round up and down through every room of the
house, with a towel in his hand, crying, ' Where is Lafoole ? who saw
Lafoole ?' And when Dauphin and I asked the cause, we could force no
answer from him but, ' O revenge, how sweet art thou — I will strangle
him with this towel.' "

So far the two poets laugh equally well and equally heartily — •

" But there,
I doubt, all likeness ends between the pair."

In Ben Jonson, we enjoy the meek sincerity of Daw's panic, so finely
contrasted with the furious cowardice of Sir Amorous, who seems to fly
into a passion with his enemy for doubting his powers of enduring every
contrivable indignity. The whole is excellently comic ; and if our
laughter is interrupted, it is but to reflect, with Truewit, " who fears the
most," and perhaps decide with Cleremont, " this fears the bravest — the
other a whmelling dastard, Jack Daw, but Lafoole a brave heroic coward,
and is afraid in a great look and a stout accent. I like him rarely."
How different is Shakspeare's management of his materials ! By our
previous knowledge of the sex of Viola, an interest, however slight, is
excited, and the attention is no longer divided between two comic
objects, but the contrast is between the glare of the ridiculous and the
shade of the pathetic. That " tragicomedy" which Jonson professes to
enact between the Guelphs and the Ghibellines, Daw and Lafoole, is, in
sober truth, discernible in Shakspeare. We enter seriously into Viola's
feelings, when she deprecates the duel ; and we mentally join with her
when she exclaims, " Pray God defend me ; a little thing would make
me tell them how much I lack of man." This pathos, which runs
through the comedy of Shakspeare, is the chrysalis of tragedy, and the
essential difference of the higher order of intellect.

But, in reproving the errors, of which real genius has been guilty in
its estimate of Shakspeare, we are involuntarily reminded of a paragraph
in the most able essay of a review we recollect to have read with surpass-
ing pleasure ; we cannot pass it over in silence, for it seems to us to
encroach on the honours of him for whom we are jealous, and it is, per-
haps, the only opinion in that essay, with which we do not admiringly

M.M.— No. 11. 3 M

454 THE POEMS OP SHAKSPEARE.

concur*. The writer says, " if Shakspeare had written a book on the
motives of human actions, it is by no means certain that it would have
been a good one : it is extremely improbable, that it would have con-
tained half so much able reasoning on the subject, as is to be found in
Mandeville's Fable of the Bees." Had Shakspeare, either in prose or
verse, written a work of the kind, never would so much of the mystery
of motive been cleared up, or the causes of action developed. It is true,
no necessary connection exists, between the metaphysical and poetical
faculty. The mere strength of imagination, will enable the poet to ex-
press the sentiments of his personages, without necessarily understand-
ing the nature of their motives. The magic power just serves to trans-
port his mind into the bodies he has moulded ; in which new abode, it
may continue as ignorant of its operations, as it generally is in its original
one. But the mind of Shakspeare appears to have been of no such par-
tial strength. The philosopher every- where stands forth, with as marked
a firmness as the poet, and, in keen observations, of more than Baconian
strength, he analyses, from time to time, those rich creations he has
combined. To the accurate observer, it must appear that his mind's eye
was as piercing into the nature of things as his body's eye was rapid in
catching their forms. It is true, that from this combination of powers,
his mode of conveying his ideas in the supposed work would have been
different from that of the man who should possess but the systematizing
faculty. He would have taught by pictures, rather than architectural
drawings, and instead of leaving an armoury of general rules, to be fitted,
as they best might, to individuals, he would have sufficiently hinted
those general rules in vigorous, extempore, individual portraits.

Let this one instance exemplify our meaning and his sagacity. Junius
notices among the peculiarities of the Scotch, "the everlasting profes-
sion of a discreet and moderate resentment." Here we have the general
rule of the nation that has begotten Blackwood that was — but is now
defunct, admirably expressed. Shakspeare, in a repartee, marks the
same trait several years before Blackwood was born. " What think you
of the Scottish Lord, his neighbour ? — That he has a neighbourly charity
in him, for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swore
he would pay him when he was able." — What a masterly breadth of
observation gleams through this sally, and hpw accordant with Junius's
remark !

But we have wandered strangely from our theme, the Poems of Shak-
speare— and, like Morgan, in his treatise on FalstafFs courage, have
digressed upon his general merits. Would that the produce of our ram-
ble were as worthy of its object ; that little pamphlet contains more of
the expressed juice of the mulberry than all the brewings of the critics.
Morgan has caught the outline of Shakspeare's features more finely than
any other artist, — we will not except Schlegel ; and it is, perhaps, from
some such elevated spot on his surface, that we can take the truest chart
of the entire ; as Sinbad might climb the back fin of the crachen, to take
in the whole body at a view.

* We bav,e since bethought us of our favourite Ludlow. — If honesty that was
never daunted, and sagacity that was never duped, deserve the epithets, he was
«' very foolish and violent."

THE POEMS OF SHAKSPEAKE. 455

Shakspeare's poems contain more of the shadow of his poetical sub-
stance, than even Milton's do of his ; nor are Lucrece and Adon less
the integral parts of a whole, than L' Allegro and II Penseroso. The
common profession of these lovely twins of Milton is, as Johnson finely
expresses it, " to show how, among the successive variety of appearances,
every disposition of mind takes hold on those by which it may be grati-
fied." The Hemispheres of Shakspeare's design comprise a world of
love seen under opposing aspects. In the one we have a woman, in the
other a man, subject to the most scorching influence of passion ; and in
order to bring out, in undisguised wildness, the sometimes anticipated,
and oftener fashion-hidden workings of desire, he has assigned to his
lovers, male and female, an insensible mate. The chaste Lucrece and
the coy Adon are a dark ground to the high- wrought portrait of Sextus
and Venus,* whose courses are as like as their physical differences per-
mit. The Roman king and Grecian goddess, from sentimental lovers,
both grow into ravishers. But it is in the subtle discrimination of the
tender passion, as it manifests itself in man and woman ; it is in the
characterising precision, with which he has allotted to each those trains
of thought, and modes of action, which the circumstances would naturally
excite in the male and female mind ; it is in the developement of those
different paths, by which they arrive at the same conclusion : it is in this
learned blazon of love's shield, and the judicious parting of femme and
baron ; it is in the omnipotence of an imagination that can sex its ideas,
and delineate two passions as distinct as Eros and Anteros, that he dis-
plays a capacity more than Tiresian. How much of distinct character
is there in the use made by Tarquin and Venus of the same simile, Nar-
cissus : —

She. — Then wooe thyself, be of thyself rejected,

Steal thine own freedom and complain of theft,
Narcissus so himself himself forsook,
And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.

He. — Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,
That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,
Self-love had never drowned him in the flood.

Venus, a woman herself subject to fear, and maddened by Adon's
beauty, tries to frighten him into kindness by her prognostication, but
expresses no surprise, for she feels none, at the possibility of Adonis
loving so fair a creature as himself. — Sextus, an impassioned lover, is
astonished at Narcissus' distasteful madness, but confidently exclaims,
that, had he seen such an embodied perfection as Lucrece, he would
have been no longer insensible.

Both in the management of the plot, and the machinery of the style,
is direct evidence that the writer, is, or could be, a dramatist of the first
class. Each poem is a succession of scenes, splendidly decorated, and
the spaces between are filled with an orchestra of thoughts, deep and

* That this was his design, may be conjectured from his altering history, or
rather Heathen theology, to make Adonis frigid, as Milton has altered Scripture
to make the Devil a hero.

456 THE TOKUS OF SHAKSPEA.RK.

sweet, that employ the mind during the pauses of action. There is a
perseverance in searching out the hidden corners of the soul, and an
exposition of the same thought in several ways, that seems, to us, per-
fectly distinguishable from the drawling prolixity, with which many of
the writers of Elizabeth love to gloat on the one idea. It looks like the
discursion of Genius gathering the armour of great achievements, or, as
Moore excellently expresses it, the " knight-errantry" of a mind in
search of noble ideas. We may accordingly, as we shall hereafter note,
here recognize many of his first draughts. If we look at the soliloquies
of Venus, her conversations with Adonis, of Lucrece and her maid, with
Tarquin, to herself, and compare them with the dialogues or monologues
of the best narrative poets — Tasso, for instance, or Ariosto, or Milton,
or Spenser, or Homer, or Virgil — we shall easily mark the difference of
the epic and dramatic spirits. In Shakspeare nothing goes to an end ; the
great scenic secret of cutting short the dialogue, the impassioned interrup-
tion, is every-where exemplified : —

" So let thy thoughts low vassals to my state. —
No more, quoth he, by heaven I will not hear thee ;
Yield to my love. —

" Where did I leave ? No matter where, quoth he,
Leave me ; — and then the story aptly ends ;
The night is spent."

Another characteristic is the intelligent position of a word, and the
conveying of the state of the speaker's mind by an unstudied expression,
as of Venus's impatient desire in her immediate reply, —

«' Now let me say good night, and so say you,
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss ;
Good night, quoth she, arid ere he says adieu,
The honey fee of parting tendered is."

The incessant endeavour to supply the want of scenery by description
is very apparent, and the vivid delineations of attitude and look are evi-
dently the stage- directions of fancy. The very defects of these poems
spring from the dramatic nature of a mind, dissatisfied till it can make
us see the forms, as well as comprehend the souls of things. In a play
the action supplies the first half of this ; in a narrative, either the hope
of presenting this pantomime must be relinquished, or the task must
devolve on the poet. In this anatomy of appearances, this attempt
to make the reader a spectator, Shakspeare becomes at times tedious,
but it is, as his own Dogberry remarks, the tediousness of a king, and
he is welcome to bestow it on us. The long italic sentences with which
a German playwright interlards his lean dialogue, are a sort of poor-rate
levied on grimace for the support of famished imagination : Shakspeare' s
minute and powerful descriptions in these poems, are the remittances of
a speculative eye to an abounding fancy. Let us give an instance or
two, where, to use his own words, —

" This dumb play has his acts made plain."

And we could not have a better than the two preceding stanzas of
Venus and Adonis : —

THE POEMS OF SHAKSPEAUE. 457

«' Oh ! what a sight it was, worthy of view,
How she came stealing to the wayward boy,
To note the fighting conflict of her hue,
How white and red each other did destroy ;
But now her cheek was pale, and by and by
It flashed forth fire as lightning from the sky.

Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels, —
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels ;
His tender cheek receives her soft hand's print,
As apt as new-fallen snow takes any dint.

Oh ! what a war of looks was then between them,
Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing ;
His eyes saw her eyes/' &c.

What a study for an actor is Collatings, on intelligence of his mis-
fortune,—

" Lo ! here the hopeless merchant of this loss,
With head inclined, and voice dammed up with woe,
With sad set eyes and wretced arms across,
And lips now waxen pale." —

Another of the peculiarities of the buskin is discoverable in the veer-
ing of the sentiment before the gust of passion, the first topic suggesting,
or rather extracting another, in that orderly disarray which nature mar-
shals. When Sextus, trying to surmount his invincible lust by a waver-
ing conscience, calls to mind the attachment of Lucrece to her husband,
and the proofs of it he had discovered in her reception of himself ; —

"Quoth he, she took me kindly by the hand,
And gazed for tidings in my eager eyes,
Fearing some hard news from the warlike band
Where her beloved Collatinus lies ;
*• Oh ! how her fear did make her colour rise,

And how her hand in my hand being locked,
Forced it to tremble with her loyal fear,
Which struck her sad, and then it faster rocked,
Until her husband's welfare she did hear ;
Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,
That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,
Self-love had never drowned him in the flood."

This picture of her devotedness to Collatinus, and the recollection of
her hand and smile, do not accomplish their original intention of calming

him, but bring him to the conclusion of the irresistible nature of beauty

Narcissus could not have resisted such charms.

" Why hunt I then for colours or excuses ?
All orators are dumb when beauty pleads."

Another distinctive mark of the drama, is the strict observance of that
fact in nature, that the mind can change the thought more rapidly than
the tongue the word. So Lucrece, after her rape, while attending the

458 THE POEMS OF SHAKESPEARE.

arrival of Collatinus, in the restlessnes of woe, falls to perusing the pic-
ture of Troy. Sinon's figure arrests her eye, admirably described with
"Brow unbent that seemed to welcome woe,

Cheeks neither red nor pule, but mingled so,

That blushing red no guilty instance gave,

Nor ashy pale, the fear that false hearts have.

" This picture she advisedly perused,
And chid the painter for his wond'rous skill,
Saying some shape in Sinon's was abused,
So fair a form lodged not a mind so ill j
And still on him she gazed, and gazino still,
Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied,
That she concludes the picture was belied.

«* It cannot be, quoth she, that so much guile,
She would have said, can lurk in such a look,
But Tarquin's shape came to her mind the while,
And from the tongue can lurk from cannot took j
It cannot be she in that sense forsook,
And turned it thus, — It cannot be, I find,
But such a face should bear a wicked mind,
For even as subtle Sinon here is painted,
So sober sad, so weary, and so mild,
As if with grief or travel he had fainted,
Came Tarquin to me ."

This mental syntax, though quaintly and diffusely worded, is keenly ex-
pressive of Nature.

The dramatic poet must, above all others, be a painter — not only that
he may imagine judiciously the place of action — as we may say, the
landscape*; but also that he may successfully group his figures — that
he may be a master of theatrical effect. That Shakspeare was eminently
so, no one who has seen his plays represented can doubt, and there are
bright traces of this splendid pencil in the poems we are considering.
Heavens ! what majesty in the principal figures, what featured filling of
the back-ground in the description of Nestor addressing the Greeks.
No painter can by possibility surpass it. It is a happy combination of
Romano and Hogarth. The whole is too long to quote. Let these
scattered lines suffice : —

" There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand,
As 't were encouraging the Greeks to fight,
Making such sober action with his hand,
That it beguiled attention, charmed the sight.
In speech it seemed his beard, all silver white,
Wagged up and down, and from his lips did fly
Thin winding breath which curled up to the sky/'

* Are we superstitious ? We cannot avoid an almost feline attachment for the
spots on which Shakspeare's spirit rested, such as we have never felt for the locali-
ties of other dramatists, however much they may have interested us for their per-
sona. But it is not only the sweet forest of Ardennes, or the enchanted cave of
Prosper, that we cherish, like its young deer, or native spirits, but the very den of
Timon, the very precincts of the Capitol, have as familiar an existence to our eye,
as though we had clung to the one in our adversity, or driven a nail into the other
in our consulship.

THE POEMS OP SHAKSPEARE. 459

Agai,

" The scalps of many, almost hid behind,

To jump up higher seem'd to mock the wind."
Again,

«' Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head,
His nose being shadowed by his neighbour's ear,
Here one being thronged bears back all swollen and red." —

How grandly thought and expressed the following !

« For Achilles' image stood his spear

Griped in an armed hand, himself behind
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind."

But there is scarce a description that is not Dantean in force.
Milton's genius has been, by some, and most unjustly, assimilated to
Dante's, whom he scarce more resembled than his other favourite Ovid.
The error has originated from their consent in subject. They have both
treated of "heaven, hell, and marriage;" but their modes of producing
sublimity are opposite. Milton invades our imagination with the vague — .
the obscure — the mass. Dante with the simple — the marked — the indi-
vidual. A great poet has always a character of his own, which is, #nd
can be no one else's, however he may be less distant from one than
another. Dante approaches closer to Shakspeare than he does to
Milton. A description in "As you like it," has always reminded us of
Dante. In the hope that our readers will be as courtly as Polonius,
and see our whale in the cloud, we will give it them :

" Under an oak whose boughs were mossed with age,
And high top bald with dry antiquity,
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back : about his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself,
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approached
The opening of his mouth, but suddenly
Seeing Orlando, it unlinked itself,
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush, under which bush's shade
A lioness with udders all drawn dry
Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch,
When that the sleeping man should stir————."

There are, in our opinion, few perfections of which the poetic art is capa-
ble, unexemplified in these two poems ; and were Shakspeare without
another record, these were sufficient to place him in the first rank of
poets and philosophers. That power of the pathetic, which no other
ever possessed, displays itself here, and we shall read deep into his tra-
gedies, without meeting a more affecting scene than the death of
Lucrece. Her disclosure of the name of Tarquin is a fine instance of
the broken colloquy, that characterises the dramatic muse. After she
has, in the language of agony, declared her wrong, without, however,
naming her wronger, she entreats " the fair lords that came with
Collatine" to plight their faith to avenge her injuries : which, when they
had begun to promise, " longing to hear the hateful foe bewrayed," she,
unable to restrain her appetite for death, stops their protestation.

460 THE POEMS OF SHAKSTEARK.

« Oh, speak ! quoth she,

How may this forced stain be wiped from me ?

With this they all at once began to say,

Her body's stain the mind untainted clears ;

While with a joyless smile she turns away

The face, that map, which deep impression bears

Of hard misfortune carved in with tears ;

No, no, quoth she, no dame hereafter living

By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving.

"Then with a sigh, as if her heart would break,
She throws forth Tarquin's name ; ' He, he,' she says,
But more than he, her poor tongue could not speak,
Till after many accents and delays,
Untimely breathings, sick and short essays,

She utters this ' He — he— fair lords, 'tis he —

That guides this hand to give this wound to me.'

" Even here, she sheathed in her harmless breast
A harmful knife, that hence her soul unsheath'd."

In the turn of Lucrece's last sentiment we have the anticipation of
Othello's noble stratagem, " and smote him — thus — ." Lucrece is, in
fact, a poem of the heart, and comes home to the feelings more than her
sister, because we can sympathise so entirely with the heroine. Venus'
case is, to be sure, a sad one ; but she is too exclusively an animal to
engage any profound interest. Yet we doubt whether Col. Martin him-
self could reflect more true pathos on the cause of a quadruped, than she
in her description of the poor hunted hare :

" By this poor Wat, far off upon a hill,
Stands on his hinder legs, with listening ear,
To harken if his foes pursue him still ;
Anon their loud alarums he cloth hear,
And now his grief may be compared well
To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell.
Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch
Turn and return, indenting with the way :
Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch,
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay.
For misery is trodden on by many,
And, being low,' never relieved by any."

A simile is perhaps the surest test of the poet. Though the power of
enunciating ludicrous comparisons be the lowest department of the wit,
and, as in Congreve's Brisk, may often he found a solitary forte, yet a
simile is that treasure-house, to which the genuine poet entrusts the
first-fruits of his heart. Shakspeare's similes, as we might expect, are
imbued with the quintessence of his spirit. He compares Adonis sus-
piciously peeping at Venus to —

" a dive-dapper peering through a wave,

Who, being looked at, ducks as quickly in."

Lucrece's hand on the coverlet,

«' whose perfect white

Showed like an April daisy on the grass,
With pearly sweat, resembling dews of ight."

THE POEMS OF SHAKSPKARE. 461

What fancy and observation is there, in the comparison for Lucrece
shrinking at the presence of Tarquin :

«' Wrapt and confounded in a thousand fears,
Like a new-killed bird, she trembling lies."

And again in this perfection of a simile, —

" •• She the picture of true piety,

Like a white bird beneath a gripe's sharp claws,
Pleads in a wilderness, where are no laws,
To the rough beast that knows no gentle right.'*

But to quote beauties from Shakspeare, is to cut stars from the galaxy,
and in no part of his firmament do stars stand thicker than in Venus and
Afconis, and the rape of Lucrece. It is not, however, so much their
intrinsic merit that endears them, as that they are Shakspeare " all
over ;" not only that we meet in them the plenitude of his mind, and
the tone of his thoughts, but that we can trace the very turn of his
phrases. We have said enough, we hope, to prove that these poems
possess much of the peculiar merits of Shakspeare's genius. They have
also the characteristics of Shakspeare's language, which is perhaps more
than that of any other writer impregnated with his mind. This is the
mysterious and exclusive privilege of excellence, to impress its private
mark upon language without derogating from, but, on the contrary,
confirming its purity. We might produce from this folio of thought the
undoubted sketches of expressions or situations, which have been often
admired in Hamlet, Macbeth, Lear, Othello, the Richards, the Henrys ;
and perhaps exhibit some " etrennes" of all his immortal infants. But
our limits are already passed, and we refer to the poems. With respect
to two passages alone, we shall qualify our usual implicit confidence in
the reader's sagacity. In the stanza beginning " Now stole upon the
time, the dead of night," we have a key to the thane's rumination, be-
fore Duncan's murder, on " Tarquin's ravishing strides." The poet,
impressed with his own poetry, for the moment supposes Macbeth to
have written, or at least read, the rape of Lucrece. The original, too, of
that admirably effective scene in Henry IV., between Hotspur and his
wife, " God's me ! my horse ! — what sayest thou, Kate ? what would'st
thou have with me ?" occurs in Venus and Adonis. It is in these
words : —

" Pity ! she cries, some favour, some remorse, —
Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse. — "

The insight into the gradual development of genius, and the experience
from what small hints, or accidental circumstance, the finest growths of
intellect have been matured, are subjects of meditation, useful and en-
couraging to the aspirants in literature.

But we have already allotted such space to two of his poems, that we
are, at present, unable to speak as we had intended, and as they deserve,
of the rest. His " deep-brained sonnets" would, in themselves, supply
matter for an Anthologia, and as contrasted with Milton's, (which in
power they far excel, tho' we confess they do not equally interest us)
may form the subject of some future essay. The Lover's Complaint is

M.M.— No. 11. 3N

462 THE SILVER CHAIN.

a poem of vast merit — a nice dissection of the fluttering repent-
ance of an amiable sinner. The poem of Daedalus, whether as an origi-
nal, or a translation, contains many and high beauties. The imitation
(if it be one) of David lamenting his son Absalom, is very affecting :

" The unhappy father (but no father now)

Cries out aloud, ' son Icarus, where art thou,

Where art thou, Icarus ? where dost thou fly ?

Icarus, where art ?' when lo ! he doth espy

The feather's swim : aloud he doth exclaim,
*The earth his bones, the sea doth bear his name.' "

We have extended our remarks far beyond our original intention, but
Shakspeare's " red-rose chain" is almost as irresistible as that of Venus.
Alas ! that we, who live after him, are only fitted to transcribe fcis
beauties^ or enhance his merit,, by the contrast of our vain effusions !

M, F. G.

THE SILVER CHAIN.

WHEN Beauty owns the power of Love —

Too often Friendship's guest ! —
Alike the glen, the rock, the grove,

His monarch sway attest.
Tis then that gifts, else valueless,

A mental one obtain ;
And hence I take, for Beauty's sake,

Such pride in this Silver Chain.

Fve prized, ere now, the wildling flower

That in the valley blows ;
But then it grew beside the bower

Where Friendship's fane arose.
When smile meets smile, what marvel if

Young hearts sweet thoughts retain ;
And did not thine, dear girl, meet mine,

As we gazed on this Silver Chain ?

The Silver Chain is broken now,

But skill may that repair ;
The broken heart, the blighted vow,

Belong but to despair.
Then, lady, let the voice of song

Go forth not all in vain ; —
Alas ! for hearts, when once there parts

One link of Love's Silver Chain ! H. B,

{ 463 ) -

METHODISM AND THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND,

MUCH has been said in a loose and general way about the friendship
of the Methodists for the Church of England ; and said, too, in some
instances, by high authorities, in a manner indicating a full belief that
the help of the Methodists in behalf of the Establishment might safely
be calculated upon in a time of danger. We have no wish to deal
unjustly towards the Methodists — or indeed with any other sect or
party — in any respect whatever ; but we must be allowed to say, that
whoever entertains an expectation of the Church being assisted in a
crisis by any except her own members, will, in our opinion, be disap-
pointed ; and we think it right that this should be known beforehand,
that no false estimate may be taken of the number and strength of either
her friends or her enemies. It may, indeed, be allowed, that the Me-
thodists have no ill feeling against the Church ; that they have no desire
for her extinction, nor even any wish to injure her. But this is not
peculiar to them : there are other sects, or at least many individuals
belonging to other sects (which is all that can be said of the Methodists,
who are by no means unanimous in their profession of approbation of the
Church, whatever representations may have been made on the subject
by certain of their teachers), who, regarding the Church as a Christian
body, would not have her destroyed; nay, who sincerely desire her
prosperity. Yet the Methodists have somehow succeeded in persuading
Churchmen that they are, if not Churchmen too, so entirely free from
<a spirit of rivalship with the Establishment, as to stand entitled to the
character of being, par excellence, the friends of the church, in the sense
of seeking her welfare and having her good at heart.

This is a point of no slight importance just now — when there ought
to be no mistake as to who are the real supporters of the church — and
being, moreover, one on which we think a great deal of misconception
exists, it is our intention to bestow some pains in setting the matter
in a proper light, without prejudice or partiality.

As preliminary to what follows, we may be allowed to remark, that,
besides being, friends of the completest liberty of conscience being
enjoyed by all sects, we have some esteem for Methodism especially;
regarding, as we do, the system to have been the means of promoting
true religion in this country, and of stirring up different denominations
— and the Church, too — to the performance of works of usefulness,
We do not, therefore, intend it to be interpreted, that one word of
disrespect is here uttered towards that community, as such — however
much we may object to the double — and, as we conceive, inconsistent —
character which has been assumed, of being devoted Wesleyans and
sincere Churchmen at the same time. With this understanding, then,
we proceed to inquire — Can the Methodists fairly be considered as
Churchmen, or as honest allies of the Church ; and can their assistance
be safely relied on, in defending the Church in the hour of danger ? Our

464 METHODISM AND THK CHURCH OF ENGLAND.

answer to all the parts* of this question is broadly and roundly, and
without hesitation — NO ! We are aware this will be met by an appeal
to their professions on many occasions ; but professions are trifles, if
unsupported by practice : deeds, and not words merely, are authority
with us ; for professions may be cheaply — nay, even profitably, made,
while the conduct is contradictory of this lip-service. There can be no
hesitation, in such cases, in determining whether we are bound to form
our judgment of what a person is, by what he says or by what he does —
as his life, and not his word, gives the truest exposition of his prin-
ciples. We ask, then — Who is a Churchman ? Is he not one who
subscribes to her doctrines — who attends her services — and who,
according to his means and opportunities, promotes her prosperity ? He
loves her, is united to her, and he lives for her. But does this descrip-
tion apply to the Methodist ? Most surely not. He has set aside her
formularies, — he adores not within her walls, — he labours not for her.
His worship is after another manner, in another house, under a minister
not especially appointed, and every act of usefulness performed by him
is not to serve the church, but a sect. Can he, then, be a Churchman ?
Impossible. One who never goes near the church, who does nothing
for the church, and who gives his presence, his aid, and his influence, to
a meeting-house — a Churchman ! The picture is a fraud, and ought to
be denounced as such whenever made. We feel no objection against
every man possessing the right of choosing for himself in religion ; and
as the matter is between himself and his Maker, whatever may be his
preference, we hold it to be sacred, and no one is entitled to interfere.
Let the Methodist be a Methodist, and welcome, we say ; but let him be
satisfied with this liberty, and be withal consistent ; and not, while in fact
and in reality he belongs to one Christian body, profess, in the face of
this, to belong to another. This we hold to be rank imposition, and
alike incompatible with a good conscience and common honesty. We
are aware, that in answer to the statement of the Methodists being
distinct from the Church, it has been alleged, that though separate from
her, they stand united in affection —that they do not oppose, but wish
her well ; with a great deal more to the same purpose. If by this is
only meant, that the Methodists, regarding the Church as an orthodox
community, are in charity with her, it may be true ; but this is likewise
true of other denominations, and therefore no title can be derived by
the Methodists from the circumstance, to announce themselves as
Churchmen or supporters of the Church. But if more than this be laid
claim to — if it be said, the Methodists approve of the Church, we refer
to the tests already mentioned, and ask, why, if they approve of her,
have they deserted her, and given their presence and services to a rival
interest ? Let them explain this, before it be demanded of us to give
them credit for their professions of regard for the Church, with whom
they do not worship, nor stand in any way identified, beyond the empty
pretence of attachment.

But this profession of regard is often made in another form, which,
being plausible, must be more particularly noticed. The Methodists
affirm they are not enemies, but helpers or auxiliaries, of the Church ;
and therefore entitled to be numbered amongst her children, or at least
her friends. This, however, is nnlv the case in the same wav that other

METHODISM AND THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND. 465

sects are helpers — inasmuch as they all contribute to the advancement of
the common cause of Christianity. But the Methodists intend it to be
understood, that they are helpful to the Church in the sense of assisting-
in the promotion of her special objects ; which is the thing we deny,
affirming, at the same time, that the Methodists have never done, nor
do they at present, any service for the Church which is not done by
other denominations. This is indeed putting the case in a manner too
favourable for the Methodists, who ought to be distinguished from other
dissenters, not as being more favourable to the Church, but as having in
fact taken more members from her, and transferred them to their own
ranks, than all the rest of the dissenting sects put together. The
dissenters generally pretend no particular friendship for the Church
from which they avow themselves as differing. Here there is con-
sistency, and however contrary may be our own opinions to some
of theirs, yet we admire honesty whereever it is found. But the
Methodists have taken another course, and by smiling, and fawning,
and professing friendship, they have crept into the confidence of the
church, and, without doing a single act to serve her proper interests, so
distinguished from their own — they have wrung from her bosom some
of her choicest members, and have thereby been strengthening them-
selves at her cost for nearly a century. Yet they say they are her friends,
and shallow-minded persons believe it, notwithstanding the contrary evi-
dence afforded by all experience. We have paid considerable attention
to the history of Methodism ; and although, as we have already observed,
we esteem the Methodists for the good which they have unquestionably
been the means of promotiong, we resist the conclusion that their pro-
fessions of regard for the church, if not made for the very purpose, have
been the cause, not of serving her, but of serving themselves of her.
They may not, it is true, have been so politic as the effects of their pro-
cedure would seem to indicate ; but, apart from Christian charity, and
judging only by what has actually taken place, we should be led to con-
sider the motive of the Methodists for professing friendship for the
church to be one of unmixed selfishness, and intended to work their own
profit, by enabling them to live upon the credit of the church, partake of
her influence, and in numberless cases to supplant her in the affections
of the people.

We have just referred to the history of Methodism, and we will now
advert to it again, for the purpose of citing a few facts, to which we
solicit the attention of the Bishop of Exeter and other churchmen, who
either have, or act as if they had, imbibed a notion that the Methodists
are a sort of Churchmen, and may be counted for such in case of danger.
Credulous men ! how little are they acquainted with the course which
Methodism has been taking from its commencement. The following
sketch ought not — and yet from the manner in which some of our dig-
nitaries speak, we believe it will be, new to them :

When Mr. Wesley, whom we revere as a great and useful man, first
set out to preach wherever he could, in chambers, fields, or market-
places, we have no doubt his intention was to serve the Church. As a
proof of this, he did all he could to bring men to the Church. He had
no separate preaching in church hours, that men in hearing him might be
forced to be absent from the service of the establishment. Now, this

466 METHODISM AND THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND.

conduct was friendly, and denoted his affection for the Church. He had
no such primary object as to establish a new sect; but, as he proceeded,
he became involved with others, who wanted his church principles, and
in course of time the thing which he was so much averse to — viz. the
creation of a dissenting denomination, was effected. It is particularly
worthy of remark how gradually and cautiously methodism proceeded,
under the guidance of its wary and politic preachers, in its complete
secession from the establishment : at first, they had no worship during
the hours appropriated for church service, for the purpose, as was said,
of giving their members the opportunity of attending at the establishment
as well as upon their preaching — very good : but mark what followed,
and then say if they did not in this instance make a virtue of necessity,
and pretended not to wish to oppose the church in regard to preaching,
merely because they knew that to preach out of church hours was the
way to get congregations of church people, who would not otherwise
have attended them, if by so doing they had been compelled to be absent
from the Church. The effect, at least, if not the identical object of this
arrangement was therefore to get Churchmen to hear the Methodists,
and not to accommodate the Church ; this is proved by the fact that,
when at length the Methodist preachers had so far got hold of the peo-
ple as to be strong enough to set up for themselves, then church hours
were disregarded, and they fixed their times for worship as best suited
their convenience, leaving the church to get filled as it might, or the clergy
to address themselves to empty pews, for what they cared : — this was the
first step in their departure from the Church, and was as far as they dare
go at once. The sacrament, baptism, and the burial of the dead they did
not then meddle with, but left them entirely to the established clergy,
as proofs, they said, how much they loved the church, and that they
had not separated from her communion, and become dissenters. This
served their purpose at the time, which was all they desired. It is true
some individuals in the Establishment could not comprehend how those
could be Churchmen who set up rival preaching at the same hour that
the Church had service ; but, as still they said they belonged to the
Church, and came to the sacrament, which was the legal test of membership,
they were partially believed, and the alarm was not great on the subject.
Well : but, first having succeeded in establishing independent worship,
they subsequently began to administer the sacrament, to baptise, to bury
their own dead, and to be in every respect a separated people from the
Church; now, where is the difference bet ween this and becoming dissenters.
Still they said, when referred to on these points, " We do not oppose the
Church," and nobody contradicting them, their professions were putonre-
cord. In the mean time they went on to do the best they could for themselves,
and the more completely to accomplish their object, they have done all
in their power to counterfeit, as it were, every attractive or venerable
feature of the Church, and to allure, by every possible means, persons to
give them the preference ; or to entrap them into a withdrawal from the
Church by persuading them that in becoming Methodists they still
belonged to the establishment. With this view, they have exerted all
their might to obtain splendid places of worship — organs have been in-
troduced, with other musical instruments, to be the more tempting ;
and even the Church service, too, is read in many places. Now, what is

METHODISM AND THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND. 467

the intention of all this — to serve the Church ? No, but to get up a
rival establishment, which should compete with the Church, and in the
end overthrow her. To entertain a doubt on this point is, on the part
of Churchmen, to manifest the most absurd incredulity as to the inten-
tions of the Methodist preachers, who, whatever may be the shortsight-
edness of others, know well how to conduct the profitable trade of dis-
sembling kindness for the Church, while every thing they do is selfishly
intended to promote exclusively their own interests. Our authority for
what we say is their past conduct, and our rule of judgment as to their
future intentions is common sense. We assert most positively that the
Methodists as a body never have assisted the Church, and moreover
that it is the sheerest folly to expect they ever will do so, or to depend
upon them for the slightest help for the Church in case of danger. We
have not been without the means of forming an opinion — a just estimate,
indeed— both of the Methodist people and their preachers. The former
we believe to be generally simple-hearted, pious, and well-meaning ; but
the latter, more especially a few of the leading ones, under a plain garb
and with self-denying pretensions, have more of ambition and of
human policy in their composition than is commonly suspected. No
class of men on earth professing religion, carry matters with a higher
hand than they do, where they have authority ; or are more pompous in
showing their consequence to their inferiors. Towards the Church of
England expediency has however hitherto dictated a different demeanour ;
and it is with them an object to be thought friendly towards her, merely
because they have profitted and expect to profit by it. They, in fact,
traffic with this profession on part of a fictitious capital, which they
have pushed into extensive circulation with the expectation of receiving
good interest ; and they have not been disappointed, for, thanks to the
credulity of Churchmen, it has produced a return an hundred- fold ! We
repeat, then, our conviction that the Methodist preachers have no such
affection for the Church as would lead them to help her under any cir-
cumstance ; and our solemn opinion is, that the Church incurs great
danger in seeming to lean to Methodistical aid, in as much as she
will never obtain it ; and therefore all hopes resting thereon are false ;
and further, this frequent reference to the Methodists as allies of the
Church, instead of strengthening or fortifying her, has a contrary effect,
by causing her to neglect those means of defence which she has
within herself, and which only can be of avail in any great crisis.
The Church, we say, can defend herself if she will, but before she does
this, her confidence in foreign help must cease ; and, being brought fully
to consider herself in a true and proper light, she must remove every
bye-purpose, and be solely anxious to fulfil the design of her establish-
ment : — viz. the instruction of the people of England in the great truths
of the religion of Jesus Christ. The Church has hitherto been defended
in a way which has alarmed her best friends, and given every advantage
to her enemies. Many of her professed advocates have, in fact, done
their work just in the manner they should have done, if they had intended
shortly to deliver her over to destruction. First, instead of admitting
that certain imperfections and abuses (and who can deny these ?) have
crept upon her, and showing a willingness for them to be scattered to the
four winds, they have defended her in the gross, — good and bad have

468 METHODISM AND THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND.

been taken indiscriminately under the protection of these champions,
and they have stood by the whole as if it were perfection itself. This is
one error : a second has been, that her defenders have mostly expended
their zeal in protection of her revenues, while her doctrines and her effi-
ciency for salvation have seemed but to occupy a secondary place in their
esteem. Every nerve has been strained to uphold her tithes, her church
votes, &c., while her spiritual character has been too much forgotten.
Now, the most successful line of defence would be, to show that the reve-
nues of the Church were not regarded as private emoluments, but en-
tirely as a provision for the maintenance of men whose sole business it
is to do good, — who are not of the world, but given up, body and soul,
to the service of God and their fellow-men. The true defenders of the
Church should set themselves to disencumber her of those who disgrace
her by unclerical conduct, — of drones who eat her fruits without serving
her interests. Some of the trammels which are upon the Church should
be taken off, and she should have all possible liberty to do good. Every
encouragement should be given to those who really love her, and are
useful to promote her welfare : — but we find we are deviating from the
particular object of this article, which was to show, that in estimating
the Methodists as being friends of the Church, an error is committed;
which, if persevered in, the establishment may be greatly injured thereby.
We hope this has been made sufficiently apparent, and that, in future,
those who really desire the conservation and prosperity of the Church of
England, will withdraw all confidence from other sects, so far as regards
their helping her in her difficulties ; but, at the same time, we; would
have no hostile or unchristian feeling cherished by the Church in refer-
ence to any sect whatever. An unclean spirit is utterly at variance with
the genius of the gospel ; we hope, therefore, that still the Church places
no reliance on them for aid. She will always say to those who are not
in communion with her, " Serve God in your own way, and be at
peace;" and that, so far as any sect is instrumental in doing good, its
usefulness, in the cause of religion generally, will be acknowledged,
though it may not be regarded as properly auxiliar to, or in alliance
with, the Church of England.

SONNET.

Tis evening's placid hour, most still and calm,
The sun is setting in the crimson'd west,
And birds are sweetly singing him to rest,

With notes most plaintive, like a low-breath'd psalm.

Nature seems downcast — as a gentle maid,
To whom her lover late hath bid adieu,
Wears on her countenance the languid hue

Of sorrow, where a smile so lately played.

Now twilight walks along the darkening sky,
And throws on all around her fairy veil ;
And there, the young moon shows her crescent pale ;

And heaven is bright with starry sanctity :

Deep silence reigns, and all is hushed repose —

Oh ! that a world so fair, should be a world of woes ! *

( 4G9 )

MR. " PUBLIC INSTRUCTOR" ROEBUCK.

IP a late Chancellor of Exchequer deserved the nick-nomen of " Pros-
perity Robinson ;" or Mr. Spencer Percival that of *' General Fast ;"
surely the Honourable Member for Bath ought ever to be known as
" Public Instructor Roebuck :" not that he is, in the smallest degree,
competent to the task such a cognomen sets him ; but because he has,
without call or solicitation, taken upon himself to enlighten the empire in
all matters touching " politics and morals."

We need scarcely inform our readers, that Mr. Roebuck has been for
some months amusing himself and a select number of friends, — namely,
Messrs. F. Place, Grote, Hume, et hoc genus* — by publishing a series
of pamphlets for the avowed purpose of instructing the people in legis-
lation, and of " modestly discovering that of themselves which yet they
know not of."

Now that the party warfare of a most important session is over, we
are led to inquire, in the absence of more engrossing subjects, what are
the pretensions of Mr. Roebuck to the vast work he has voluntarily
undertaken ? But, in pursuing this inquiry, we wish most distinctly to
be understood, that our remarks will be simply directed to the self-
assumed character of "an instructor to the public ;" for it is right we
should confess, that the whole of our knowledge of that character has
been gleaned from his speeches in parliament, his pamphlets, and a cer-
tain correspondence between him and a Mr. Stirling.

The qualifications demanded of a political instructor are, manifestly,
honesty, sound understanding of the principles and practice of govern-
ment, and the capability of communicating the elements of his know-
ledge, in language plain, forcible, and apt. Does Mr. Roebuck possess
these requisites ? Let us see.

The first desideratum involves a discussion of no small delicacy. To
moot the question of honesty, in reference to any particular individual,
would^entail upon one — having the fear of the law of libel before his eyes —
a most dangerous line of argument ; but, to accuse a person of so much
moral dishonesty, as will induce him " to bear false witness against his
neighbour;" or to be guilty of "legally evadingf" established enact-
ments," is, we believe, less dangerous : — at least, we hope so, for of these
last are we obliged to charge the Honourable Member for Bath.

Referring to the correspondence before mentioned, we find, that in a
pamphlet on " the Stamped Press and its Morality," Mr. Roebuck stated,
— not doubtingly or equivocally, but positively, as if he knew from his
own knowledge, — that Mr. Stirling was an editor of the " Times" news-

* The whole incorporated into a self-constituted body, entitled •« A Society for
the Diffusion of Moral and Political Knowledge."

t Mr. Roebuck's own expression : vide his first pamphlet, p. 5.
M. M.— No. 11. 3 O

470 MR. " PUBLIC INSTRUCTOR" ROEBUCK.

paper; applying, also, to that gentleman, the epithet? "cowardice," ""base-
ness," "skulking," "charlatanism," and "depravity" \vorsethanthat of an
assassin !" For this the pamphleteer was brought to a most abject apology,
and sheltered himself under the plea of " misapprehension !"

Setting aside the excessive inconsistency of an instructor in morals,
putting forth such expressions as those above quoted, — that, too, in an
article on the depravity and coarseness of the Stamped Press, — we ought
to award the uttermost excess of contempt to a man, who pre-
tends to teach others that of which he is himself totally ignorant. Snp-
posing it to be essential that " the people" should be made acquainted
with the private character of Mr. Stirling, our " public instructor" pre-
tended to tell them ; and stated things, for which, as he afterwards owned
in his apology, he had not the slightest foundation : — namely, that
Mr. Stirling was editor of " the Times," a charlatan, a coward, &c. &c.
What is the word by which such asseverations deserve to be designated ?
We would rather not use it.

But the "public instructor" misapprehended. Be it so. And view-
ing his conduct in this, its most favourable light, it sadly detracts from
the character of a teacher ; for he must have been either so obtuse as to
"misapprehend" matters which are, with the least possible trouble,
comprehended ; or, understanding them, so dishonest, as wilfully to mis-
represent the truth. If, then, he be found guilty of deceiving his multi-
tudinous pupil, the public, in matters involving the character of a private
gentleman, and consequently, in some shape, at his own personal risk ;
how are his instructions to he depended on, when applied to the great
principles of "government and morality ?"

Again : the absence of that moral rectitude which ought to be the
chief attribute of such a character as Mr. Roebuck has chosen to assume,
is glaringly evident in the fact of a legislator — a man chosen by a body
of constituents to enforce and revise the laws — wickedly betraying the
trust reposed in him, and instead of supporting the legal institutions of
his country, basely, deliberately breaking them ! The pamphlets under
consideration are — according to Mr. Roebuck's own showing, in the
commencement of his first publication — as unequivocally liable to the
imposts of the stamp-act, as any newspaper in the kingdom ; and, having
boastingly shown so much, he proceeds to discuss " the means by
which its enactments might be legally avoided," with the effrontery of a
logical smuggler, who might argue to pro^ j the legality of defrauding
the revenue.

And here we cannot help digressing, to point out the extreme par-
tiality with which the stamp laws have, of late, been administered. Why
should a poor wretch, who, for vending an unstamped publication —
possibly to escape the horrors of starvation — why should he be sent to
jail, for merely distributing papers, with the compilation of which he
had nothing to do, arid with the contents of which he is, in all proba-
bility, entirely ignorant ? — punished for only being accessory to an
offence, of which, morally, he is entirely innocent ?

Why ? Because it is perfectly proper that law-breakers should be
punished — " the law allows it, and the court awards it." The question
then naturally arises — Why should one legislative trespasser be punished,
and another escape ? We leaye the first interrogatory with the readers

MR. " PUBLIC INSTRUCTOR" ROEBUCK. 471

of " Cleave's Police Gazette," and would be glad to hear the second
resolved by the dosers over Mr. Roebuck's pamphlets.*

We have next to inquire, if Mr. Roebuck understands the theory and
practice of government ? This will cost but little trouble. One sentence
from his article, " On the Means of Conveying Information to the
People," will speedilysettle the amount of our instructor's political acumen :

" We (namely, the writer and his clique) believe that no people can be well
governed that do not govern themselves!"

This sentence is evidently an attempt to express the epistolicum of
republicanism, but is as untenable and fallacious as any jumble of words
can well be ;f and to attempt the refutation of a proposition so silly,
would be idle : the instructor, however, saves us the trouble, for, in the
very next page, he flatly contradicts himself — thus : —

" It is clear, that although the people ought to govern, they cannot do so directly,
and by themselves."

These two sentences, taken from a pamphlet professedly written to
expound the views of Mr. Roebuck and his pamphleteering companions,
must show at once their total ignorance of legislature, limited, constitu-
tional, or republican. And, although we do not always see the justice
of picking out, as we have done, one sentence to refute sentiments
expressed in another — yet, in this instance, we can plead ample
justification : first, because the contradiction is unequivocal and positive ;
next, because the context neither qualifies nor excuses it ; and, lastly,
because the premises first predicated are untenable, and consequently
undeducible ; so that, without making a fresh proposition, the writer
must have abandoned the argument for want of materials for deduction.

But this ignorance is not confined to the science of legislation. The
total independence of elementary knowledge displayed in the Roebuck
pamphlets, brings us to our third consideration : the capability of
expressing ideas in language plain, forcible, and apt.

To comply with this condition, it is plain, two things are necessary :
that the teacher should have ideas to express, original and essentially
his own ; and that he should be acquainted with the common rudiments
of the English grammar. In both these essentials, our " public in-
structor" is more than deficient. He seems entirely unpossessed of any
idea which has not been previously propounded and published, from the
davs of the "gagging bill" and "Corresponding Society," to those of
the surpassingly talented, but frequently wrong-headed, William Cob-
bett. The arguments of Mr. Roebuck — or, rather, those he takes the
liberty of borrowing — seem to undergo a similar process to the pouring
of water through a sieve. From the extreme instability of his senti-
ments, and the confused manner in which he attempts to express them,
it would seem that they are imbibed for the especial purpose of manu-

* We are, certainly, of opinion, that some alteration in the stamp act, as
regards newspapers, is loudly called for; but while in its present state, the law
ought to be obeyed; and it is obvious, that a member of Parliament should be the
last person either to evade or break it.

j- We suppose the instructor means, that no people cap be well governed that
do not govern each other.

472 MR. " PUBLIC INSTRUCTOR" ROEBUCK.

facturing his pamphlets. His effusions bear evidence, that the process
of learning occurs immediately previous to that of teaching • and that he
performs the latter operation prematurely — before the first has been
either digested or consummated ; and, consequently, his information,
being but superficially impressed upon his own mind, is poured forth to
the public " in one weak, washy, overwhelming flood."

How aptly soever these remarks apply to his sentiments, they bear
not, however, an equal reference to his syntax. The rules of that school-
boy accomplishment he has evidently never learned at all, or acquired
them too superficially even to admit of his applying them to the emana-
tions from " The Society for the Diffusion of Moral and Political
Knowledge."

To prove this assertion, would involve us in a labyrinth of verbal
criticism — a task not excessively amusing, either to us or our readers,
and only worthy of the talents of a school-usher. We cannot, however,
resist the temptation of referring "the curious in composition" to a
random selection of Roebuckiana, below.*

* We will begin with bad English :—

" As we do not take advantage of the benefits of being a periodical'' &c. &c,

It would be curious to know what ivould be the advantage of " we" (Roebuck
and Co.) being hocus-pocussed into a " periodical."

" To draw the line accurately between the domain of law and morality is no easy
task/' &c. — The Stamped Press oj London and its Morality, p. 1.

" Domain" for " domains."

" Who was it that persecuted the Quakers ? Protestants. Who was it that
passed intolerant acts against dissenters ? Protestants. Who was it that framed
the sanguinary code for Ireland ? Protestants." — Commemoration of the Reforma-
tion, p. 13.

Platitudes:—

" But I am not so blinded by this persuasion, as to believe that all the people
do is wise — neither can I be persuaded to call the people wise, when I believe them
to be ignorant." — On the Means of conveying Information to the People, p. 5.

"The government, under the best system, can but be the reflexion of the
people: if they be wise, by adopting a good system, you will produce a wise govern-
ment ; if they be ignorant, an ignorant one.1' — Tdem, p. 7.

Identical propositions : —

" Your object, in the coming Municipal Elections, ought to be, and doubtless
will be, to select persons who will with honesty and intelligence discharge the duties
imposed on the Municipal Government : in other words, you will endeavour to
select honest and intelligent Town Councillors." — A Letter to the future Municipal
Electors of Bath, p. S.

The "other words" produce the same sentiment, written in nearly the same
« words."

"That body of persons who are appointed to manage the city's own concerns,
are with us called the City Corporation. The object, then, for which the City
Corporation is appointed, is to manage the peculiar concerns of the city." — A Letter
to the Electors of Bath on the Corporation Bill, p. 2.

We could, if we chose to be tiresome, multiply these extracts ad injinitum, as
almost every page exhibits some sin against grammar or common sense.

MR. "PUBLIC INSTRUCTOR" ROEBUCK. 473

Having thus shown the public-instructing pamphleteer to be a person
utterly disqualified for his task — as well from the want of that sine qua
non, public principle, as from his lamentable deficit in the matter of
common education — we owe our readers an apology for occupying these
pages with a subject so extremely unworthy. But it is possible for the
most ignorant, the most illiterate — even for Mr. Roebuck — to cause much
evil, both political and moral ; particularly amongst his own class — that
of uneducated persons. To avert, in some degree, such evil, by exposing
the presumption, folly, and emptiness, of those who would engender it,
has been our aim — an object we will ever deem paramount.

In conclusion, we ought to observe, that many papers published in
" Mr. Roebuck's Pamphlets," are written by other members of the
" Society." The best general notice we can give them is, that they are
grammatically expressed. The paper signed " FRANCIS PLACE," and
headed " HAND-LOOM WEAVERS," is, however, marked by sound sense,
and is likely to do good to the persons addressed.*

m.

SONNET.

METHOUGHT I saw a vision from the dead

Come cloth'd in beauty, as I slumbering lay ;

She had no terrors, but a smile did play
Gently upon her face ; and round her head
A circling halo its meek lustre shed :

A cloud transparent seem'd her white array,

Lovely as one that, on a summer day,
O'er the blue heavens is delicately spread.
And she did bend her beaming eyes on me,

And in kind voice, with tenderness replete,
Chaunted a wild and plaintive melody,

A song of death : — to die — how passing sweet !
A lulling opiate for the weary breast,

Bringing smooth slumbers and untroubled rest. * * *

* We will take leave to remark in this place, and by way of " addenda," thatr
m common with our contemporaries, we do not entertain a sentiment of respect
for the public character whose conspicuous demerits have called forth this paper-
We desire, however, to extend our good-nature, rather than our political good-will,,
towards this degraded pamphlet-monger — this mere abortion of common sense —
which we have taste enough to disapprove, as disgracing the " sacred cause" ifc
aims to abet. It is pretended, too, that this infatuated person supplies the-
place, in the present age, of the illustrious Junius — save the mark ! We shall ever
be grateful to the memory of Junius, for having, as it were, breathed into our
mind — for having inspired our heart — for having imbued our soul, with the
unpretending spirit of liberty, which, of all moral sentiments, we firmly believe-
tends most to swell the bosom with a sort of superhuman apprehension of our own
dignity. Is it not that very "dignity" which creates within us moral heroism ;
and mediately conduces to our proud enjoyment of all that to British manhood
were desirable — self-esteem — self- venerat ion ? Answer who may, such is our
bias, — ED.

( 474 )

ESSAY ON THE MORAL EFFECTS OF FICTION,
ESPECIALLY IN NOVELS.

BY THE LATE SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH.

IT is, you know, a favourite notion of mine, that a sensibility to the
beauties of natural scenery, is a late acquirement of civilized taste. Mr.
Twining, in his translation of Aristotle's " Poetics," observes, that there
is no single term, either in Greek or Latin, for " prospect."

Both Aristotle and Bacon consider fiction and poetry as equivalent
terms. Aristotle observes, that verse without fiction is not poetry ; and
Bacon teaches us, that poetry may be written in prose as well as in
verse. There were few examples in the time of Bacon, perhaps none in
that of Aristotle, of fiction without the ornament of metre. But these
great philosophers could not suppose that the arrangement of sounds
was the essential distinction between two different modes of exercising
the human faculties. Aristotle, agreeably to the bent of his genius,
considers poetry, in its analogy to philosophy — a wide unexplored field,
which I, at present, forbear to enter. Bacon, whose intellect had taken
no bent, but was equally ready to be shot out in any direction where
new objects were to be caught, considers the moral effect of fiction,
which is the subject of my present inquiry.

Fiction, if its nature be attentively considered, seems to be capable of
producing two moral effects.

I. It represents a degree of ideal excellence, superior to any virtue
which is observed in real life. This effect is perfectly analogous to that
of a model of ideal beauty in the elegant arts. As in the arts of painting
and sculpture, so in the noblest of all arts, the art of living well, the
pursuit of unattainable perfection raises us more near to what we never
can reach. Valour or benevolence may be embodied in the hero of a
tale, as female beauty in the Venus, or male beauty in the Apollo. This
effect of fiction is represented with majestic eloquence by Bacon. To
this he confined his attention ; and does not seem to have considered
another effect perhaps not of inferior importance.

II. Every fiction is popular in proportion to the degree in which it
interests the greatest number of men. Now, to interest is to excite the
sympathy of the reader with one of the persons of the fiction — to be
anxious about his fortunes, to exult in his success, and to lament his
sufferings. Every fiction, therefore, in proportion as it delights, teaches
a new degree of fellow-feeling with the happiness or misery of other
men ; it adds somewhat to the disposition to sympathise, which is the
spring of benevolence ; and benevolence is not only the sovereign queen
of all the virtues, but that virtue for whose sake every other exists, and
which bestows the rank of virtue on every human quality that ministers
in her train. No fiction can delight but as it interests ; nor can it
excite interest but as it exercises sympathy ; nor can it excite
sympathy without increasing the disposition to sympathise, and, con-

ESSAY ON THE MORAL EFFECTS OF FICTION. 475

sequently, without strengthening benevolence. There is no doubt
that the best school of compassion is real calamity : and that the inter-
course of sympathy and benefit, in active life, is the most effectual disci-
pline of humanity. The effect of similar scenes in fiction is proportion-
ably fainter, but it may be repeated as often as is desired ; and, at all
events, it is so much added to the school of real events.

This importance would appear greater, if we could transport ourselves
back to the first abject condition of the human brute. A rare act of
virtue, probably of valour, the quality most necessary and most brilliant,
is versified and recited; his only wish is, that his beastly idleness maybe
diverted ; but something of the sentiment which produced the virtue
steals into his soul. The success of the singer rouses others. When
they have exhausted mere brute courage, they think of the motive which
inspired it. He who is killed for his tribe, or for his family, is the more
favoured hero. The barbarous poet and his savage hearers find that they
have been insensibly betrayed to celebrate and admire humanity. One act
of virtue is, as it were, multiplied by a thousand mirrors of rude fiction :
these images afford so many new pictures to the imagination of the
savage. In a long series of ages, it may be said, with truth —

" Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse ?
Her track, where'er the goddess roves,
Glory pursues, and generous shame,
Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame."

Every state of society has its predominant virtue, of which it delights
to multiply the ideal models By frequently contemplating these, other
virtues are excluded, and the favourite quality is nourished to that excess
at which it becomes a vice. Admiration of the valour of Achilles
inspires a criminal rage for war, and lessens our abhorrence for the
rapine and cruelty of the hero. Treatises on morals, written in the
most dissimilar times, may exactly coincide ; but it is otherwise with
fiction, and such practical modes of inspiring moral sentiment ; they
proceed from the feelings, and they must be marked by the prevalent
feelings of the age which produces them. Unhappily, the effect of the
moral treatise is small ; that of the fiction, though unequal and irregular,
is very great. A man who should feel all the various sentiments of
morality, in the proportions in which they are inspired by the Iliad,
would certainly be far from a perfectly good man. But it does not
follow that the Iliad did not produce great moral benefit. To determine
that point, we must ascertain whether a man, formed by the Iliad,
would be better than the ordinary man of the country at the time in
which it appeared. It is true, that it too much inspires an admiration
for ferocious courage. That admiration was then prevalent, and everv
circumstance served to strengthen it. But the Iliad breathes many other
sentiments less prevalent, less favoured by the state of society, and
calculated gradually to mitigate the predominant passion. The friend-
ship and sorrow of Achilles for Patroclus, the patriotic valour of Hector,
the paternal affliction of Priam, would slowly introduce more human
affections. If they had not been combined with the admiration of
barbarous courage, they would not have been popular, and consequently
they would have found no entry into those savage hearts which they

466 RKSSAY ON THE MORAL EFFECTS OP FICTION.

were destined (I do riot s.iy, intended) to soften. It is therefore clear,
from the very nature of poetry, that the poet must inspire somewhat
better morals than those around him, though, to be effectual and useful,
his morals must not be totally unlike those of his contemporaries. With
respect to posterity, the case is somewhat different ; as they become
more and more civilized, they limit their admiration to the really
admirable qualities of energy, magnanimity, and sensibility ; they turn
aside their eyes from their attendant ferocity, or consider it only as a
proof of the power of the poet, as an exact painter of manners. If the
Iliad should, in a long course of ages, have inflamed the ambition and
ferocity of a few individuals, even that evil, great as it is, will be far from
balancing all the generous sentiments which, for three thousand years,
it has been pouring into the hearts of youth, and which it now continues
to infuse, aided by the dignity of antiquity, and by all the fire and
splendour of poetry. Every succeeding generation, as it refines, requires
the standard to be proportionably raised.

Apply these remarks, with the necessary modifications, to those fic-
tions copied from common life, called novels, which are not above a cen-
tury old, and of which the multiplication and the importance, as well as
literary as moral, are characteristic features of England. There may be
persons now alive who may recollect the publication of ' Tom Jones/ at
least, if not of ' Clarissa.' In that time, probably twelve novels have
appeared, of the first rank — a prodigious number, of such a kind, in any
department of literature ; and the whole class of novels must have had
more influence on the public, than all other sorts of books combined.
Nothing popular can be frivolous ; whatever influences multitudes, must
be of proportionable importance. Bacon and Turgot would have con-
templated with inquisitive admiration this literary revolution.

If fiction exalts virtue by presenting ideal perfection, and strengthens
sympathy by multiplying the occasions for its exercise, this must be best
done when the fiction most resembles that real life which is the sphere
of the duties and feelings of the great majority of men. At first sight,
then, it seems that the moralist could not have imagined a revolution in
literature more favourable to him, than that which has exalted and mul-
tiplied novels. And now I hear a clamour around me ; — ' Tom Jones is
the most admirable and popular of all English novels, and will Mr. Phi-
losopher pretend that Tom Jones is a moral book ?' With shame and
sorrow it must be answered, that it does not deserve the name, and a
good man, who finds such a prostitution of genius in a book so likely to
captivate the young, will be apt to throw it from him with indignation ;
but he will still, even in this extreme case, observe, that the same book
inspires the greatest abhorrence of the duplicity of Blifil, of the hypocrisy
of Thwackum and Square ; that Jones himself is interesting by his frank-
ness, spirit, kindness, and fidelity — all virtues of the first class. The
objection is the same in its principle with that to the Iliad. The ancient
epic exclusivly presents war — the modern novel, love ; the one what was
most interesting in public life, and the other, what is most brilliant in pri-
vate, and both with an unfortunate disregard of moral restraint —

•* Fierce wars and faithful loves."
A more refined objection against novels has been made by Stewart,

ESSAY ON THE M011AL EFFECTS OF FICTION. 477

from whom I am always unwilling to dissent, especially on the mixed
questions of taste and morals, which he generally treats with uncommon
success. He admits that fiction cultivates the moral taste, the advantage
ascribed to it by Lord Bacon ; but he seems to deny (though with some
fluctuation) that it cultivates sympathy — the advantage for which I have
ventured to contend. The sum of his objections is, that every repetition
of a melancholy scene blunts sensibility ; that this is not balanced, as in
real life, by strengthening the active habit ; and that a custom of con-
templating the elegant distresses of fiction, makes the mind shrink from
the homely, and often disgusting, miseries of the world. The last ob-
jection has a certain degree of truth. A mind accustomed to compas-
sionate distress only when divested of disgusting circumstances, will
doubtless not be so ready to pity haggard and loathsome poverty, as
those who have been long habituated to contemplate that sort of misery.
But the true question is, whether such a mind will not be more disposed
to pity, in such circumstances, than one who has never had compassion
excited before.

It deserves particular consideration, that distress is never presented
in fiction, but where it is naturally followed by pity, which it is the ob-
ject of the fiction to inspire. It must be, and it ought to be, quite other-
wise in real life. The physician is immediately roused by the sight of
suffering, to consider the means of relief; the magistrate connects the
sufferings of the criminal with the advantage of society ; the angry man
feels a gratification in the sufferings of his enemy. These states of mind
are natural ; some of them useful, and even necessary. The case of the
physician is that of every man constantly engaged in the practice of
benevolence ; but they are all examples where pain is dissociated from
the sufferings of others, and where real misery produces sentiments dif-
ferent from pity — the most generally useful of all human feelings.

From the larger proposition I differ also — that " an habitual attention
to scenes of fictitious distress is not merely useless to the character, but
positively hurtful." Impressions are weakened by repetition ; associations
between two ideas, or between two feelings, or between an idea and a
feeling, are strengthened by repetition ; and the force of such associations
will be directly in proportion to the number of times that the ideas or
feelings have co-existed, or immediately succeeded each other. This
theory is applicable to every operation of the mind, but the mere passive
receiving of impressions ; it is obviously applicable to all the passions,
and is, indeed, the law on which their growth depends. Take the in-
stance of avarice. There is in avarice an association between the idea
of money and the feeling of pleasure. It is perfectly clear, that the
oftener this idea and this feeling have been associated, the stronger is the
power of the idea to call up the feeling. It would be most extravagant
indeed to suppose, that the repetition of fits of anger did not make a man
more irascible, in a manner so independent of outward acts, that men
often become more passionate from the painful necessity of concealing
all its outward marks. If the contemplation of pathetic scenes weakens
pity, why should not the contemplation of excellence weaken the love of
virtue ?

Then, though each single impression is, no doubt, weakened by repeti-
tion, yet this may be more than counterbalanced by new impressions,

M. M.— No. 11. 3 P

4/8 ESSAY ON THE MORAL EFFECTS OF FICTION.

received from the same object, in frequent successive contemplation.
Every mind which possesses any sensibility to rural beauty, receives the
strongest impression at first from every part of a beautiful scene which
it can then perceive ; but many succeeding views may reveal new beau-
ties, and cultivation may quicken and expand his power of observing.
The impression from what I did see in the " Elegy*" was strongest at
first ; but my whole impression is far stronger after the ten thousandth
perusal, because I now see a great deal more. Pity receives a similar
improvement from education ; it acquires a more exquisite tact, and dis-
covers pains of which, in its first gross state, it would not have suspected
the existence. On this depend all the delicacy of compassion, and the
grace of beneficence. In this manner, after a long exercise of sympathy,
even the whole impression made by the sufferings of others may be
stronger, because (if I may so speak) the rays issue from a greater num-
ber of points.

But this is not all ; every emotion of pity is necessarily followed by a
desire to relieve, (however faint,) which partakes of the nature of an
active habit ; it is not unfelt even towards fictitious distress. If this
desire — this internal effort — this mental act, did not follow the law of
active habits, what would be the case of those good men who see misery
often, and seldom, or perhaps never, may have the means of relieving it ?
Mr. Stewart will not suppose that their hearts will be hardened, or that
their pity will not be in many respects more lively and eager than that
of those who have relieved themselves by beneficence. On the contrary,
he will acknowledge that the facility of relieving the coarser distresses is
one of the circumstances which corrupt and harden the rich, and fills
them with the insolent conceit, that all the wounds of the human heart
can be healed by their wealth.

In differing from Mr. Stewart, I am delighted in concurring with one
for whom he and I feel the most profound reverence, and who (I agree
with him) had more comprehensive views of the progress of society than
any man since Bacon. " II regardoit les romans comme des livres de
morale, et mehne, disoit-il, comme les seuls ou il eut vu de la morale.'*
(Vie de Turgot par Condorcet, p. 62.)

Novels inspire romantic indiscretions. Whatever violates the rules
of duty, in which are included those of prudence, is, no doubt, below per-
feet morality ; but how much is the romantic lover above the sensual and
the mercenary ! The period of the prevalence of novels has been charac-
terised by another very remarkable phenomenon ; it is the only period
in history in which female genius could be mentioned as materially con-
tributing to the literary glory of a nation.

As they are now the most numerous class of literary productions,
there must be more bad novels than bad books of any other kind. The
number of wretched publications under the name, the modern origin of
this species of composition, and the familiar appearance of its subjects,
give, in the eye of many, an air of frivolity to the name of novel ; and
many a foolish pedant who wastes his life in illustrating an obscure and
obscene comedy of Aristophanes, would be ashamed to read an English

* « In a Country Church-yard."

ESSAY ON THE MORAL EFFECTS OF FICTION. 479

novel of high genius and pure morals. I do not meddle with the im-
portant questions of prudence in the education of a female ; what novels
she ought to read, and when. As to ninety-nine of every hundred
novels, I know from experience that it is a sad waste of time — " the
stuff of which life is made."

It should be observed, that, for the purpose of this argument, history
and fiction are on a footing ; both present distress not occurring in our
own experience. The effect does not at all depend on the particular or
historical truth, but on that more general or philosophical truth of which
Aristotle speaks, and which consists in a conformity to human nature.
The effect of the death of Clarissa, or of Mary Stuart, on the heart, by
no means depends on the fact that the one really died, but on the viva-
city of the exhibition by the two great painters, Hume and Richardson.
All the interest of the story, and all the charm of the style, produce sub-
ordinate sentiments, which, in pathetic narrative, flow into the main
stream of pity, sweeten its composition, increase its pleasurable ingre-
dients, and strengthen the disposition towards it. As benevolence,
which is the most delightful of all human feelings, is a part of pity, the
latter is never wholly painful ; and the pain seldom predominates for a
long time. The expressions of poetry respecting " the luxury of woe,"
&c. would be inadmissible in poetical composition, if they were not
sanctioned by the general feeling.

ANACREONTIC BALLAD,
J3y ffitv* C. 23. OTifemt.

TRIM the taper ! fill the bowl !

Scarce our revel hath begun ;
Stir not hence, each jovial soul —

Stir not, till the rising sun
Comes your ling'ring steps to chide,

With its paly-gleaming ray ; —
When the bowl's last tears are dried,

Up ! to daylight's cares away !
Trim the taper— fill the bowl —

Scarce our revel hath begun ;
Stir not hence, each jovial soul,

Mirth like ours should greet the sun !
Night is here with roses crowned,

Like a young and blushing bride ;
And each sterner thought is drowned

In the goblet's sparkling tide !
Rubies light the wine-cup's stream—

Diamonds flash from Beauty's eyes ; —
Where are gems like these, that gleam
'Neath chill morning's sober skies ?
Trim the taper — fill the bowl —

Scarce our revel hath begun ;
Stir not hence, each jovial soul —

Mirth like ours should greet the sun !

( 480 )

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

LARDNER'S Cabinet Cyclopoedia. 71 — Vol.2. BIOGRAPHY. Longman

and Co.

IT was in our last number only we noticed the preceding part or volume of
this valuable work ; and now we have its successor placed before us for the
like purpose. We have ever looked upon Dr. Lardner's Cabinet Library in the
light of a " Godsend ;" destined to enlighten and improve the great human
family, the which, if properly made use of, might serve the purpose of self educa-
tion, were there no other book or books to be found on the face of our planet
save the Bible — that priceless tome containing innumerous evidence of heavenly
wisdom and human folly. The present volume contains biographical outlines of
the lives of some of the most eminent literary and scientific men of Italy, Spain,
and Portugal ; and we shall feel disappointed if it fail to give less satisfaction, if
not pleasure and delight, than its precursors.

STANPIELD'S Coast Scenery, Parts 5 and 6. Smith, Elder, and Co.,

Cornhill.

THIS work proceeds with extraordinary eclat. The engVavings are of the first
class. Part 5 contains — Portsmouth Harbour ; the Semaphore at Portsmouth ;
the Arched Rock, Isle of Wight, and Havre-de-Grace. Part 6 contains — Rye Old
Harbour, Blockade Station; Powderham Park, Exmouth ; Hamoaze, Plymouth;
and Eastcliff, Hastings; and it must be confessed they are equally beautiful and
attractive.

LOUDON'S Arboretum Britannicum. Nos. 9 and 10. Longman and Co,

HERE we have another peculiarly well managed and skilful work, which is pro-
gressing with deserved success. Botanists, of all other persons, must, we think,
feel highly indebted to Mr. Loudon for his pains-taking labours in this interesting
branch of science. We are at a loss to know how, in the name of bookselling,
the part or number, with so great a quantity of engravings, are produced for he
small sum of 2s. 6d. We cannot make it out.

Architectural Magazine. Nos. 19 and 20. Longman and Co.

THIS is a very ably conducted publication. Already (we speak advisedly
upon the subject), the advantages to be derived from this work have proved of the
utmost utility to builders and the students and others belonging to this profession,
— nay, even to the more humble class of artizans — namely, the working carpenter
and mason.

The Conquests of Florida, under Hernando de Loto. By THEODORE
IRVING. 2'vols. post Svo.

MR. CHURTON, the enterprising publisher, seems bent on affording us an early
aud plentiful supply of new and valuable books, with which to beguile the

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 481

approaching winter evenings. Miss Sedgwick's new work had scarcely passed
through our hands and reached the circulating libraries of the united kingdom,
ere we were presented with «' The Conquest of Florida j" and by whom, fair
reader, do you incline to think ? — Prepare for a fresh surprise — if not delight ; — we
answer, by a nephew of Washington Irving, the American novelist. The very
name carries with it a modern charm, if his volumes fail to impart enchantment.
In few words, then, let us sum up the evidence and pronounce the sentence.
The Conquest of Florida, as a whole, is one of the best written and most refreshing
works we have read for some time. We are by no means inclined to cavil or find
fault with trifling discrepancies, but ever happy to award praise, especially where it
is pre-eminently due. Theodore Irving bids fair to follow in the wake of his
uncle's, Washington Irving's, intellectual sailing-yacht. We regret we have not
space for extracts. The work must make its way rapidly.

The Englishman's Political Legacy, or John Bull's Spy-Glass for dis-
covering and unmasking- the Corruptions and Abuses in his Church
and State Property. Strange, Paternoster Row.

THIS is an extraordinary book of facts, indeed ; we say facts, because, however
revolting — however loathsome — however unpalatable they may prove to all of us
Englishmen, who are made, as it were, to pay the piper ; they are, nevertheless
(to speak sincerely), but too true. Indeed, it is not likely that the author, who
is evidently not merely a talented but a gifted and literate man, would, with
his immovable reputation, for the purpose of gratifying a vicious propensity,
namely, that of misrepresenting the real state of things. Moreover, this popular
public writer seems to us — who delight not in judging invidiously — to have derived
a powerful genius from nature : he evidently displays an original invention in his
political theories as well as an original style in his turbulent — not to say revo-
lutionary, declamation. We say turbulent, for he doubtless possesses a very
tumultuary mind. Perhaps, indeed, he was bom in a tempestuous atmosphere, for
the express purpose of becoming —

" The scourge of impostors and the terror of quacks."

Although we differ with the writer in politics, taking it for granted his are extreme
Radical, we must concede to him the merit of having issued a most skilful and
comprehensive " Political Legacy." The language he has adopted is, in many
instances, too " boisterous" — nay, vociferous in the highest degree, to please our
sober judgment ; but this fault may, perhaps, best suit the majority of his readers,
despite our dislike of it; and when we find so much plain dealing and wholesome
truth set down with so much national pride and native honesty, we readily negative
our unbought opinion.

" The Englishman's Political Legacy" addresses itself to every man who has a
head to think, and a heart to feel : as a memorial of abuse and corruption,
of misrule and oppression perhaps unequalled it demands attentive [pe-
rusal and the serious meditation of every Englishman, Irishman, and Scotch-
man, who wishes to live and die a freeman, and to transmit the blessing of
freedom to his children. To the participators and abettors in corruption and
abuse, this little work will be the subject of dread and abhorrence — the very
mention of its name will strike them half dead with fear and terror j but by the
friend and well-wisher to his country's happiness and prosperity, it cannot but be
hailed as a useful and readable medium for the diffusion of political knowledge
and public spirit. The size of the work is adapted so as to form an appendage
to every man's pocket-book, and thus calculates it to be handed down to
posterity.

To candidates for Parliamentary representation, on liberal and popular prin-
ciples, *' The Englishman's Political Legacy'' is respectfully recommended, as an

482 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

excellent medium for awakening the attention, and informing the understanding,
of Parliamentary electors, and, consequently, of inclining them to vote for honest
and independent candidates*

We think we should but ill acquit ourselves of our bounden duty to this
"GREAT NATION OF SHOPKEEPERS;" to the ENLIGHTENED "MIDDLE
CLASSES;'' to the GREAT BODY POLITIC OF ENGLAND, were we, although
pressed for time as well as space, to omit to transfer to our pages a specimen of
this bold politician's style and text. Take the following, atpage 28 : —

" 5. The Amendment and Eeformatim of the Church Establishment.

" In the amendment and reformation of the Church Establishment of England
and Ireland, all the tinkering, and tampering, and temporizing of ecclesiastical
ingenuity, even backed with the wisdom of * the heads of the law and the state,' will
not be of the least avail — its official or clerical members must assume more apos-
tolical habits and manners — more apostolical feelings and motives — more apos-
tolical practices and employments, than those which they, in their clerical craft
and cunning, think proper to adopt and practise ; they must, for the purpose,
* cast off the old man with his deeds' — they must first, ' with a pure heart, a good
conscience, and a faith unfeigned/ learn to * labour for and eat their own bread' —
they must, instead of * cleaving to their own traditions' — defending their 'world
of iniquity' — their thrones, palaces, and fat livings, their tithes, enormous incomes,
and inordinate emoluments, with the tenacious grasp of the tiger, and an appetite
as keen and ravening as that of death — strive, as much as in them lieth, to copy the
example, the ministry, and motives of their Divine Master, the meek, the lowly, and
the patient, forgiving, the holy and heavenly-minded Jesus. This, if they be
inclined, as * a holy priesthood, taking the oversight of the Church of God not for
filthy lucre's sake,' but with ' love unfeigned' — they will endeavour to do ; and if
they put into practice and operation the following advice, they will have the con-
solation of being enabled to ' put to silence the ignorance of foolish men,' and to
reclaim and bring back their flocks from that infidelity and neglect of religious
duties — that insensibility and indifference to spiritual and eternal interests —
which, unhappily, now prevail among all classes of the community, and which
their greediness and selfishness have been the chief cause of engendering."

We have small hesitation in recommending every intelligent person — every
freeman — every landowner — every farmer — every mechanic — to possess this
•* Political Legacy."

Recollections of Filey. By JOHN EDWARDS. Derby, 1835.

A POEM from the author of the " Tour of the Dove," however short, will ever be
acceptable to ourselves and the public. The veteran friend and correspondent of
Southey, Wordsworth, and the exquisite bard of the " World before the Flood,"
may, like them, choose his own moment when, frdm the silence of his retirement,
he may come forth to scatter abroad the flowers he cultivates in silence and in
secresy. We know the gentle sanctity of their odour, and we are ever ready to
confess that, while the tint and form are true to nature, an ethereal spirit ever
breathes around them, and fills our imagination with the idea that they belong to
another world. Still there is no such thing as religious poetry, in the common
acceptation of the phrase, throughout the whole of the compositions of Mr.
Edwards. No where does piety take, in his writings, the stiff and settled position
of a fixed subject. His piety may be compared to the clear stream of his favourite
river, the Dove, which flows constantly through the beauties of nature, reflecting
the romantic rocks, the caverns, and the verdant hills upon its banks, and still is
ever bright with the light from heaven.

The poem before us consists of no more than about eight-and-twenty short
stanzas : it is puiely descriptive, and its greatest merit is the graphic character of
passages which set the object pointed at correctly before the reader. Still the

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 483

whole is a recollection rather than a contemplated study. It was written, we are
told, on a suggestion arising from a picture in v< Cole's History and Antiquities of
Filey." It is therefore a poem of memory, and is, perhaps, the brightest from the
awakening remembrances by which it was brought, like a fresh image of the
morning, back upon the mind. To those who love the sea-coast, and have often
frequented it with an eye habitually conversant with the bold imagery, animate
and inanimate, which it is perpetually presenting and varying, the following
stanzas will afford sketches, not nice and finished indeed, but strikingly true.
The flight of innumerable sea-gulls, and the dash of the lofty feathery spray, with
its daring comparison to forest trees, are at once seen and heard in these lines: —

" The gulls, with wing of downy white
Flapping the water in their flight,

A thousand link'd in one,
Far out at sea disport their flock ;
Nor can the hermit of the rock
Silence a scream that mocks his noisy gun.

" Hark, the wind howls ! the booming deep
Comes rolling with tremendous sweep

Against the beetling rocks :
The tide, still rising every hour,
Augments the grandeur of its power ;
Yet the mole stirs not — it survives the shocks.

" Amidst the elemental jar
Bright shapes are mingling, fierce for war,

And toss on high their plumes.
Like forest trees, they bend and clash —
They rise — they sink — again they flash
Their glittering spray, that all the crag illumes.

" A cobble, with its leaning sail,
Has hove in sight, driven by the gale ; —

Another — others — more ;
All laden heavily, and each
Is pressing homeward, on the beach
To meet with friends who buy their fishy store.

" A throng and busy scene ensues ;
Their wives are mingled with the crews,
And children lend a hand
To hurl the vessel from the tide,
To hoist the baskets o'er its side,
And spread the nets to dry upon the strand.

" These duties done, the men repair,
Each with his family, to share

Rest and refreshing food.
The mercies of the stormy night
Are then narrated, and excite
Their souls anew to faith and gratitude."

Henry, or the Juvenile Traveller. By the Wife of a British Officer resi-
dent in Canada. Simpkin, Marshall, and Co.

A BOOK of travels from Portsmouth to Montreal, in America, written to suit the
capacities of young people. The idea is excellent, and the work is executed in a
manner well worthy of so good a design.

484 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

The Historical Keepsake, a Series of Original Tales, &c. &c., illustrative
of British History. T. Hurst, St. Paul's Church-Yard.

A TASTEFUL, and, to young persons, useful collection of historiet les, selected
from the most interesting periods of English history, the literary department
executed with judgment by Mr. J. W. Dalby. It is illustrated with engravings on
wood, and is altogether an unpretending addition to our annual literature.

Prose Tales, adapted from the poets of the Nineteenth Century. By
STEPHEN and HORATIO HUNT. Clements, Little Pulteney Street.

IN this matter-of-fact age, when poetry is at a discount, a work of this nature must
be peculiarly acceptable. Its object seems to be to relieve " light readers" from
the fetters verse sometimes imposes upon the progress of incident. The number
before us — the first — presents a prose paraphrase of Crabbe's "Visionary ;"and,
(let all advocates of cheap literature observe) — for TWOPENCE.

Autumnal Leaves. By HENRIETTA. (Second Edition.) Dedicated to

the Countess of Munster. James Cochrane & Co., Waterloo Place.
THIS is a collection of lyrics, exhibiting a very fair specimen of female talent.
The fair authoress might have added her name to the work without fear of encoun-
tering the " deep damnation of the critic's * bah !' "

The Lay of the Lady Ellen ; a Tale of 1834. By HARRY CHESTER,
ESQ. Saunders and Ottley.

A TALE of fashionable life, related in iambic verse, with occasional aberrations
into the dithyrambic. Moonlight, minuets, romances, and routs, are mixed up in
this "little trifle" (as the author calls it in his mysterious dedication), with a
wandering disregard to unity, plainly evincing a highly cultivated taste for the
heterogeneous.

One sample of the author's rhyming propensities will be satisfactory to a
" discerning public." It affords a unique specimen of that style of poetry (?)
known as album-onian, and would have done honour to a drawing-room
debutante just escaped from boarding-school and bread and butter : —

"But hark ! again the fiddles squeal,
Attuning for a new quad-ri7/e ;

Now beaux are bent

On belles, intent
To take a step or two ;
And lo ! the men of rope advance
To hinder those who do not dance
From pressing those who do.

From end to end

Two ropes extend,
Twisted of worsted green ; *

On either side

A passage wide,
The dancers all between.
Now belles their boas cast aside ;
Now beaux their hats in corners hide."

* " For 'green,' understand ' red.' — Printers Devil."

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 485

The " Printer's Devil" aforesaid has evidently done the author an injustice in
the second line. The rhyme to " squeal" should have been quad-reeZ, a style of
dancing in which the author must have frequently indulged while perpetrating the
" Lay of the Lady Ellen."

A Sermon preached by the Right Honourable GEORGE HENRY, Bishop
of Wells, in aid of the Royal Dispensary for Diseases of the Ear and
Deaf and Dumb. Rivington and Co.

THIS sermon, preached in behalf of the excellent institution above-named —
founded by the benevolent Dr. Curtis — is a plain, sensible, and scholar-like com-
position on a subject which demands considerable talent to handle with any
degree of originality : — charity. The sentiments which commence the sermon, are
just, and admirably expressed : —

" There are few obligations more generally allowed ; and, what is of far greater
importance, there are few more generally practised, than those which have for
their object the relief of the suffering part of the community. Amidst a too pre-
vailing -corruption of manners — amidst a luxury which exceeds all bounds —
amidst the decay or extinction of many sterner virtues, Charity is still left to plead
our cause with an offended God, and to lead us onward in the road to heaven.
Almost every argument and every principle which can be adduced in the recom-
mendation of any duty, all concur in enforcing the practice of charity. If we
retire into our own breasts, and examine the perceptions which are passing there,
we find our compassion so powerfully excited by cases of distress and misfortune ;
so cordial, so unmixed a delight in affording ease and consolation to the distressed,
that we cannot for a moment doubt, either concerning the reality of the feeling
which we call pity, or concerning the final cause for which that feeling was
implanted in our mind."

The Life of Admiral Lord Viscount Exmouth. By EDWARD OSTLER,
ESQ. London: Smith, Elder, and Co. pp. 448.

THIS publication will prove a failure. From beginning to end there is no sufficient
information to interest even the interested. The London Gazette contains, for the
most part, nearly all the kind of information it pretends to furnish. With regard
to Lord Exmouth, every newspaper reader knows that he was an intrepid, thorough-
bred seaman : a man whose physical exceeded his personal energies. From the
period of his election to serve in Parliament for the borough of Barnstaple —
already stigmatised to the very letter for its constitutional and political degrada-
tion, Sir Edward Pellew, afterwards Lord Exmouth, afforded mankind another
instance of the truth of Shakspeare's oft-repeated lines —

" There is a tide in the affairs of men, which,
When taken at the flood, leads on to fortune."

It was by the aid of the rotten-borough system, then, that this gallant and enter-
prising sailor officer (being unable by servitude or private interest), procured pro-
motion which, it must be confessed, he did not disgrace ; but, on the contrary (we,
in common with every patriot British heart, have reason to acknowledge with
feelings of respect for Lord Exmouth's memory), honoured by his bravery arid
courage. That Lord Exmouth was the child of capricious fortune no one, we
think, will pretend to deny. Mr. Ostler has "got up" the work respectably; we
mean as regards the collating, printing, etcetera. He could not write what was not
true, in order to make the moral and Christian character of Sir Edward Pellew
stand out, so as to become matter of national and agreeable conversation. Lord
Exmouth was the antipodes of a benevolent man : philanthropy had no charms
for him. The historian, not Mr. Ostler, had already recorded the name of Sir
Edward Pellew on the pages of modern history as the conquering British admiral

M. M.— No. 11. 3Q

486 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

at the memorable siege of Algiers. He has been gathered to his fathers— may his
ashes rest in peace. The name of Lord Exmouth, however, must not be coupled
with such men as Lord Collinffwood on the one hand, for the hero of the Nile
and Trafalgar on the other. Thus much have we said in downright honesty of
purpose. Nevertheless, we devoutly honour the memory of the illustrious
dead.

The British and Foreign Review, or European Quarterly Journal, No. II.
James Ridgway & Co.

THE promise of excellence held out in the first number of this Review, is amply
sustained in the second. The opening article on General Evans's pamphlet on the
" Designs of Russia/' is a specimen of vigorous writing and bold criticism — not
on the pamphlet, but on the recent acts of" The Autocrat of the North." Article
VII., " The Fudges in England" and " Lydia Tomkins' Thoughts on the Ladies
of the Aristocracy" is a gossiping sheet of light reading, with a few allusions,
cruelly severe, on the two " Great Protestant Meetings," and a sly hit or two on
the ladies' champion. Altogether, we augur most favourably of the success of the
" British ;" to which its price — only four shillings— will in no small degree
contribute.

The Political and Commercial Almanack for 1836. Price Sixpence.

THIS is, without exception, the most useful and concise, yet comprehensive,
publication of the kind that we have yet seen. To bestow general praise upon its
merits were idle; to point out the peculiar features of its usefulness, to demonstrate
its immediate claims to the " utilitarian school," we deem alike superfluous.
It certainly should have been called the Every Man's Almanack — for it certainly
is the most useful and the least expensive. The political statistics which form a
featnre of the contents are admirably well drawn up; and they are uniformly
correct. We repeat, the price of the Political and Commercial Almanack, is —

SIXPENCE.

The Oriental Annual for 1836, or Scenes in India; comprising 22
magnificent Cabinet Engravings by William Daniell, Esq. R. A.

WHETHER we regard the drawings, the engravings, the printing, the subject matter,
which is highly interesting, or the binding, which is rich in the best sense of the
term, we are at a loss to express our admiration of this " illustrious visitor." It
cannot fail of becoming a favourite among people of taste and intellect. It will be
found to be splendidly appointed in every respect.

The English Annual for 1836.

THIS is a well-clothed maiden progeny (as innocent as Eve herself in Paradise), of
Mr. Churton's own begetting. Publishing is his besetting sin. Had he stopped
short and been content with his Oriental Annual, it would have been well ; now,
however, that he has passed the Rubicon, and ventured on the vast field of emulous
competition (which he had an undoubted right to do, by the way), and which is
still before him, we will not disguise from the public, that we feel bound to say
that the English Annual is nothing more than a mere "job;" a book-maker's
puppet-show — a thing of melancholy shreds and patches— a rigmarole, of worn-
out Court Magazine plates and other fustian stuff — in short, a publisher's nonen-
tity. We hope the public will feel disgusted with this effort to impose upon its
pretensions and proverbial liberality.

MONTHLY REVIEW OP LITERATURE. 487

Mr. Donald Walker's Improved Spelling-Book.

WE have much pleasure in announcing, that this valuable publication will be
ready for delivery on the llth of November, and will entirely supersede the stupid
books so long held to be indispensable to the education of our youth. The com-
bined merit of the work is above all praise.

The Life and Confession of Humphrey Humbug, M.D. F.R.S. &c. &c.
Related by himself.

Tins autobiography is orMly enough dedicated to O'Connell — we say oddly, be-
cause as Daniel is the Humbug par excellence of the day, we imagined — until a
close examination of the work corrected our mistake — that the Agitator had re-
lieved himself from the fatigues of pocketing and expending " the rint" by divulg-
ing the unde derivuntur of his extensive genius for "humbugging." This is not, how-
ever, the fact: the life-writing humbug is one of a different species — a universalist,
inventor ot club-houses — patentpills — patron ofnewspaperhacksand book-makers,
opera-dancers, and card-parties. His reminiscences will be amusing enough to
those who are not much shocked at a little vulgarity.

Sonnets by Edward Moxon, Part II., London.

No style of composition demands so much from poets as the sonnet. Unity of pur-
pose, richness of imagery, and the most scrupulous justness of diction, are required
within the limits of fourteen lines. How few are there who comply with these
conditions ! Even the sonnets of Shakspeare, delicate and touching as they are,
frequently betiay much discursiveness and want of purpose. The sonnets under
consideration, however, evince a sympathy with, and an admiration for the loveliest
and most tender beauties of nature, the result of a pure and highly cultivated moral
taste. They are not, like their «' kindred in verse," destined to become what is
termed "popular." Such poetry is "caviare to the general." But those who have
the intellectual capacity to understand, and the heart to appreciate the warm, yet
homely feelings they pourtray, will peruse Mr. Moxon 's effusions with peculiar
delight.

Report of a Committee appointed by the Lords of the Admiralty to
inquire into the Efficacy of Mr. Kyan's Patent for Preserving Wood
from Dry-rot.

CONSIDERING that the adoption of this patent by government promises a saving
of eighty thousand per annum to the country, the subject is one of no small im-
portance. The wood, it appears, is prepared by means of a solution of mercury,
into which it is steeped, and which neutralizes the albumen, or chief origin of the
disease, called Dry-rot. We wish the Patentee, Mr. Kyan, every success.

( 488

NOTES FROM THE DIARY OF A SUB-EDITOR.

TORIES IN FRANCE AND RADICALS IN ENGLAND. — There is, with-
out question, no country that has fought for, and yearned after
liberty, with such intensity as France ; yet there is scarcely a nation,
except the Sublime Porte, and (as an Irish friend adds,) the rest
of Russia I which possesses so little of that blessing. Since" the
Gallic era, 88," our neighbours seem to have been industriously em-
ployed in " pickling rods for their own backs." Robespierre, Napo-
leon, and Louis Philippe, may all be regarded as scourges, especially
selected by the people. Five years ago the press of Paris,was threatened —
by the ordinance of Charles X. — with loss of liberty ; and her citizens
fought the " good fight," and gained a more glorious, brilliant victory,
in the best of causes, than history has hitherto recorded ; while now, in
this present anno domini, 1835, they are actually suffering, without
murmur or complaint, the very thraldom which, in 1830, they were only
threatened with ; or, if they do complain, " roar you as gently as any suck-
ing dove." With the explosion of the infernal machine, came the arrest
of all the editors of all the anti-ministerial journals the " pet of liberty"
could lay hands on ! without one spark of evidence or glimmer of sus-
picion, but merely because these unlucky ecrevains publics might have
been concerned in the diabolical plot; while it is very possible that these
editors contributed materially to promoting the Duke of Orleans to the
brevet rank of king, vice Charles X. cashiered. Of a truth, the spirit of
liberty across the channel is, in American phrase, "progressing back-
wards," which the daily accounts from Paris sufficiently testily. The
correspondent of a morning paper, dating " Paris, Oct. 4th," writes : —
" Our Doctrinnaires are still most rancorous against the Whig Ministry of Eng-
land for having suffered Mr. O'Connell to speak openly of a Reform in the House
of Lords!''

" Suffered," quotha! — why, if Messieurs the Doctrinnaires are "most
rancorous" at the ravings of O'Connell, it is fair to infer, that they would
positively expire with rage, were they to read the revolutionary drivel-
ings of Roebuck, or hear the incendiary magniloquence at some of our
public meetings. Such an orator, for instance, as Dr. Wade, " the peo-
ple's parson," would be the death of them. It would grieve us to be-
come accessaries to the decease of one of the Parisian Cabinet ; but,
if any of its members happen to peruse the following extract from the
speech of Dr. W^ade at the Radical Association meeting, we should be
sorry to answer for the consequences : —

" After some observations on the question of primogeniture, the reverend Doctor
went on to say that all the Royal Families of Europe were mad. They had four
or five good Lords, and now and then a good Bishop ; but he might say, as it was
said in the scripture, when speaking of the multitude being fed by five barley
loaves and two fishes, — what are these among so many ?" '•'•(loud laughter.) —
Vide Morn'my Advertiser, Oct. 6th.

NOTES FROM THE DIARY OF A SUB-EDITOR.

If, however, our Gallic friends should launch a political tirade at
our ministry, for " suffering" such language as that above quoted, we
shall not blame them. Such words from the mouth of a reverend divine
ought not to pass unnoticed ; but when he adds the impiety of quoting
scripture — as Liston makes faces — to cause "loud laughter," the. facetious
Doctor deserves the highest reprehension, — in fact, we will go so far as
to advise the Doctrinnaires to ask Lord Melbourne to ask the Attorney-
general to demand an explanation from the political parson.

A " FEELER" — a la Francaise. — When the fanatic Ravaillac, in 1610,
assassinated Henry the Great, described as the best of kings, the image
of God upon the earth, the first of the Bourbons who wore the crown of
France, the fury of the people knew no bounds. The monster whose
name has passed into execration, was born at Angouleme, of decent
parents. He was a clerk, a valet, a schoolmaster, and a visionary. He
whetted his knife at the foot of the cross, which struck the royal Henry
to the heart. The dark pages of history furnish, perhaps, no instance of
a case of regicide so horrible, and at the same time so outrageously
wicked as this ; in like manner, no malefactor ever suffered the penalty
due to his crime with such exaggerated and brutalizing severity as was
practised on the fanatic Ravaillac. His flesh was torn with red -hot pin-
cers ; they poured melted lead into his wounds, then bathed them after-
wards with scalding oil ; his right hand was burned off in fire of sulphur ;
he was torn in pieces alive by four horses ; his members burned in dif-
ferent parts of the city, and his ashes given to the winds, the populace,
in their fury, performing the part of executioners. All Paris was in
tears, and the whole nation put on mourning for their murdered King.
Before the regicide expired, he is said to have thus expressed himself: —
" If I had known the affections of the people for their prince, the good
Henry would have been still alive." — This sentence was pronounced and
executed en the 27th day of May, 1610. He endured the torture for
the discovery of his accomplices more than once, and died, nevertheless,
without implicating any one.

BATTLE OP WATERLOO. — In some accounts of the battle it is said, that
the Duke frequently looked at his watch, and then anxiously in the
direction of his left wing, in expectation of seeing the Prussians. No
wonder, indeed ! — for having on the previous morning apprised Blucher
of his intention to give battle at Waterloo, he had every reason to expect
them early in the day. Not so Napoleon, who, whatever he may have
pretended, could not possibly expect Grouchy on the field, as I have
already explained, I think, to the satisfaction of all persons. — During the
crisis of the battle, when our men were falling in numbers, I have been
told that a general officer of some eminence, who was at the Duke's elbow,
kept saying it was impossible we could hold our ground for half an
hour longer ; till at length the Duke, losing all patience, turned sharply
round and said, " Do you think it will take only half an hour to kill all
these fellows ?" I cannot answer for the fact ; but it is characteristic,
and I believe it. It showed the firm resolve of a brave and determined
; and it showed the just confidence he had in the stamina of his

490 NOTES FROM THE DIARY OF A SUB-EDITOR.

troops. (Captain Blackiston may go tell this " delicious Tory tale" to
the marines— the sailors won't believe it. " My Lord Duke" may
swallow, and " my Lord" at the Horse Guards digest it — but sensible
persons know how to receive such fustian.)

POLITICS IN THE " SERVICE." — The public cannot have forgotten,
that some time since a private of dragoons, named Somerville, received a
hundred lashes for interfering in politics. Comparing his offence with
the infinitely greater one we are about to detail, it would be a curious
calculation for a board of boatswain's mates and drummers, to find out
how many hundred lashes each of the members of the " Plymouth Royal
Naval Club" deserved, for their breach of dicipline and brutality of con-
duct to their superior officer, Lord Minto, on Saturday, October 3rd. —
The " Plymouth Journal" states, that —

" At the dinner given by the Plymouth Royal Naval Club to the Earl of Minto
and the Board of Admiralty, the toast of * His Majesty's Ministers/ was drunk in
solemn silence, whilst the toasts of ' Lord Hill and the Army/ and the ' Duke of
Wellington and the Heroes of the Peninsula/ were received with tne most en-
thusiastic cheering." ,

As we have not heard that any public body of Plymothians have met
to show their regret that such a disgraceful circumstance should have
occurred in their town, we conceive the borough has received a blot on
its escutcheon, its worthy and liberal members of parliament will not
easily remove.

POLITICS IN THE CHURCH ! — " Addicted to pelf," says the Examiner
of Sunday, October llth, "as the priesthood is, beyond any exam-
ple in the history of Churches, it would appear that they like violence
still better." True to this text, the extremely reverend Dr. Chalmers
hath, it appears, thought fit to fulminate an anathema against the pre-
sent Ministry in language so coarse, that, had he made it in any decent
tap-room on this side the Tweed, it would have infallibly gained him
expulsion. Whatever contempt we may feel for such impertinent
balderdash, we cannot help, for the sake of the rest of " the cloth,"
joining in the " regrets" of the Aberdeen Advertiser, from which the
following paragraph is quoted : —

"We unfeignedly regret that Dr. Chalmers was so far led away by his bias
against the Government, as to indulge in some vituperative epithets which were
unworthy both of his profession and character. " Lurking, low-minded underlings
of office/' "hacknied practitioners in politics, unincumbered by delicacy, truth, or
honour," and similar •« hard and hostile" phrases, do not suit the dignity of his
sacred calling, his standing in the Church, or his reputation in the world; far less
does the insinuation become him, that " Government would cast the interests of
the Church to the winds if they could make a single ten-pounder by it!"

Even the chaplain of the " great unwashed " — Dr. Wade, would,
doubtlessly, take time to consider, before he let off such a park of " low-
minded" verbal artillery. It really is too bad, that these people — whether
presbyterian or protestant — who impose themselves upon us as ministers
of the gospel, and whose business it is to preach " peace on earth and
good -will towards men," are not content with receiving enormous in-

NOTES FROM THE DIAltY OF A SUB-EDITOR. 491

comes for doing next to nothing ; but will trouble themselves to insult
persons, whom they are no more able to appreciate, than they are willing
to enforce, by example, those precepts they are so enormously over-paid
for teaching.

Civic LORE. — From a late return of the expenses incurred by the
City of London in supporting the pomp and dignity of its Mayors, it
appears that no less a sum than twenty-five thousand, several hundred,
and odd pounds, has been for some years past the average cost. Among
the many items forming this aggregate, there is one of peculiar im-
port, as indicating the literary learning of the first magistrates of the
first city in this first of worlds ; it is a modest charge of £14. ISs. '3d.
— -no more,- — for the annual replenishment of the Mansion- House " Li-
brary !" Who, after this, shall deny the combination of intelligence
with economy, amongst the highest of civic functionaries ? Fifteen
pounds, less one and nine-pence, per annum, for supplying a chief magis-
trate of the city of London — in this book-making age — with all the cur-
rent lore requisite for the performance of such ever- varying duties, poli-
tical and justiciary ; and with all the literary relaxations, to boot, after
the official labours of his 313 days ! Prodigious ! It would be worth
half the money or more to know on what publications the outlay was
made. If a Lord Mayor requires no greater sum for such a purpose,
how severe and extensive must be his mental culture previous to the
assumption of his enormous posers ! There is something about the peer-
age, whether corporate or parliamentary, which baffles ignoble compre-
hensions.

SPORTING RECORDS. — The narrative of a day's sport in India has
been running the rounds of the newspapers, and must have raised a
blush of shame in many a cheek this season. The writer speaks of
" bagging eleven elephants" with as much cool indifference as though
they had been so many speckled partridges; and in the same anti-
grandiloquent strain, mentions, incidentally, the fact of one animal
having received in his skull the contents of six double-barrelled guns
(shotted seven to the pound !), and then — trotting off with a slight head-
ache! else had twelve been bagged. Truly, this is something like sport.
We may expect to hear next of some fine fellow netting a few brace of
whales and krakens, as an anti-prandium fishing exploit. The world is
in a strange age.

AGITATION. — To Mr. O'Connell is due whatever merit there may
be for originating the " agitation" policy. His mere support of most
measures, however excellent, abstractedly considered, they are, is
generally an all-sufficient apology for the hereditaries to reject them :
one scheme, at least, appears worthy of their approval, and its excellence
is actually vouched by their personal adoption of it — missionary agita-
tion. Whilst the Liberator has been following his vocation in the north,
other great luminaries have simultaneously made their appearance as
prime movers, each after the fashion of his separate office. Boanerges

492 NOTES FROM THE DIARY OF A SUB-EDITOR.

O'Sullivan and the Exeter-Hall-ites have been firing away in different
parts of the country at the heresies of Dens, with a vehemence befitting
their charitable cause ; and if all they say be true, his holiness the Pope
may be soon expected to take up his residence at Westminster, ousting
King William from his royal chair with as much ease, and as little
reluctance, as a cuckoo displaces a sparrow from her nest. His Grace
of Wellington, on the other hand, has been inspecting the indigenous
military with the critical eye of a commander just on the eve of a great
passage of arms ; lauding the institution of such forces as an especial
preservative of peace, and commending with sweet praise their effective
condition ! Here, then, behold several master energies all at once
engaged upon the three most portentous questions which can agitate a
people's mind — theology, politics, and war : — O'Connell taking a^ re-
view of the state of the nation ; the Reverend Disputers (without dis-
putants), of the state of the church ; and the duke, of the yokel yeomanry
in the provinces ! With these mighty spirits stalking about the land,
to say nothing of the comet just now hanging over our heads with such
an angry aspect — what terrible trouble is about to happen ? Time, alas !
the revealer of all doubts, can alone disclose !

LADIES' BOARDING-SCHOOLS. — Now that legislative influence has
been extended to national education, we are surprised it has not been
applied to the system of female education, as adopted in boarding-
schools. An ably-written review of Dr. Riofrey's " Education Phy-
sique," which appeared in the Athenaum of Oct. 10, directs attention to
this subject in an ably-penned article : —

" Of the moral and intellectual deficiency of schools for young women," says
the writer, — or, to employ the accredited jargon of 'seminaries for young ladies'
— it is not our cue at present to speak ; and the necessity is the less, because they
are matters of sufficient notoriety. But of the injuries inflicted on health, and the
total want of common sense, in almost all the arrangements of these establishments,
by the utter ignorance of schoolmistresses (the exceptions being too few to merit
notice) concerning all that belongs to the living mechanism of their victims, the
public requires to be instructed."

We have heard of a foreigner who entered a " Seminary for Young
Ladies," somewhere in the vicinity of London : and, on seeing those
implements of torture : — backboards, steel stays, and feet stocks, lying
about the apartment, compared it to the ante-room of the Hall of Inqui-
sition. Every sacrifice seems to be made for the falsely-estimated
advantages of personal appearance; while the first cause of beauty,
health, is not only neglected, but forced, and too often perverted.

NEWSPAPER ABUSE. — It hath been propounded by that exemplar of
truth-telling travellers, Baron Humboldt, that in the absence of other
food, hyaenas are marvellously given to picking their own flesh from
their own bones ! A propensity not very dissimilar seems to have seized
the London papers during the last month. From the dearth of editorial
sustenance usually supplied from the imaginations- of those — whom
Mr. E. L. Bulwer " delighteth to honour" with the appellation of

NOTES FROM THE DIAUf OF A SUB-EDITOR. 493

" penny-a-line men" — the metropolitan papers have been literally feeding
upon themselves — the press, collectively, has been unnaturally busy in
abusing itself, individually. Day after day, from the 10th up to this
present writing (the 19th), politics, domestic and foreign, have given
place to crimination and recrimination. The official return of the
quantity of stamps issued to each newspaper, commenced the war. All
those prints whose numbers are small, malign the stamp-office document
as false ; while " The Times," which is, as usual, at the head of the list,
contends strenuously for the correctness of the return ; with this small
qualification — that a trifling million or so of stamps have been used in
Printing- House- Square more than the official statement accounts for.
We notice this contemptible quarrel, to lament over the degradation of
the most powerful organ of public opinion. The language lately
indulged in by the "gentlemen of the press," is, occasionally, disgraceful.
" The Leading Journal" ably supports its character ; for it takes the
lead in this war of vulgarity, and is pre-eminent for its contempt of the
common decencies of language. We trust something or other will
speedily "turn up," to divert this dirty stream of abuse into some less
offensive channel.

A PUZZLE FOR SURGEONS. — The following paragraph, translated from
a clever French publication, printed here, called Le Camdtfon, will doubt-
less furnish subject-matter to that lively debating society 'yclept the
" College of Surgeons," for a month to come. It certainly records a
natural phenomenon, to match which, all the museums of all the colleges
in Europe would be ransacked in vain : —

" A remarkable phenomenon has been exhibited at the Hospital St. Pierre, at
Brussels. A youth about fourteen or fifteen years of age died of typhus, presenting
an interior conformation completely opposite to that of an ordinary human being.
The heart, stomach, and other organs, which, in a natural state, belong to the left
side, are with him placed on the right ! The liver and intestines are also on the
wrong side !"

" HATS OFF !" — It appears, from Dr. Hogg's amusing " Visit to Alex-
andria, &c./' that hats are held in peculiar abomination in Damascus ;
insomuch, that Ibrahim Pashaw is reported to have promised, that —

" Before the end of another year, if it remained in his possession, the English
consul, who had been formerly refused admission, should be established in peace
and security, and hats no longer be considered a rarity."

By which it appears, that the gates of Damascus are closed to all — even
a British consul — who are convicted of the " high crime and misde-
meanour" of — wearing a hat ! We have heard of a poor fellow, so
uniformly unlucky as to confidently aver, "that if his friends
had bred him a hatter, he verily believed men would have taken to
going without heads." A shop in the "warranted waterproof" line
within the city and liberties of Damascus would have brought him his
usual ill luck, without accusing Dame Fortune of being so extensively
splenetic, as to commit universal decapitation.

M.M.— No. 11. 3R

494 NOTES FROM THE DIARY OF A SUB-EDITOR.

PLYMOUTH ROYAL NAVAL CLUB. — Since writing the note headed
" Politics in the Service," we find a long advertisement in most
of the London papers, from the Plymouth Naval Club, denying
that offence was intended by their mode of toasting " His Majesty's
Ministers." It appears that it has never been their custom to " cheer"
that toast. All we can add, is— such a custom would be more " honoured
in the breach than in the observance."

HER MAJESTY AT OXFORD. — The papers of the last three days have
been recording the brilliant reception of the Queen at Oxford. The
" town" seems to have decidedly beaten the "gown" in demonstrations of
loyalty. Fireworks were let off, whose corruscations would have dazzled
the eyes of Radicals the most obdurate ; dinners given, enough to open
the hearts and mouths of a whole common- council of Harmers and
Scales's ; and illuminations " flared up," the brilliancy of which was
sufficient to " lighten the darkness" of every political cobbler in the
empire : while the amusements offered by the University were merely
one Latin speech, rehearsed by Field-marshal, Lord-Chancellor Arthur
Wellesley Duke of Wellington ; one ditto from the public orator,
Dr. Bliss ; and the usual complement of faceticK from the lungs of the
under-graduates ; a portion of which last we extract from the Courier : —

" On the under-gallery being filled, the young gentlemen commenced their
accustomed sport by calling for cheers for the ladies; this was received with
tremendous applause, as were the names of the Duke of Wellington, Sir Robert
Peel, Lord Eldon, Lord Lyndhurst, the Bishops, Church and King, and many
others. Then came a " Groan for Brougham." " His Majesty's Ministers."
(Groan.) "The Ladies again." (Cheers.) « The Ladies' Maids." (Loud
laughter.) " Lord Radnor and his fox-hounds." (Cheers.) «• The King of the
Cannibal Islands." (Laughter.)

THE Gentlemen OF THE PRESS. — We want a new dictionary of defini-
tions sadly. Some words bear a variety of signification, which must be
extremely embarrassing" to foreigners ; the word " gentleman," for
example, has a number of meanings almost endless. There are
primitive gentlemen in silks and tights — gentlemen's gentlemen in
second-hand coats — gentlemen Jews with dirty hands and gold rings —
and gentlemen swindlers of " gentlemanly exterior" — all having in some
remote degree the shadow of a claim to the title. But, of this extensive
species, the genus denominated " Gentlemen of the Press" seems to be
fast losing the smallest share in the idea usually conveyed by that am-
biguous term, " gentleman." In a former note we awarded to the Times
pre-eminence in the department of " newspaper abuse ;" but have done
" The Standard" an injustice which we hasten to correct, by the follow-
ing extract from a provincial paper : —

By a recent No. of the Standard, O'Connell is styled a ' mendicant,' and a
• sordid blood-stained incendiary/ the Glasgow meeting a ' mob/ a ' Helot spec-
tacle/ and * beastly festival / all who presumed to attend, 'contemptible in num-
bers, station, sense, and morals/ 'Ribbonmen/ 'wretches/ 'rabble,' 'animals,'
'beasts/ blockheads,' * animated dirt, quickened into fermentation by the beams
of Mr. O'ConnelPs brazen face!!'

( 495 )

LITERARY ANNOUNCEMENTS.

THE New Volume of " Friendship's Offering" will appear this season
in its usual style of elegant binding, and with such an array of splendid
illustrations, as will far exceed any former volume of the series ; while
its carefully selected Literature will comprise contributions from the most
talented writers of the day.

"The Book of Gems/' illustrated by engravings from the works of
the most distinguished painters, and each accompanied by a Biography of
the Poet.

Miss Landon's new Poem, " The Vow of the Peacock."

A new novel from the pen of Mr. Grattan.

Mr. James, author of " The Gipsy," has nearly ready a work descrip-
tive of the Educational Institutions of Germany.

The Translation of Schlegel's Lectures, " On the Philosophy of His-
tory," by James Burton Robertson, Esq., with a Life of the Author.

Lieutenant Holman, the celebrated Blind Traveller, will speedily pub-
lish the fourth and concluding volume of his " Voyages and Travels round
the World."

History of the Condition of Women in all Ages and Nations. By
Mrs. Child, Author of " Child's Own Book," " Mother's Book," &c. &c.

" Graphics :" a Manual of Drawing and Writing, for the Use of Schools
and Families. By R. Peale.

Tables of Discounts, Net Proceeds, Per Centage, Profits upon the
Sale of Goods, on a New Plan of Arrangement : being more compre-
hensive and more expeditious for consultation than any hitherto pub-
lished. By David Booth, Author of the Interest Tables, &c. &c.
Second Edition.

- J. A. St. John, Esq., Author of " Tales of the Ramad'han," " Egypt,
and Mohammed Ali," &c. has nearly ready for publication a new Novel,
entitled " Margaret Ravenscroft, or Second Love."

" The Wallsend Miner." By James Everett, Author of the " Village
Blacksmith," &c.

"The Family Topographer," Vol. V., containing the Midland Circuit,
with Eight Maps. By Samuel Tymms.

The Author of "Old Maids" has a Novel in the press, entitled
" Plebeians and Patricians."

" Marco Visconti," the celebrated Historical Romance, recently pub-
lished in Italy, and extracted there from the Chronicles of the Four-
teenth Century, has just been translated from the Italian, by Miss
Caroline Ward, and will appear early next month.

A Treatise on Painting, by Leonardo Da Vinci ; faithfully translated
from the original Italian, and digested under proper heads, by John
Francis Rigaud, Esq.

"The Volume of the Affections, or Bridal Offering," by the Editor
of " My Daughter's Book," i« TheYoung Gentleman's Book," &c. &c.,will
be published in time for presentation as a new-year's gift.

( 49G )

THE EDITOR'S LATEST MOMENTS.

THE ANNUALS. — It affords us infinite pleasure to have it in our power
to devote an entire page of the Old Monthly Magazine to the examina-
tion of these interesting strangers. In our last number we noticed
Messrs. Fisher's —

I. Drawing-Room Scrap Book for 1836. By L. E. L. Splendidly
illustrated.

II. The Christian Keepsake, and Missionary for Annual, 1836. Edited
by the REV. WLLLIAM ELLIS.

III. The Historical Keepsake for 1836. Edited by JOHN WATSON
DALBY, with Engravings from original designs and from celebrated
pictures. Thomas Hurst, St. Paul's Church- Yard.

IV. Affection's Keepsake for 1836. By T. A. Simpkin, Marshall,
and Co.

The Comic Almanac for 1836 ; with Twelve Illustrations of the Months,
by George Cruikshank. C. Tilt, Fleet Street.

A hasty sight of the Comic Almanac enables us to remark that the illustrations are
worthy of the etching-needle of that mirth-making son of Momus, George Cruik-
shank. Of the literary portion we have read one or two verses which seem some-
what jejune.

The Engineer' s and Mechanic's Encyclopedia, &c. By LUKE HERBERT.
Kelly & Co. Paternoster Row.

This promises to be a most useful publication. We shall give it our attenti ve
consideration next month-

A new publication has just been started called the " Literary Times," nearly as
large as the largest morning paper, price only two-pence ! We beg to suggest to
the proprietors an undertaking which would doubtless command a most exten-
sive circulation — a journal to be given away, entitled the Gratis Gazette! We
fear its conductors would become no richer than their Literary Times promises to
make them. How their extreme liberality can be possibly profitable puzzles our
arithmetic amazingly !

( 497 )

PUBLIC OPINION.

IT would appear from all we have seen and heard, that education,
and a proper religious sentiment and civilization, render individuals of
all countries more alike, and that the difference between communities
arising from climate, soil, or language, becomes less. How strikingly
exemplified has this self-evident truth been — and under our own eyes,
too — as regards France and England, within the last twenty years ?
But to continue the same reasoning and the same conclusions that have
been applied in the foregoing observations, to trace the origin and pro-
gress of public opinion in England, hold, with a little variation, when
applied to any other country in Europe. On taking a retrospective
view of the state of improvement, of information — in short, of civiliza-
tion, of public opinion, and the extension of the " middle class" of
society, we have only to consider the former state of mankind, and then
to ascertain their present, as compared with their past condition; the
difference is apparent ; the causes by which it is occasioned are obvious,
and accounted for from the principles laid down. That a very great
amelioration has taken, and is taking place, in the condition of mankind
in general — but especially the MIDDLE CLASSES — is the inevitable con-
clusion. Some disadvantages may arise from the increase of luxury
and abundance of capital ; selfishness may be increased, and wealth may
be courted by the mass of the people, even more than formerly. That
such feelings are injurious to the finest sentiments of human nature, can-
not be denied ; that other results may arise from an unfavourable ten-
dency is probable : under every circumstance, however, much more is
gained than lost by mankind : the religious sentiment, civilization, en-
joyment, and happiness of individuals, and of communities, is increased.
Formerly, the " industry" of man seems to have been dormant : indi-
viduals and communities did not possess those advantages which late
improvements have enabled them to obtain. Man, it seems, has the
power of obtaining a certain degree of civilization and enjoyment, if his
moral and physical energies are properly directed, of which in a savage
state he is not able to avail himself : in proportion as the former are

M.M.— 12. 3 S

498 PUBLIC OPINION.

brought into use, the advantages arising from the latter are extended.
The requisites for public opinion are augmented by these advantages. In
proportion, therefore, to the extent of public opinion, seems to be the
civilization and happiness of communities. The creation of wealth and
the industry of a people, with a middle class of civilization, all extend
together. This seems the case in every country throughout the world.

We think that we are fully borne out in our stated opinions by all the
eminent writers, who have treated on the question — namely, that the
" government" in a civilized community, possessed of the requisites for
public opinion, is influenced by the same sentiment. This has been
demonstrated in every country, both of maritime and continental
Europe. Should we be induced to say more on the subject than may
seem necessary, we seek to be excused on the score that we feel — in
common with some of our contemporary writers — an anxiety to remove
a common mistake, which is to substitute the effect for the cause, in sup-
posing that the form of government in a country gives freedom and
security ; whereas it is the strength and prevalence of the requisites for
public opinion that establish a liberal government and constitution, by
which security of person and property are obtained. In this respect
England and France little resemble each other — we are bound to confess
the fearful truth, however abhorrent and terrible to our political mag-
nanimity— not to say tenderness. A liberal form of government is, un-
questionably, most desirable, even when the requisites for public opinion
are not spread through the people ; but its continuance, and the benefits
from it in such a case, must be precarious.

The sudden establishment of liberal institutions in a community where
the requisites for public opinion were not general, necessarily originated
in a few persons only ; it cannot therefore rest on a secure foundation,
as it may require some time for the necessary requisites to spread through
the people. — Such an event, however, is always satisfactory, as evidence
that some, at least, are desirous to possess a liberal form of government.
That PUBLIC OPINION renders the government liberal, and established
freedom seems to follow from the state of every community as a matter
of consequence.

Hence we may, as patriot Englishmen and true, safely infer that, in
proportion as the requisites for public opinion become prevalent, and
civilization is extended, individuals and communities are enabled to ob-
tain and secure institutions that establish freedom, but also to apply the
" materials" placed by an indulgent Providence under their control, so

SONG. 499

as to promote the mediate — if not immediate, amelioration of their con-
dition. What a difference London, the Augusta of old, —

"The fairest capital in all the world" —

As it now presents itself, and the huts scattered on the same spot at the
heptarchy ? The same difference, it is probable, exists in the amount of
the requisites for public opinion at present possessed by its inhabitants,
and those of that period.

Man, in a savage state, albeit little elevated above the brute
creation, has the moral principle, though inert, inherent in him : the
materials afforded by nature, are also quiescent around him. The
former are elicited by great and true principles of revealed religion,
whence follo'w, in delightful succession, moral sentiment, and the other
requisites for — PUBLIC OPINION. ED.

STANZAS.

AND thou hast left me, too, my plaintive friend,
And I with joys gone by must number thee ;

But though I much lament, I do commend
Thy choice, for little could the pleasure be

Which I, so lonely and so sad, might lend
To such as thee, thou soul of harmony ;

But though thy lot with gayer be to dwell,

Surely they will not love thee half so well.

My soul was even like the troubled sea,

When the unkind wind would rob it of its rest,

And thought o'er thought roll'd on impetuously :
My heart nigh broke, it was so sore distress'd ;

And thou didst breathe thy syren melody ; —
The sea was quieted, — my spirit bless'd ;

Life seem'd almost to hang on thee alone ;

Would I had never seen thee ! — Thou art gone.

Gone ! — and again will dreams of madness crowd ;

What am I now ? Desolate — desolate, —
I have seen fall the over-charged cloud,

When of its tears it could not bear the weight,
To the cold ground : I've seen the flow'ret bow'd,

Which humbly grew till night's untimely hate
Delug'd with dewy grief its youthfulness :

Am I like them ? Oh, lady, say not yes ! w.

3 S2

( 500 )

THE BEST MEANS OF ENLIGHTENING AND IMPROVING
THE PEOPLE.

" The BRST and noblest of the human kind
Are those endowed with a deep-thinking mind j
NOR are they useless, who such men obey,
Submitting still to wisdom's lawful sway:
But he who, though unfit his ways to rule,
Yet will not to a wiser go to school,
That man i$,suret A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING FOOL."

THERE is scarcely any thing more mortifying and disheartening to
an enlightened patriot, than to see the party to whom he wishes well,
throwing away the advantages that, lie within their reach, and putting
themselves in the wrong when their cause is the right one — thus doing
themselves the double wrong of weakening themselves, both physically
and morally, both in strength and respectability. That they should be
unable of themselves to strike out a right path, however much to be
regretted, would yet be only their misfortune, and not their fault ; but
that, though incapable themselves, and conscious of that incapacity, they
should still shut their ears against advice when offered, is a degree of
infatuation that might go far to excuse many a sincere patriot from
having any thing more to do with them. However, as it is still our
duty to persevere, and neglect no opportunity of doing any good in em-
power, taking care only that we have done our best, and leaving it to the
public to profit by our labours or not — I shall point out to them a few of
the more glaring errors and absurdities into which they are constantly
falling, and which it would be very easy to avoid ; and then subjoin a
few words of plain practical ADVICE, which it would be both easy and
highly serviceable to them to comply with.

The errors of both parties, but especially of the Liberals, are of two
different classes, which must therefore be treated separately and dis-
tinctly : those respecting the END they have in view, and the MEANS
by which they seek to attain it. These are so distinct from each other,
that either of them may be perfectly right.

And perhaps the most essential difference between the two great
parties into which England is at present divided, is, that each which is
most in the right as to the one, is most in the wrong as to the other ;
or, in plainer words, that the one party is right (or, rather, more in the
right) as to its end, and very wrong in the means it uses to attain it —
and vice versd. Which is correct, it is probably needless to say. This
would therefore lead us to the painful conclusion, that the worst party is
likely to be the strongest, supposing them both to go on as they are doing
at present, and both to be, as they are generally considered at present,
pretty equally balanced as to their resources. But, on the other hand,
in having a better end proposed, the better party have an advantage at
the outset: so that, if they are only equal, or nearly equal (as they very
well might be if they chose it) to their opponents in tact — that is, in the
management of their means — they would then clearly have the ascen-
dancy, since " Truth and Justice are in their nature stronger than their

BEST MEANS OF ENLIGHTENING AND IMPROVING THE PEOPLE. 501

opposites;"* and therefore, as the writer just quoted reasons, will turn
the scale when parties are otherwise equal — nay, sometimes even against
superior advantages in other respects : of which the establishment of
Christianity, and the Reformation, are signal instances.

The plain truth (and the whole truth, too) appears to he as follows : —
first, it is from the LIBERAL party alone (or chiefly, which prac-
tically amounts to just the same thing) that any good can be expected ;
and therefore the first political object of every good and wise man must
be, to strengthen that party in every possible way — of course we mean,
in every lawful way ; under which designation we do not include
threatening a death's head and cross-bones to whoever shall oppose us —
nor making false statements or misrepresentations of any kind — nor
" speaking evil of dignities" — nor using coarse and vituperative language
on any subject. Happily, too, those means of advancing a cause which
are condemned by conscience and propriety, are the very ones that, in
the opinion of all sensible people, are the most calculated to injure it.

The above assertion, however, even after this limitation, may appear
to some to require both explanation and proof. These shall readily be
given if asked for ; but as the number of those who need them are pro-
bably very few, it is of more importance at present to supply those who
are sufficiently convinced of it with such practical advice as they need,
and especially to point out to them the errors which they are most con-
cerned to avoid. It may perhaps be well to add this much of explana-
tion— that " strengthening the liberal party" does not mean promoting
only such persons to places of office and dignity, for it may happen (for
reasons to be given afterwards) that such places will sometimes, and
even often, be better filled by those of opposite principles, especially in
the church and the law : but it means putting actual power of effecting
measures of good or evil into good and safe hands : as, for instance, in
choosing members of Parliament, and all who are to be entrusted with
irresponsible power. That this much ought to be done, needs no other
proof than the unquestionable fact (which even their enemies cannot deny),
that the liberal party are the most disinterested and patriotic, the most
ready always to sacrifice their private interests to the public good, and to
look on the whole of society as one large community or family, of which
he has his own private interests and pursuits, yet owes a duty to the
whole ; and, above all, their system leaves a proper sphere of action and
enjoyment for every individual of that community ; while the opposite
party are in general each thinking only of himself, and looking on all
other individuals as mere machines ; and their system proceeds on the
principle, that the injury of the many is necessary to the gain of the few.
Thus (a fact deserving notice), the whole tribe of swindlers, gamblers,
forgers, robbers, murderers, and other outcasts of society, belong to the
latter class, and will always diminish in proportion as right liberal prin-
ciples have the ascendancy.

Yet even this rule is not without an exception : for it may happen
that those who have the best intentions may be disposed to act so ab-
surdly, that it may even be better to transfer power into worse but
wiser hands, just as in a dangerous voyage it may be beiter to give the
guidance of a vessel to an utterly selfish and unprincipled person, who

* Butler's Analogy.

502 BEST MEANS OF ENLIGHTENING AND IMPROVING THE PEOPLE.

would be quite willing to let it be wrecked if he could save himself and
his own goods, but who knows better how to manage it, and whose in-
terests may prompt him to save it, than to one who would be willing to
sacrifice his own life for it, but who has less ability. I make this com-
parison, not to render the opposite party odious, but to teach it the
necessity of joining wisdom and knowledge to goodness : of having the
wisdom of the serpent as well as the innocence of the dove.

Secondly, having decided which of the two great parties (as being de-
cidedly the better of the two, however faulty still) we must fix on the
basis of our hope, and the material to work on, in order to the attain-
ment of any substantial and permanent good, let us at once come to the
practical part of the question, and inquire (with a view to decide) what
we ought to do, including, of course, what we ought to endeavour to
persuade others to do. In order to this, we must now separately consi-
der the two different questions above-mentioned, — the END we have, or
ought to have, in view, and the MEANS by which we are to attain it,
noticing at the same time the popular errors as to both ; and taking
care to make both as definite* as possible, and also strictly within the
bounds of practicability — two conditions that are sadly forgotten by po-
litical reformers in general.

The one great leading (and misleading) error of the Liberals — the
fountain-head from whence all the others proceed, and which therefore
must be attacked in the very threshold of our undertaking — is, this
very partial and one-sided view of the truth. The WHOLE TRUTH, and
the foundation-stone, or rather the vital root of all perfection both in
morals and politics, is this : there are two distinct and almost opposite
classes of virtues, and therefore of objects to be pursued — the amiable and
benevolent, and the respectable and dignified; and neither a character nor
a government can be perfect that does not unite both.-\ This is a point,
however, which the majority of the liberal party, even after it has been
pointed out to them, will perhaps refuse to admit. But let them once
be made aware of the consequences of denying it, and then, even though
they may not themselves admit it, they will see the necessity of acting
as if they did, and putting forward as their leaders only such persons as

* The following opinions of the man who was pre-eminently the " tretvagisot" of all
the philosophers and politicians of our century, may be read with interest and profit.

" Nov. 1 , 1830. I see no reformer who asks himself the question, " What is it that
1 propose to myself to effect in the result ?' *'

*' March 20, 1831. 1 cannot discern a ray of principle in the government plan."

" June 25, 1831. The duplicity and tergiversation of the Whig newspapers is most
disgusting:'— Coleridge's Table-Talk.

The above passages are important, not at all in themselves, but as revealing the
cause why the ablest and one of the most zealous defenders and martyrs of liberty in
his youth, became the decided e^emy of the liberal party (without changing his
principles] in the latter half of his life. Had the liberals not made themselves con-
temptible, nothing would have bribed him to desert them. The same is true of many
other great men — and obscure men, too.

f It is a consideration at once important and gratifying in the highest degree, tha
the system which combines both these qualities in the greatest perfection is, the
established religion and constitution of this country; and Addison begins one of his
admirable papers in the Spectator with the reflection, that he has always considered
it a peculiar subject of gratitude, that if he had the power of choosing his own religion
and government, it would be that of his own country in preference to any other.
There is indeed this difference between them, that while the former is definite and

BEST MEANS OF ENLI3HTKNING AND IMPROVING THE PEOPLE. 503

do. For, the consequence of their neglecting the latter of these classes
of virtues and objects is, first, that many persons (and some of the most
illustrious both for rank, talents, and influence among them) who would
otherwise be disposed to prefer them, go over to the opposite side — as,
for instance, Burke and Coleridge, who were considered (the latter by
no less a person than Mr. Fox) as the two individuals who turned the
scale of the destinies of Europe in favour of legitimacy against liberality ;
and, secondly, that even if physically the strongest, they can have no
self-respect or satisfaction in their own system.

The great engine that is wanting, above all others, for this and for
all kinds of improvement, whether moral, physical, intellectual, or orna-
mental, is a respectable and efficient periodical press. And this is the more
desirable, as it is not only an engine, but a beautiful and delightful ob-
ject in itself — at once a means and an end. And never, in the whole his-
tory of England, or the world, was there such a noble opportunity for it as
now. This is a truth so obvious as to need no proof. And shall this golden
opportunity, like so many others, be lost ? Especially when, of all the
projects in the world, it is at once the most important, and the easiest
in proportion to its importance — much more so than the establishment
of the London University, of which the shares are now selling for a
quarter of their original value! So strange is this infatuation of
mankind for " spending their money for that which is not bread, and
their labour for that which satisfieth not !" — Nothing more whatever is
wanting for this than what has been already done, under infinitely less
favourable circumstances, by the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge — pity that the knowledge they have taken so much pains to
diffuse has not been a little more useful ! — Might not such a design be at
least proposed to some of the leading literary and political characters of
the age.

Surely, the public would rather listen to such guides than to Mr.
Roebuck's trash, Lord Brougham's quackery,* or O'Connell's blarney
and blackguardism. Not but that all these men are useful in their way,
if they would only take their proper sphere ; but not one of them is tit
to take the arduous and dignified office of a guide of the public mind ;
although one of them — whose pardon I beg, for having mentioned (not
certainly classed) him in such company, might be a very useful assistant
if he would know, and confine himself, to his real qualifications.

M. w.

perfect, the latter is partly undefined and improvable, and must always remain so,
though continually improving. But it were much to be wished that those who, as
Burke well observed, occupy themselves with criticising the constitution, instead of
enjoying it, and consider the discovery of a flaw a sufficient reason for demolishing
the whole edifice, would begin by trying their own ability to produce a better entire
system in its place; for assuredly there is no greater waste of labour, than pointing
rotten parts in a building without being able to repair them. The observation applies
with still more force to cavillers at religion, either natural or revealed ; with this
advantage, that there, at least in the case of the latter, the answer is much more com-
plete and satisfactor3'. And in nothing is the enormous infatuation of the liberals
more conspicuous, than in wishing to get rid of that which would, if properly under-
stood and profited by, be to them the greatest "tower of strength/' and source of
interest and satisfaction, that is anywhere to be found. We shall perhaps find an
opportunity of resuming this most interesting subject, either here or elsewhere.

* Not fraud, but xe//*-delusion, owing to want of impartial examination of his own
hobbies.

( 504 )

POLAN0.

ARM of the mighty ! whence art thou ?

Thy deeds without a name ?
Thy glory and thy brilliant brow,

Through fire and flood the same ?
Have setting suns illumed thy grave ? —
Poland ! not Greece, we swear to save !

The flood of time rides on the wind :
The smile of fame sits on the sea :
'Twere madness to proclaim him blind
Whose glory raised Thermopylae !
Must we subscribe Gaul's shameful pass —
While dreaming of Leonidas ?

The scorn of Franks be still on those

Whose infamy is like their race :
Whose coward fraud for ever goes

Where guilt abhors its parent trace !
And every pang and every throe
Adds terror to the tyrant's woe !

Who stood upon the Persians' tomb,

Demanding one short moment's pause ?
Oh ! that the earth had ope'd to womb, —
And thus he had been spared the cause !
The sacred cause to him — to ALL
Who now respond to Poland's call !

Arm of the terrible in fight !

Be nerved now for deeds of arms ;
A world shall deify thy might —

Despite war's fierce and fell alarms !
For Poland the angel Pity weeps —
Revenge is foul — Revenge, that sleeps.

And is there no one Spartan crest
Upborne in earnest of the war ?
No swelling, burning, patriot breast

From Albion and the Isles afar ?
And shall her sun in darkness set,
Whose patriots are unconquer'd yet? ED.

( 505 )

SKETCH OF THE PERSONAL CHARACTER OF THE LATE

SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH ;

BY LORD ABINGER.

AMONGST the numerous answers to Mr. Burke's celebrated ' Reflec-
tions on the French Revolution,' the ' Vindicise Gallicise ' was the only
one which attracted much public notice at the time, and has maintained
its reputation since. The rest were declamatory trash, founded for the
most part upon the assumption that democracy was the only lawful form
of government, or upon the vulgar principle of hostility to all govern-
ment as an encroachment on the rights of man. The 'Vindiciae Gal-
licse ' was an attempt, at once ingenious and profound, to justify the
first steps of the French revolution upon the theory of the British con-
stitution, and thus to refute Mr. Burke upon his own principles. The
events which verified that illustrious writer's predictions had not then
occurred. The prospect of the future was open to the speculations of
the enthusiast, as well as of the philosopher. The scene which was
passing had not then been deformed by any striking example of deliber-
ate cruelty or injustice. The petty and temporary mischiefs of sedition
might well be counted as nothing when compared with the lasting
miseries of servitude ; but even these mischiefs had been then visible,
only as exceptions, in the general progress of the revolution. The
chains of tyranny were not broken by tumultuous violence, but appeared
to be dissolved by the triumph of reason over authority and prejudice.
The most civilized nation in Europe was about to realize the dream of a
social contract. A government, dictated by the purest patriotism and
the most exalted wisdom, was to be adopted by the public will, and to
exhibit a splendid example of the union of perfect liberty with justice,
peace, good order, and happiness. It was^ natural for a very young
man, who, like Mr. Mackintosh, combined' the genuine spirit of phi-
losophy with a generous enthusiasm for liberty, to oppose his sanguine
hopes to the gloomy prognostics of the venerable sage, whose opinions
were tempered by long experience and profound observation of mankind.
These had taught him that the influence of passion over any assembly of
men increases in proportion to their numbers more than the influence of
reason ; that the worship of liberty in the abstract was a delusive mysti-
cism; that the institutions in which she is embodied must be the
growth of time ; that they can only flourish after they have taken root
in the sentiments and affections of a people ; and that it was visionary
to expect that an assembly, however formed, should extempore make a
constitution that would either meet with or merit general approbation.
There was, however, a power of reasoning as well as a spirit of candour
in the ' VindiciaB Gallicse ' that did not escape Mr. Burke, who was
pleased to cultivate an acquaintance with the author, and to express his
admiration of the work. It certainly produced a great impression upon

506 SKETCH OF THE PERSONAL CHARACTER OP

me. The first time it fell into my hands, I devoted the entire night to
the perusal of it, and rose with a strong admiration of the various powers,
as well as the learning, it exhibited, and an equal desire to become ac-
quainted with the author.

The opportunity did not present itself till some time afterwards, when
Mr. Mackintosh, being called to the bar, was proposed as a candidate in
a debating society of which I was a member. The society was then
confined to barristers and members of Parliament, and reckoned amongst
its members several individuals who have since figured in eminent
stations. — Mr. Perceval, Lord Bexley, Mr. Richard Ryder, Mr. Sturges
Bourne, Lord Tenterden, Lord Lyndhurst, and others who, if fortune
had been equally favourable to their pretensions, might perhaps have
been as conspicuous. The nation was then involved in war. The
character which the French revolution had by that time exhibited, ex-
posed those, who were suspected to have been its partisans, to a pro-
scription from certain circles. The majority of our little society consisted
of the supporters of the war and of the government. I trembled for the
fate of Mr. Mackintosh, till I found in Mr. Perceval an equal admiration
of his work, and an equal desire with my own to receive him into our
society. His influence was then employed to canvass for him, and we
had the satisfaction to carry his election, and shortly after to form an ac-
quaintance with him. He was soon distinguished by his power and
eloquence as a debater, and not less by the sweetness of his temper and
the facility of his manners. He became popular even with those who
had been most opposed to his entrance. Every one was glad to cultivate
his society, and no man was more courted or caressed by those who
could appreciate his extensive and accurate knowledge, or could profit
by the graces and richness of his conversation. He was the centre of a
very extensive literary circle, which embraced the most distinguished,
with many other meritorious though less known, proficients in literature.
In his house and at his table were enjoyed the most agreeable as well as
the most enlightened society in London. It was my happiness to be
allowed to cultivate a close intimacy with him which was never inter-
rupted during his life. I mention with mixed sensations of pleasure and
regret, the names of those who were our common friends, and who
formed the principal figures in our social intercourse — Romilly, Dumont,
Tennant, Wishaw, Rogers, Sharp, Robert Smith, and the Rev. Sydney
Smith. At a meeting at the house of Mr. Mackintosh, a dinner-club
was projected, which lasted for above twenty-five years, under the pro-
visional name of the ' King of Clubs.' It comprised many very dis-
tinguished and agreeable persons : I am at a loss to know why it ever
ceased.

In the more unmixed circles of his society, almost every subject of
letters and metaphysics was freely discussed ; and in every discussion,
Mr. Mackintosh bore an eminent part, not only for knowledge and
acuteness, but for a spirit of candour and a love of truth, which were
ever in him paramount to the desire of victory. His learning, various and
extensive, was not confined to ancient authors, nor those of the English
language, in which he was deeply read, but embraced a great portion of
foreign literature, more especially German and French. With the latter
he was particularly conversant, and enjoyed, amongst the philosophers

THE LATE SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH. 507

and men of letters of France, a distinguished reputation. His facility in
the French language was proved by a remarkable instance before he
went to India. A cause between two Frenchmen had been referred to
arbitration ; he was counsel for the plaintiff. The defendant, a noble
emigrant, pleaded his own cause in person. When the parties were
assembled before the arbitrator, the defendant complained of the hard-
ship to which he was exposed from his imperfect knowledge of English,
having to combat a gentleman of such extraordinary talents as he who
appeared for his opponent was known to possess. Mr. Mackintosh, to
accommodate him, without further preparation, made his speech, and
conducted the whole controversy, in French, with a facility and elegance
that were applauded by all who heard him. The author, whom he al-
ways appeared to me to prefer above all others, was Cicero, with every
part of whose writings he was familiar, and retained in his memory most
of the passages which he thought distinguished by any peculiar merit.
He considered him the greatest master of morals and philosophy, and
his works the most universal magazine of wisdom and eloquence ; he
thought that if Demosthenes equalled him in force and vehemence of
passion, he was far from approaching him in variety, grace, urbanity,
imagination, or knowledge. The delight he took in this author, if we
may trust the judgment of Quintilian, proved the perfection of his taste.
'Multum ille profi cisse se sciat cui Cicero valde placebit .'

He had chosen the Norfolk circuit, which did not offer a very exten-
sive field to his exertions. His progress in the profession of the law at
the commencement was not equal to his just pretensions ; he was de-
sirous of devoting a portion of his time and his abundant knowledge to
giving public lectures on the law of nature and nations. For this pur-
pose, he applied to the society of Lincoln's Inn for the use of their hall.
There again he was encountered by political prejudice ; difficulties were
suggested, and objections urged, of a formal nature, against such an
appropriation of the hall ; but the real objection was, the apprehension
of the doctrines he might teach. Mr. Perceval once more became his
friend, and used his influence with such of the benchers as were known
to him, to set them right, and subdue their scruples. Whilst the ne-
gociation was pending, however, he composed the preliminary lecture —
a sort of prospectus of the whole design, and of the principles of the
lecturer. Having submitted the manuscript to some of his most inti-
mate friends, he was advised to publish it without delay, as the best
measure he could adopt to secure the approbation of the public, and ob-
tain the consent of the benchers to his application. The effect produced
by this publication surpassed our most sanguine hopes. It was received
with unmixed applause by all parties, and most highly valued by those
who were the best judges. The style was, in simplicity and elegance, a
great improvement upon that of the ' Vindicise Gallicse,' which bore too
evident marks that the author had, in his early studies, been captivated by
,the vigour of Dr. Johnson. His more mature taste had relished the sweet-
ness and delicacy of Addison and the richness of Burke. I am disposed
to consider this essay as the most perfect of all his writings. The late
Dr. Currie of Liverpool, himself a great example as well as a great
critic in the art of composition, in a letter to me on the subject of Mr.
Mackintosh's literary attainments, expressed his opinion that this essay

508 SCBTCH OF THE PERSONAL CHARACTER OF

had placed him at the head of the writers of the present age. Every-
body became anxious to hear the lectures which were announced with
so much elegance, learning, and reverence for truth. The difficulties of
the benchers of Lincoln's Inn vanished, and their hall was never more
honoured than by the use which they now readily permitted him to make
of it. There he delivered a course of lectures to the most learned and
polite audience which the metropolis could afford : — not students only,
who sought instruction as a duty, but peers, ministers of state, members
of parliament, eminent judges, the gravest lawyers, and the most
distinguished men of letters, crowded to hear and admire him. Here,
with little preparation, and, for the most part, without previous compo-
sition, he poured out the abundance of his stores in the most perspicuous
and elegant diction, with a facility, arid a force of argument and illustra-
tion, that could not be surpassed. Maintaining all the principles which
induced him to take a liberal view of the theories of government and
society, he nevertheless thought it the duty of a teacher of morals and
politics to inculcate rules and not exceptions, and to prove that it was
not the great business of life to seek out the occasions, and cherish the
means of resistance to authority — much less to preach up disconteut as
a merit, and sedition as a duty. He satisfied his friends, and conciliated
his opponents in politics, by aiming his flight above all party questions
and temporary topics, and laying the great foundations of society, and
government, and law, in the wants and principles of human nature.
During this extraordinary display of talent, Mr. Mackintosh maintained
as high a reputation as it was possible for a private individual to enjoy.
The way was opened to him into every society ; his presence was" esteemed
an honour and a charm in every company. But though these lectures
added so greatly to his fame, the popularity they gave him, and the
habits of life they produced, were not so favourable to his progress at the
bar. To descend from knowledge to rudiments is ever an irksome task,
and it was not to be expected that one, who possessed so complete a
mastery over the great rules and principles of all legal science, should
readily condescend to the daily drudgery necessary to the technical parts
of practice in the legal profession, and not very consistent with the
alluremnts offered by a command of society, and a peculiar facility both
of receiving and giving pleasure in it. Nevertheless, it is certain that
he might have accomplished whatever his taste had led hm to desire in
the profession of the law. He had become too well known not to be well
encouraged, and it seemed to depend upon himself what degree of suc-
cess he should attain, and in what particular line. He confined his
practice chiefly to the business of parliament, as most suitable to his taste
and habits, and made rapid advances in that department. During the
short peace of Amiens and the administration of Mr. Addington, he was
called upon to defend Monsieur Peltier, the editor of a French journal
published in London, who was prosecuted by government for a libel
upon Buonaparte, then first Consul of France. The defence has ben pub-
lished ; considered as a treatise, it is a master-piece of eloquence and
reason. Some, however, who most esteemed the author, thought that
the manner was too didactic; that the style had borrowed something from
the habits of the lecturer, and that it wanted the compression and force that
were desirable in forensic performances. Whatever might be its defects

THE LATE SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH. 509

in these particulars, in my judgment, its merit in others surpassed the
powers of any other advocate. Monsieur Peltier was convicted ; but
the war which soon followed, rescued him from punishment.

During the continuance of the peace, Mr. Mackintosh visited Paris.
His reception there, and his success in society, was as remarkable as in
England. The First Consul expressed a strong desire to see him : he
was accordingly introduced ; but, by some accident, Buonaparte had mis-
taken for him Mr. W. Frankland, and had paid that gentlemen many
compliments upon his reputation as a writer, and particularly as the
author of the ' Vindicise Gallicse.' Mr. W. Frankland, not being much
accustomed to speak French, found it impossible to undeceive him, and
was obliged to accept the civilities intended for Mr. Mackintosh, whose
conversation with the great captain was confined to such trifling questions
as are necessarily current at all courts. One of those questions which
I believe was proposed to him, as well as to Mr. Erskine, was, whether
he had ever been Lord Mayor of London. The mistake was afterwards
a subject of much pleasantry with both the gentlemen who had been the
subjects of it.

The administration of Mr. Addington, and the hollow truce, miscalled
a peace, which accompanied it, had to a certain extent, and for a certain
time, softened the asperity of political parties in England. During this
period the office of Recorder at Bombay was proposed to Mr. Mackintosh
by the minister in the most flattering terms. Those of his friends who
were most attached to him viewed with regret his determination to accept
it. They deplored deeply the loss of his society, and entertained a hope
that a splendid career awaited him in his own country. They felt it as
a reproach to Great Britain that so distinguished a man should be ban-
ished from her shores to seek the means of honourable subsistence for
himself and his family in any other land. They could not however pre-
sume to judge of the circumstances which made this step a measure of
prudence on his part, and they fully acknowledged that to accept a ju-
dicial station, in which he could only serve his country with integrity and
advantage when perfectly impartial and unbiassed by political faction,
was perfectly consistent with his honour, and with the allegiance due to
that party with whom he was most connected by private attachment
and common objects of public pursuit. They thought it higly honour-
able to the minister to make such an offer to a gentleman who professed
no attachment to him or his party, upon the undisputed grounds of fit-
ness for the office, and they were convinced that he could accept it with
a conscience equally free from the apprehension of political feeling on
the bench and from the reproach of violating any principle of duty.
Others who professed a great attachment to him and an equal interest in
his reputation, could not pardon him for what they were pleased to in-
sinuate was an apostacy from party. It is the justice of political factions
to be more rigorous in exacting sacrifices from their adherents than
generous in rewarding them. Mackintosh, however, was not openly
attacked. The means taken to wound his reputation were by occasional
sneers, and by the circulation of calumnies grounded upon a distorted
view of facts. It is needless to specify or allude to these, as he obtained
ample amends for the mischief that was aimed at him by the full conces-
sion of those who had been most engaged in propagating reports to
which they who knew him best had never given the slightest credit.

510 SKKTCH OF THE PERSONAL CHARACTER OP

As I profess only to give such particulars of him as fell within my own
knowledge, I pass over the period of his service as Recorder of Bombay.
He acquitted himself with honour in that office. He possessed every
talent and every acquirement necessary for a judicial station. During
the whole period of his service he was the sole judge of his court. The
anxiety and labour he bestowed upon the consideration of some import-
ant cases were testified by his correspondence with his friends inEngland.
He wrote to me occasionally on such subjects, as well as on others that
he thought might attract my attention. I regret that I have not been
able to find several of his letters on which I placed a high value.

He returned to this country in 1812, after an absence of eight years,
and found his friend Mr. Perceval at the head of public affairs. I had
before learned from that minister himself, his wish to have the benefit of
Sir James Mackintosh' § assistance, and to place him in some eminent
office, worthy of his talent and reputation. I expressed my doubt
whether he could be induced to accept any political office in the existing
state of parties, but I was not fully aware till the day of Mr. Perceval's
death, that the proposal had actually been made and rejected. The cir-
cumstances will be thought worthy of narration by those who take an
interest in the history and character of Sir James Mackintosh.

My excellent and much valued friend, the late Lord Cawdor, made
some communication to me on the subject of the representation of the
county of Nairn in Scotland, in which his family and connexions had an
influence, that would be important at the next general election. I
ventured to suggest to him Sir James Mackintosh, as one who would do
most honour to his lordship's interest, and who could not fail of being
acceptable to that county as the neighbourhood of the seat of his birth
and family. Lord Cawdor acquiesced without hesitation in all that I
said ; he had, however, but a slight personal knowledge of Sir James,
and had heard some doubts cast upon his political principles. He was
not desirous that the county of Nairn should be represented by any per-
son that would accept office under the existing administration, and at all
events would not himself be the instrument of recommending such a
candidate. It was impossible I could give him any positive assurance
upon this point, upon which I had never conversed with my friend since
his return from India, and I could not desire him to act on my opinion
in so delicate an affair ; especially as I had reason to believe that Sir
James would be exposed to the temptation of office. It was therefore
arranged that I should endeavour to ascertain from himself whether he
persevered in those political sentiments and attachments which he was
known to profess before he went to India, and whether they would so
far prevail with him as to make him decline office. I proceeded with-
out delay on my mission, and found him at home, in the act of folding
up a letter. I stated to him that I had been asked more than once what
part he was likely to take if in Parliament, and that I took the liberty of
an old and sincere friend in putting the question to himself, that I might
be able to answer it on the best authority — that I certainly had my own
opinion upon it, but that was not enough to satisfy inquiries that might
be made with a serious object. He replied that he was not surprised at
such a question being proposed to me, after the insinuations that had
been made against his political consistency : that he had thought it not

THE LATE SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH. 511

improbable that some proposal might be made to him on his return from
India, and had therefore maturely deliberated, on his passage home,
what course it would become him to pursue, with reference to the state
in which he might find parties on his arrival ; that his family and pecu-
niary circumstances would not justify him in rejecting any situation
which might add to his fortune, if he could accept it with honour and a
safe conscience ; that there might be circumstances, some of which I was
aware of, that might justify him to the world in abandoning the Whig
party ; but that he was satisfied he could not accept a political office
under Mr. Perceval's administration without violating those feelings and
principles which had hitherto governed him, and had made up his mind,
that he should best consult his own peace and comfort by adhering to
the party to which he had always been attached. 'As a proof of my
sincerity,' said he, ' allow me to read you this letter, which I am just
about to despatch to Mr. Perceval. You are aware how much I have
been indebted to his kindness. He has been very marked in his atten-
tion to me since my return, and yesterday requested to see me in Down-
ing-street. He, there, after many obliging expressions, stated his wish
not only to see me in Parliament, but in some high office, that he was
pleased to say might be worthy of me ; that with that view he had en-
deavoured to make an arrangement to place me at the head of the Board
of Control ; and though he could not accomplish that object immediately,
nor perhaps before the dissolution of the present Parliament, he had it
in his power to offer me a seat in the House of Commons, if I would
now accept it. I was so touched with the frankness of his proposal and
with the kindness and earnestness of his manner, that though I required
no time for deliberation, I thought there would be something like rude-
ness in a sudden rejection of it, and I therefore told him, if it were a
question of personal feeling and respect for him, I should not hesitate
an instant in accepting an offer so flattering to me ; that there were,
however, other considerations involved in it, which might weigh with
me in an opposite direction ; but that at all events I thought it due to
the friendly sentiments he had expressed towards me, to take some time
to deliberate before I made up my mind to give him an answer. Here
is my answer, and I am very glad that I have an opportunity of showing
it to you before I send it.' He then read the letter, which, in terms
highly courteous to Mr. Perceval, contained the substance of what he
stated to me. I was too much delighted with this signal proof of the
integrity of my friend to conceal either my satisfaction or my secret ;
nor could I deny myself the gratification of letting him enjoy, at the very
moment when he was making so noble a sacrifice to principle, the most
appropriate compensation he could receive. I hailed him at once mem-
ber for Nairnshire, and set before him the honour and fame which he
could not fail to acquire by his talents in the House of Commons, as well
as the gratitude of the party to whose service he so nobly devoted them.
The letter was never received. Whilst I hastened homewards to put
into writing the substance of this conversation for Lord Cawdor, I
received the intelligence that Mr. Perceval had just been shot by an
assassin, as he entered the House of Commons.

Sir James Mackintosh shortly afterwards proceeded to Cawdor Castle,
where he passed a portion of the ensuing summer in cultivating the in-

512 SKETCH OF THE PERSONAL CHARACTER OF

terest which he represented in the next Parliament. From the time of
his arrival in this country, he had devoted much labour to the investigation
of historical documents and papers, with a view to a great work which
was expected from him. His anxiety to search for the truth, and to
leave no source of intelligence that came within his reach unexplored,
gave him but little leisure for the task of composition. The superadded
occupation of Parliament unfortunately contributed to that disappoint-
ment which has been experienced by his friends and the public. He
soon took a leading part in the debates of the House of Commons; and
it is enough to say that he lost nothing of his reputation by his perform-
ances there.

If, however, I may be allowed to express an opinion on that subject,
I should say that the House of Commons was not the theatre where the
happiest efforts of his eloquence could either be made or appreciated.
Whatever may be the advantages derived from the division of political
men into parties, it is obvious that it must have an important influence
upon the character of the debates in that assembly. The result of each
discussion, and even the exact numerical division, being, upon most im-
portant questions, known beforehand, the speakers do not aim so much
at conviction, as to give satisfaction to their respective parties, and to
make the strongest case for the public. Hence a talent for exaggeration,
for sarcasm, for giving a dexterous turn to the events of a debate, is
more popular, and perhaps more useful, than the knowledge which can
impart light, or the candour which seeks only for justice and truth.
It is the main object of each party to vindicate itself, or to expose the
antagonist party to indignation and contempt. Hence the most success-
ful speaker — that is, he who is heard with the greatest pleasure, very often
is one who abandons the point of debate altogether, and singles out
from the adversary some victim whom he may torture by ridicule or
reproach, or lays hold of some popular party topic, either to point the
public indignation against his opponents, or to flatter the passions of his
adherents. Many of the speeches are not, in effect, addressed to the
supposed audience, but to the people ; and consequently, like scene-paint-
ing, which is to be viewed at a distance, and by unskilful eyes, are more
remarkable for the boldness of the figures, and the vivacity of the colour-
ing, than for nature and truth. It is not the genus deliberativum,* but
the genus demonstrativum, of eloquence, that is most successful in the
House of Commons. The highest praise of Sir James Mackintosh is,
that he was, by disposition and nature, the advocate of truth. His elo-
quence and his powers were best fitted for that temperate sort of discus-
sion which, admitting every ornament of diction arid illustration that can
please the taste or the imagination, still addresses itself to the judgment,
and makes the passions themselves captives to reason. He could not,
without being easily foiled and surpassed, attempt that strain of invective
and vituperation of all manner of things and persons which is sometimes
so eminently successful in debate, not by the fascination of its charms,
but the force of terror, and which, though it may open the way to station
and fortune, never either produces conviction, or leaves a sensation of

* " The genus deliberativum is for the senate ; the genus demonstrativum is con-
versant in praise and blame." — Cic.de Inventione.

THE LATE SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH. 513

pleasure behind. The mildness of his temper, the correctness of his
judgment, the abundance of his knowledge, and the perfection of his
taste, all combined to make him averse to the pursuit of applause, either
by inflicting pain upon others, or by sacrificing truth and good feeling to
the coarse appetite of the vulgar. It cannot be denied that, whenever
the nature of the subject and the disposition of the House were favourable
to his qualities as a speaker, he exhibited specimens of eloquence that
were of the highest order, and elicited the most unqualified applause.

During the period whilst he was most engaged in Parliament, his
avocations, as well as my own, in another line, interposed obstacles to
our private intercourse, which it was oftener my fate to lament, than
within my power to overcome... But as the course of his life was then pub-
lic, and his pursuits matter of general interest and notoriety, it is needless
to dwell upon that part of his history which, from the period of his entering
Parliament to the close of his life, must form part of the history of his
country.

I cannot, however, omit the mention of the first occasion when he
might, without scruple or disparagement to his own honour, have ac-
cepted office ; I mean the period when Mr. Canning was desired by his
late Majesty to form a government.* It is no part of the present sub-
ject to enter into a history of the negociation that took place between
Mr. Canning and some of the Whig party at that time. But I can state
upon my own knowledge, the surprise and the concern Mr. Canning
expressed, that the name of Sir James Mackintosh was not amongst the
list of those who were proposed to form a coaliton with him ; he had
certainly thought him, not in merit only, but in estimation, one of the
foremost of his party, and he was aware of the sacrifices he had made to
it. Shortly afterwards His Majesty was pleased to admit him of his
Privy Council. Upon the last change of administration, f when a new
ministry was formed by a coalition of individuals of all the different
parties in the State, but under the influence of Lord Grey, a subordinate
place in the Board of Control was the reward of his long life of merit and
exclusion. The difficulty of distributing office amongst so many expect-
ants, must be the consolation to his frends, for this apparently inadequate
station for one so eminent, and who had lost so much by his adherence
to party. To those who are not in the secret, it must be matter at least
of surprise, that neither parliamentary experience, nor a well-earned
reputation, nor long-tried devotion, nor the habits of business, were so
much in request as to find their way into any but a comparatively in-
significant place at a board, at the head of which Sir James Mackintosh,
rather than abandon his party, had, in other times, declined to preside.
Such is the caprice of fortune, or the wantonness of power, in the distri-
bution of favours ! There is a certain degree of merit which is more
convenient for reward than the highest. Caligula made his horse, a con-
sul to show the absoluteness of his authority. Perhaps it is something
of the same feeling which occasionally actuates princes and ministers in
the honours they bestow. Those who can have no other claim to suc-
cess than the pure, independent will of their patrons, are more striking

* April, 1827. t November, 1830.

M. M. 3T

514 SKETCH OF THE PERSONAL CHARACTER OF

examples of power, and are bound to them by a gratitude unqualified by
any pretensions. Assuredly, those who knew the history of Sir James
Mackintosh, and were conscious of his extraordinary acquirements, were
as much surprised as Mr. Canning had been, to find that he was not
placed in that cabinet, which he was so well fitted to inform by his
wisdom, and to moderate by his counsels.

It is not, however, my desire to speak of this illustrious man as a
politician — much less as a party man. His merit and his pretensions
have placed him, and will maintain him with posterity, in a position far
above those who were engaged in the petty strife of party, aud the con-
tentions for power. His genius and his talents will shed a lustre over
the age in which he lived, when his more fortunate competitors for
temporary objects are forgotten. As an elegant writer, a consummate
master of metaphysics and moral philosophy ; as a profound historian ;
as an accomplished orator, he will be known to all future times. The
charms of his conversation — the pleasure and the instruction which
were found in his society, can be appreciated by contemporaries only,
who enjoyed the opportunity of intercourse with him. They alone can
bear testimony to that urbanity of manner, and that sweetness of temper,
which mitigated the awe inspired by the superiority of his mind and the
profoundness of his knowledge, and made the approach to him not only
safe, but delightful — which conciliated confidence, and softened the emo-
tions of envy. Of that passion he was himself altogether unconscious
and incapable. His greatest pleasure was to find cause for encomium in
others, and to draw merit from obscurity. He loved truth for its own
sake, and exercised his mighty power in dialectics, not for his own repu-
tation, but for the investigation of truth. As a critic, he was inclined
more to candour than severity. He was touched by whatever was just,
original, or worthy of praise ; he sought after it with as much ardour as
others feel in the detection of faults. His wit did not require the foil of
deformity to give it splendour; its brilliancy was best displayed in
illustrating beauty, for which he had the keenest relish. He possessed,
in an eminent degree, one of the most amusing faculties of wit, a lively
sense of the ridiculous ; but he could laugh at folly without exciting
anger or fear, could be just without an air of severity, entertaining
without satire, and brilliant without sarcasm. No man ever lived more
in society, or shone more in conversation ; yet it would be difficult — I
should say, impossible, to ascribe a sentiment, or even an original
sentence to him, the least tinctured with envy, malice, or uncharitableness.

But I have been betrayed by the subject further than I intended.
The memory of departed excellence, ' like the sound of distant music,
is pleasing, though mournful to the soul.' Even this melancholy tribute,
in awakening recollections of the past, is not without its charm. One
thing only is wanting to make it a source of consolation, and even of
pleasure — that he could but be conscious of the genuine affection and
pious feeling with which it is paid.

(515)

ZEPHYR AMONG THE FLOWERS.

WHEN the bright-hair 'd Morn,

With her dropping horn,

Blows sweet on the mountain-side,

Where the dale- queens lie,

With a light foot, I

O'er their green tiaras glide.

I waken each flower

In her grassy bower,

But I do not — dare not stay,

For I must be gone

To attend the Sun

At the eastern gate of the day !

" Fare thee well ! farewell !"

As I leave her cell,

I can hear the young Rose sigh :

And the Harebell too

Bids me oft adieu !

With a tear in her dim blue eye.

As pale as the snow

Does the Lilly grow,

When my wild feet near her rove,

Yet she lets me sip

Of her nectarious lip,

As long and as deep as I love.

To make me her prize,

Pretty Primrose tries,

Kissing and clasping my feet ;

But Violets cling

So fast to my wing,

That my feathers are full of them yet !

Each flower of the lea
Has a bed for me,
But I will not — cannot stay,
For I must be gone
To attend the Sun
At the Western gate of the day!
3 T 2

( 51G )

AN EPOCH IN THE LIFE OF MULCIBER SMITH.

MULCIBER T. B. Smith was a philosopher, and something of a fatalist.
His philosophy had made him a cynic ; his fatalism, an idler. Under
their influence in combination, his prospects in life had become any-
thing but cheering. No man ever more bitterly inveighed against for-
tune, for no man, he thought, had ever been more scurvily treated by
the goddess. The fact is, however, that Mulciber was more prone to
habits of profitless cogitation than to habits of industry ; and as moral
do not always turn out quite so successfully as mercantile speculations,
he was richer in ideas than in gold, so that fortune was not so much to
be reproached, after all.

At the age of twenty-seven he had already tried several schemes, and
devised many more, whereby to gain for himself a gentlemanly subsist-
ence ; for it so happened, most unluckily, that he was not born to a
ready-fabricated competency, albeit no one was better qualified to fulfil
the office of a patrician in one of its chiefest attributes, — namely, a most
contemptuous antipathy to business. Bred to the law, he had become
early disgusted with the drudgery of that sordid profession — so he deemed
it — and, trusting to the general excellence of his parts, he had resolved
to abandon forensic eminence, and to live by the exertion of his versatile
talents. But what Mulciber called exertion was, he at length found,
insufficient to secure those pecuniary supplies without which the most
gentlemanly disposed and highly gifted people are apt to become out
at elbows.

Mulciber was a "genius;" his friends told him so, and he had too
high a sense of their discernment to doubt the truth or the soundness of
their opinion in this respect : besides, his own judgment, modestly
avowed, inclined to the same conviction. Nothing is more dangerous
to the worldly prosperity of a youth than the consciousness of genius
really or imaginarily possessed. It generates a spirit of trustingness in
something or other — a very ill, or rather not at all, defined hope in some
good luck to happen soon — that induces the possessor to frustrate the
most laudably-formed progress by delay. Every scheme or measure
that prudence from time to time suggests, and reason sanctions, is pro-
crastinated, in the expectation that a better will by-and-bye present
itself ; and, as nothing usually comes of nothing, the best intentions and
cleverest designs, when only thought about, prove in most instances
remarkable for their sterility. This was just the case with Mulciber.
His happiest conceits and finest devices generally ended just where they
began — in imagination ; he contented himself with thinking about them,
and deferred their execution, in the delusive hope that something more
worthy of his energies might emanate soon ; or, if he began at all, it
was upon so many excellent things at once, that each retarded and de-
feated the perfect accomplishment of all. This versatility of genius
mostly destroys its profitableness to the owner, and a poor genius is very
apt to doubt the universal fitness of things ; a thousand to one, there-

MULC1BER SMITH. 517

fore, but in due time he moralizes himself into a misanthrope. Unless
activity of the body be proportioned to activity of mind, poverty, by
a very harsh, but not less excellent law of nature, is commonly the
result ; and poverty, for this very reason, had been, was, and promised
still to be, the lot of Mulciber T/B. Smith.

Accordingly, at the age of twenty-seven, and after much uphill and
very various work — the expected something or other being as far dis-
tant now as on the first day of hoping — he discovered the startling fact,
that after the payment of his just debts and funeral expenses (these, to
be sure, were not yet a real burthen upon his estate, but, as they would
be to be incurred in the end, they ought in strictness to be honourably
estimated now), he would not be possessed of any great pecuniary sur-
plus ; in short, he owed his tailor eight pounds and some indifferent shil-
lings, and was six weeks in arrear with his landlord for lodging-rent —
to pay which sums he could find, after a rigid examination of his ex-
chequer, little better than two solitary sovereigns. This,, if not sur-
prising, was vexatious.

It is undoubtedly true, that for some days past he had been aware of
the diminution of his finances, and of the growing increase of the de-
mand which would soon of necessity be made upon them ; he was sensi-
ble that they must be low, but he did not precisely know they were so
low. He had been engaged in hoping that something or other would
turn up immediately to avert the temporary cloud upon his destiny —
Mulciber was an excellent hoper — and, as the subject of such an
inquiry was not peculiarly tempting, he had continued to postpone it
de die in diem ; but when money is getting low, it is astonishing how
easily it becomes calculable. He tried anxiously to remember whether
any pecuniary debts were payable to him, but after a severe exercise of
his memory in this particular, he failed to recollect any individual who
owed him a shilling. His position was unpleasant, but what could he
do ? This was a question more easily asked than answered ; so he trusted
to fate, and had recourse to hoping with greater energy than ever.
Much of the painfulness of this predicament, however, had been soothed
by the contemplation of a novel crotchet, which accident had recently
evoked from the mysterious recesses of his cerebral organ. In a gossip
between two neighbours upon the subject of a scape-grace son, which
during an evening's ramble he partly overheard, something about " the
necessity of sticking to one thing in life," fell upon his ear ; he pondered
over the words, and deemed them good. Now, upon the virtue of this
hint, which it was evidently his destiny to receive, he had been rumi-
nating ever since, and trying hard to determine which of his talents he
should for the future permanently and exclusively cultivate ; but the
perplexing part of the affair was to hit upon the best. He possessed —
he felt it — abundance of notable resources, any one of which, with a
little fuither training, might be made available; it might be mechani-
cal, and therefore vulgar, but adverse circumstances — fate — made it
necessary : the difficulty was to select the one which should hold out
the fairest chances of ulterior success. The danger to be dreaded was
a mis-choice, and he felt himself in the awkwardness of a many- horned
dilemma.

The longer he reflected the more indecisive he became, and day after

518 AN EPOCH IN THE LIFE OF

day had passed without finding him at all determined in his preference.
He possessed a good deal of scientific knowledge — should it be science ?
He was an accomplished man — should it be fine arts ? He had read
much, and was a scribbler — should it be literature — light, moral, or
political ?

Whenever Mulciber was puzzled, it was his custom to " consult
nature," in a vagabond stroll out of doors, with much about the same
profit as one looks first at one corner of the ceiling, then at another, for
a bright idea difficult to achieve, and not always found when sought.
A little meditation might, he imagined, lead to a lucky thought to guide
him in his extremity ; and so, for the fiftieth time, he had recourse to
the old expedient. He donned his hat, and wandered forth from the
oppressive dulness of his own den, away to the pastures of Putney. He
was very partial to the water, especially in sunny weather. Indolent
people generally are. There is an indescribable pleasure in gazing on
the rippling river, sparkling with sunbeams, the tide flowing up or
down — just as it happens — and the broad Jbosom of the water dotted
with gay wherries and their weary loads, or relieved of its monotony
by the passing interlude of a square-built coal-barge or two, heavy and
black as a bad man's conscience. Mulciber made choice of a retired
spot close to the w'ater's edge, and threw himself listlessly down to muse
in quiet and repose. Every thing around him appeared beautiful, happy,
and serene. The sky was clear, and the clouds bright and downy : the
little birds chirruped and sang gleefully about; the insects hummed
dreamily through the air ; the very earth itself seemed to breathe forth
gladness, in the living sheet of incense that glisteningly and quiveringly
ascended from its surface; and all things, in short, appeared calm,
peaceful, and harmonious, except the perturbed Mulciber, whom destiny
delighted so to cross. He took a brief review of his present condition,
and of the urgent necessity of at once attempting " something or
other," to give to it a brighter aspect; this, indeed, was a painful
and exhausted theme, which he was but too glad to forget. So he
picked the grass, looked at the clouds, then upon the water, and flung
pebbles into it by way of provoking pleasanter reveries. Still, however,
the sickening question would continue to obtrude, of " What shall I do ?"

As a fatalist, Mulciber more than half imagined it was scarcely worth
trying to do anything, despite the importunities of prudence ; and as a
philosopher, he was almost prepared to yield passively to whatsoever
circumstances might betide him, " let the worst come to the worst/'
But neither his philosophy nor his fatalism could repress two images
which continually haunted his imagination — namely, the spectres of his
tailor and his landlord. In the light of day, or the obscurity of night —
in every season of the twenty-four hours, morning, noon, or eventide —
they pressed themselves upon his morbid vision. It was vexatious —
very ; but still there they were : in street or field — in solitude or in the
crowd — at home or abroad — Mr. Truefit and Mr. Firstfloor were ever the
prominent and pestilential objects of his unwilling contemplation. If
he looked at the sky, the clouds seemed to assume the appearance of
tailors' shopboards ; the very foliage of the trees arranged itself into
enlarged and multiplied profiles of features too well remembered ; every
passenger who crossed his path appeared a Mr. Truefit, a Mr. Firstfloor,

MULCIfiER SMITH. 519

or some member of their respective families. If he slept, he dreamed
of their importunities, and his own eloquent appeals to their sympathies
and clemency ; in truth, sleeping or waking, he was sorely harrassed by
these two-fold torments. " What can I do ?" was often asked, but
answer there was none ; and straightway the phantoms would re-appear,
in still more vivid colours, more distinct outline, than before.

Whilst Mulciber was thus wrestling with his memory, the splash of
oars struck upon his ear, and a small boat-party of men and women
rounded the point, and approached that part of the shore whereon he
lay. He looked, and thought he beheld his eternal pursuers in the
living flesh before him. It is true, that Mr. Truefit was short, spare,
and pallid, and Mr. Firstfloor tall, sturdy, and florid ; and, therefore,
bore no striking resemblance to each other ; but habits of long and
anxious speculation upon a subject intimately connected with their
persons, had at last so blended and associated their corporeal peculiarities
together in the mind's eye of Mulciber, that an artificial identity had
been somehow established between them and every other male member
of the community who chanced to come within the field of his optics.
He had been hourly, daily, and weekly, under this delusion, yet the
oft detected mistakes had failed to correct his perverted visuality. But
could he be mistaken now ? Was it them, indeed*; was that young
woman in the pink bonnet, Miss Amelia, his landlord's daughter ; was
the other, in the green silk dress, Mrs. Truefit ? It was — it must be-
lt could be no others ! Should he rise and run, or turn on his side and
sham somnolence ? Cui bono ? He would be recognised by his garb or
his gait, in either act. Besides, why flee ? Mulciber was a nervous
man— that is to say, mental worry had made him a bit of a coward ;
and though neither of his creditors was actually aware of his pressing
difficulties, yet he who knew them so well himself, and had so long
dwelt in anticipation of the inevitable explosion, by and-bye, had uncon-
sciously deluded himself with the belief that they, too, by some
inscrutable and intuitive process, must have acquired a similar informa-
tion. His heart was in his throat, and burning hot. What should he
do ? Desperation came to his aid, and he resolved to dare the worst.
Sitting bolt upright, he gently averted his head, and tried to look calm,
contemplative, and indifferent ; it was a bitter effort. The boat
approached — the voices grew louder — a laugh from the ladies twanged
on his ear : what a stinging mockery is human laughter to those who
cannot rejoice ! He thought he heard the name of Smith pronounced by
one of the party ; he knew of but one Smith in the living world, replete
as it is with Smiths, and that was himself ! Again it reached him — he
could not be deceived ; it was them he heard — it was him they named !
The oars cease to dip again,-t-the boat stops ; he sees it not, but knows
it must almost touch him ; and, as one who, long watching the progress
of the gathering storm, hears at length the confirmatory thunder-clap,
so heard Mulciber the ringing cry of "SMITH" close upon his tympanum.

How frequently do our most exquisitely elaborate conjectures prove
deceptive ! We are prone to build up suppositions upon the most
approved principles of logical induction, and one simple fact, out of a
myriad of others which might as naturally have occurred, is at once
sufficient to subvert what we stupidly imagined to be an inevitable

520 AN EPOCH IN THE LIFE OF

consequence ! The party consisted neither of Mr. T. or Mr. F., or
any one member of their several households ; but of Mulciber's own pet
crony, Fred. Hetherton, and a little bevy of pleasure-hunters. It was
some seconds before Mulciber could extricate with sufficient secrecy the
sigh which inflated his pulmonary apparatus, or regain sufficient com-
posure of mind to apprehend with clearness the recognition and the
introduction which followed. As the vapours of his brain became dis-
pelled, however, he collected that Mr. Hetherton and his companions,
taking advantage of the fineness of the day, were proceeding on an excur-
sion to Isleworth. They intended to " spend one of the pleasantest after-
noons in the world;" and, as nothing could afford them greater delight than
the presence of Mr. Mulciber Smith, on such an occasion (Hetherton, with
a nod and a knowing look, had assured them of his companionable qualifi-
cations), he was warmly solicited to join them. Mr. Smith, to this hour,has
no distinct recollection of the natureof his preliminary objections to intrude
himself upon their pleasures ; but, as such objections are commonly con-
sidered to be invalid, and untenable, so in this instance, his modest
reluctance was only the more vehemently deprecated; and Mulciber,
delighted in being able to drown his troubles in the obliviousness of a
frolic, at length salaamed and entered. The ladies were in buoyant
spirits, the gentlemen hilarious and witty ; but a sudden transition from
the solitude of careworn, harassed, and unhappy self, into a joyous
laughter-loving circle of friends, does not instantaneously eradicate the
entirety of our sadness, even when most willingly we would fling it from
us ; we compare our own sorrows with the gaiety of other hearts, un-
wearied and uncrushed, and the contrast leaves a melancholy which we
cannot instantly subdue. Mulciber was, for the first ten minutes, little
better than a silent ruminant ; but unrestrained mirth, especially when
beaming from the eyes of woman, is an epidemic which persons of a
certain temperament cannot long resist, and Mulciber soon became as
loquacious as the rest. The ladies were pretty, affable, and young —
three excellent qualifications at all times in the fair sex— and gave point
and sparkle to the remarks that fell from the gentlemen ; the usual
complement of water-jokes, and wherry-wit, was of course displayed, as
occasion served ; and each individual, contributing as he or she could,
and as circumstances suggested, the fairest selectable share of good-
humoured nonsense-talk, which their several abilities could originate,
the time past agreeably enough.

At length, after a safe and delightful trip, they approached the point
of their destination ; a pretty sylvan retreat was selected, and the com-
pany debarked. A provident supply of "refreshments" — sandwiches,
stout (cyder being considered unsafe), a currant and raspberry pie, cigars
for the gentlemen, bergerac for the special* behoof of the ladies (a wine,
by the way, which has not yet acquired half its deserved celebrity), and
sundries — had been prepared, and were safely landed. The " painter"
\vas firmly and prudently attached to the stump of a tree hard by, and
the party proceeded to arrange themselves beneath an elm — was it an
elm ? — no matter, no body cared — whose spreading branches and luxu-
rious foliage protected them from the garish beams of a July sun. This
duty accomplished, they all, with vigorous appetite, addressed themselves
to the discussion of the substantial*.

MULCIBER SMITH. 521

The saying of good things was again renewed. Compliments were
bandied about, kindly glances exchanged, snatches of love melodies
hummed, patch-work pastorals recited, and some terrific puns now and
then exploded — such being the appointed and necessary condiments of all
water-party expeditions ; — every body knows what they are, practically
or historically, and further record there needeth none. It will readily
be admitted that two ladies among four gentlemen are, numerically esti-
mated, a most unequal distribution ; but under existing circumstances,
no jealous rivalry, or reproachable distinction, occasioned discontent.
Mr. David Daniel Bute was the accredited slave of Miss Fanny Cloves,
and Mr. Stephenson Cloves, her brother, was the acknowledged admirer
of the admiring Miss Caroline Ogden — (they are now all married, and
call each other " darlings" before company) — so that, with this under-
standing, there arose neither complaint nor dissatisfaction. Thus, for
some considerable time, they ate, drank, chatted, and laughed, and the
repast at length drew to a conclusion — the best cannot last for ever —
and it was proposed to rise and "look about." A gradual pairing off
took place between the ladies and their lovers, an accident that always
happens under similar circumstances, which very mercifully leaves the
unprovided-for to do as they like. And this was the precise position
in which Mulciber and his friend Fred., speedily found themselves :
they were together, left to walk, or talk, or grumble, as they listed.

"And now, Fred," said Mulciber, "we may have a little sober
gossip— after all this mad revelry, it will be a relief; and first permit me
to ask what ails thee ? it is easy to detect that you are, at heart, dis-
pirited. Have you fallen in love, into debt, or a dilemna ? out with it
all, and make a clean breast. What oppressess you ? something has
occurred, I am sure. For three mortal weeks, Fred., or better, I have
not seen the light of thy countenance. What dire disaster hath befallen
thee. Say, and be condoled."

" You are wrong, Mulcy, my boy" replied Fred, " wrong, most par-
ticularly wrong ; never was in finer spirits in my life ; but — but — the
fact is, I have something of moment here," and he touched his forehead
solemnly, with the four fingers of his left hand, " which absorbs every
faculty, Mulciber; strange that you and I should have met this day,
so unexpectedly on my part."

" Fate !" said Mulciber, " and on mine, too."

" It may even be so; but you were the very man I most wanted to
encounter. You can render me service, Mulciber ; your tact, your dis-
cretion, your good counsel, will be to me aids of great price, in an affair
of peril. I have counted upon them, and must secure them. It was
my intention to have called upon you to-day, but this silly excursion,
previously agreed upon, prevented."

" By the way, Fred, who are these newly found friends of ours ?
They appear to be mighty presentable sort of people for rampant
cocknies."

" Another time, Mulciber, and I will particularize, if need be ; enough
be it for the present that the event is the project of my gossip Bute, a
somewhat small fellow with large pretensions, whom I cannot afford to
lose ; he's a wrung in my laddder of life — do you understand?"

"Ay, well, then ! but of thyself. What new scrape, or what new
project, engages thy especial regard now ?"

522 AN EPOCH IN THE LIFE OF

" Why, Mulciber, you are to know that the other day I fell in with
a singularly strange adventure."

" The old story again ; seven a week, and each more extraordinary
than the last."

" Hold your tongue, and listen. This is one unparalleled for brightness
of promise."

" Of course ; woman or wealth, which is in the wind now ?"

" Both. Hear me. Last Friday — "

" Friday is a marvellously unlucky day, Fred, but go on."

" Your interruption is an impertinence — last Friday I found myself
in the anti-chamber of the Diorama. Some round dozen of visitors,
whom curiosity, assignation, or time-killing, had brought thither, were
patiently awaiting the stoppage of the round-about, then in motion. My
attention was attracted by the appearance of a very comely matron,
as I supposed, verging towards her fifth lustre. Her eyes, full, black,
beaming, and liquid, were, strange to tell, directed to my unworthy
self. Now, to me the fixed gaze of a woman — but I need not senti-
mentalize with you. She instantly withdrew her regards, but forgot to
avert her face ; it was a superb one ! and certainly the first time ever
beheld by me. After a pretty pause she again looked up, and seeing
that I still continued my inquisitorial observation, again became dis-
creetly downcast. The tinkle of the bell now announced the completed
revolution of the Vat within ; the door opened, and the company pro-
ceeded to enter. With no very definable object I kept as closely to her
sublimity, as politeness warranted. The transition from day-light to
obscurity, produced the usual effect, and rendered the descent an ex-
ploit of hazard ; she seemed sadly bewildered, and prompted by
courtesy I, — "

" Impudence, undeniably; yes, go on."

" I touched her wrist with the intention of guiding her down into the
arena ; a gloved hand, however, on the instant glided snake-like into
mine, and it struck me that the pressure was a leetle firmer than the fear
of a false step — "

" Many have been made there, Fred — "

" Slanderer ! — rendered strictly necessary. That she recognised in
me the humble instrument of her protection through the dangers of that
perilous navigation, I was morally certain, because no other male ani-
mal was near her, when we entered. I conducted her into one of the
boxes, groped for a chair, and brought it and her dear delightful self into
opposition. She gave a faint, quick, premonitory, ' hm !' which — a
sudden huskiness unaccountably attacking me — I returned ; and then in
a half whisper, half murmur, the conventional tone in which dialogue is
carried on at this establishment, you know, my paragon exclaimed,
' Really, Mr. G,, but for your very polite attention, I must have fallen.'
Mr. G. ! whom, then, can she mistake me for, thought I ? No matter ;
if a lady may innocently err in such a place, why may not a gentleman ?
the darkness is an apology for both. I was preceding to assure her in
my most dulcet accents of the happiness I felt — but the pretty speech
was cut short by a soft ' sh !' — "

" You of course took the hint and a seat ?"

" Be all ear, and tongueless."

MULCIBER SMITH. 523

Had I three ears

"Two are quite enough, thank you. As the eye became more fami-
liarized with the gloom, we were enabled to discern that no person was suf-
ciently near to detect the tenor of a conversation discreetly conducted ;
and satisfied in this respect, the mysterious fair one began it in substance
and fashion somewhat as follows :"

" Was — permit me — was her accent Israelitish ?"

" Mulciber Smith ! there are occasions when the interruptions of our
dearest friends are rude and untimely, and this is one of them. Her
voice was the voice of music, plaintive and very pleasant, low breathing
an unremembered melody."

" Patience! ye gods ; but this is too moving ! Fred, Fred, thou art
indeed a supreme donkey. But proceed."

"Be dumb, then : thus she murmured. ' The illusion of this view is
indeed most perfect — in the agitation of last night I scarcely remember
what I said to you — and admirably sustained — had it not been for your
generous sympathy — the imposing grandeur of the architecture, and the
solemn stillness which seems to reign throughout the interior — during
that unhappy scene in the crush room I must have sunk under the public
outrage my feelings sustained — the deep adoration of the devotees and
the pious deportment of the monks conspire to render the subject most
impressive — his conduct was most intemperate and unmanly — the drawing
is exquisitely correct — though old, he is extremely violent and vindictive
— and how true to nature is the colouring — assure me, I implore
that no meeting has already taken or will take place between you — or, ra-
ther how true to art — / could never forgive myself if on my account you
you were to incur danger — the eye is quite deceived by this masterly
effort of genius — -promise me, then, that no hostile consequence shall ensue
— the painting is a superb deceit ! — She paused : I took the word, and
rambled on vaguely.

" ' This view is a great favourite of mine in consequence of its extreme
fidelity — be under no apprehensions on my account • the painful situation
in which you were last night placed — it is a noble painting — pained me
intensely ; but tell me, have you experienced no ill effects from it ? — and
does great credit — / was incensed to a degree past supporting— credit to
the artist — and, though a stranger, could not resist my interference — the
artist — / owe a thousand apologies for my presumption — artist (I could
not, for my soul, contrive to manage the intercurrent jargon cleverly) —
but witnessing what I then satv, it was hard to repress — '

" 'The effect, as you say — say not another ivord; in this note you will
find all I dare communicate — is very admirable — it contains in truth but
the expression of my sincerest acknowledgements — it is much to be deplored
that such works should be doomed to a perishable celebrity — promise me
that you will not needlessly expose yourself to peril, and you will relive
my mind from inexpressible anxiety — so excellent a work of art — that
anxiety is my only apology for now meeting you ; in promising this inter-
view last night, my agitation was too great to consider the imprudence of
such a step — deserves more lasting fame."

" ' It does so, indeed — / will promise every thing you ask — you now
observe the cold grey light of morning — but tell me when, where shall 1
have the happiness vf making further inquiries- — breaking through the

524 AN EPOCH IN THE LIFE OP

stained casements — or of again seeing you under circumstances of less
painful restraint ?'

" ' Yes, most skilfully contrived — no, you must not ask it ; do not — •
the darkness is now dissipating — my warmest thanks are yours, but to
meet again would be eminently dangerous — the light increases fast — -for
heavens sake, now leave me — should I be discovered — every object is gra-
dually becoming more and more distinct.'

" ' The profound interest you have excited in my bosom provokes my
importunities ; tell me then, I beseech you, that I may be honoured with
another interview, if but one, and I shall leave you now on the instant.'

" ' Speak not in so high a tone — these views, I believe, are the work
of a foreign artist — what you ask it is imposssible that I can concede — the
light is so rapidly increasing — pray, pray, leave me !'

" ' You refuse, then, so to honour me ?'

" ' Be satisfied with this, that if I durst — I know not what I say —
where would a note reach you ?'

" ' At the New Hummums, addressed to Captain Crush ; think of
last night, and remember the name.'

• ' I pressed to my lips the tips of her dear delightful fingers, then did
as I was bidden."

" Impudence, mendacity, and folly, in villainous combination ! well,
and what then became you ?" asked Mulciber.

" Anxious to penetrate the mystery," resumed his friend, " I sped
away to the inner circle of the park to consult the precious billet in
which I doubt not was to be found a perfect or a partial revelation of
this occult affair ; and taking from my pocket this pretty, precious, per-
fumed, document, I read these words — "

" First, to whom is it addressed ?"

" Superscription it hath none ; consequently, the fracture of the seal
violated the right of no man living ; and in this respect my conscience — "

*' Fred, the less you say about conscience, perad venture, the. better ;
but the contents ?"

" You shall hear. — ' It has cost me much to accord this meeting,
transient as it must be. I am sensible of its imprudence, but the ser-
vices rendered by you last night are so gratefully remembered by me,
that I cannot forego the opportunity, hazardous as it is, of conveying to
you the expression of my sincere and warmest acknowledgements !'"

"Well; go on."

" There is not another word."

" Brief, if not explicit — may I ask the signature ?"

" You may."

" What is it ?"

" There is none. Not even a lonely initial ! You will perceive,
therefore, my very excellent friend, that I was as much in the dark now
as before. In this plight I tried by synthesis to build up a decent con-
jecture. A lady's feelings outraged by something done by somebody in
the crush room of an opera-house — an old man violent and vindictive — •
the interposition of a chivalrous cavalier — an assignation — woman's
gratitude — old man husband to the lady — jealous and distrustful, per-
haps right, perhaps wrong — outrage — public and discourteous rebuke ;
quaere — the cavalier vindicates her innocence, throws the gauntlet, and

MULCIBKR SMITH. 525

whispers an assignation — she is true to her tryst, and he being a hand-
some fellow, imperfectly remembered, mistakes me for the valorous" de-
fender of her wrongs — (none of your absurdities, Mulciber, I beg) — and
I receive the reward of another's knightly devoir. This was no very safe
interpretation, I admit, but still the best."

" Enough of idle conjecture, Fred; have you any more facts ? May I
be so bold as to inquire whether any other epistle was received by Cap-
tain Crush of the New Hummums ?"

" Can you doubt it ? Posted straight to that very respectable estab-
lishment, left instructions to match the event, and on the second morn-
ing received the anxiously expected treasure. It was evidently the re-
sult of very hasty deliberation, and ran thus : ' To-morrow we leave
town for ten days. Sir Jaleel insists upon my accompanying him. As
soon as we return, I will again write.' Here, then, was a key that would
unlock the puzzle ; the heels of caution had been tripped up by the sud-
den contact of surprise — "

" Barbarian ! what a figure !"

" — and ' Sir Jaleel' at once released pussy from the sack. For two
mortal days was I employed in rummaging the columns of every morn-
ning and evening paper from the date to the imprint to discover what
' Sir Jaleel' it might be who was about to leave or had left this teeming
town. Don't yawn, Mulciber, I have nearly done. On the morning of
the third my eyes were ravished with this announcement in the Post :
' Sir Jaleel Sternhold left town, yesterday, for Sternhold Hall, Norfolk ;
the hon. bart. was accompanied by his daughter, the widow of the late
Colonel Hastings.' Mulciber, the perusal of that paragraph set my
brain a whirling ; a vision of rank and riches burst brightly before me ;
I received the sudden and delightful assurance that my fortune was
made ; it was my conviction then, and it is my conviction now."

" Allow me, my dear fellow, to congratulate you upon the brilliant
prospect, and at the same time to assure you that, though doubtless it is
distinct enough to your own perceptions, I, for my part, have not the
faintest apprehension of what it may happen to be. Possibly, you may
be pleased to enlighten my understanding."

" That woman, Mulciber, must be my wife."

" We are in the dog days, Fred ; and I fear you are not quite sensi-
ble of your calamitous condition. You are rabid, my friend ; mad, ab-
solutely mad, and no longer a responsible agent. Let me suggest a few
weeks' quiet at some asylum ; Clapham is a quiet and salubrious region,
and "

" Laugh at me, if you will, Mulciber; you, perhaps, see in all this
nothing but frantic romance ; but, believe me, it is a more matter of fact
affair than it seems. What have you done about your pamphlet on the
corn laws ; is it yet completed ?"

" Mad as a muffin ! what has my pamphlet to do with your mounte-
bankism ? Upon my soul, Fred, you are seriously ill."

" It has much to do with what you are pleased to term my mounte-
bankism. Is it finished — in type ?"

" Yes, and no ; done, but not printed."

" That's lucky. Now, listen to me. You well know that Sir Jaleel
has of late been very roughly handled in parliament and by the press,

526 AN EPOCH IN THE LIFE OF

for his whimsical crotchets about agricultural distress. He is sadly in
want of an apologist, and you must undertake that honourable office."

" Pardon me, but I decline the glory."

"Be not rash, Mulciber, and hearken to words of wisdom. It will
be an easy if not a pleasant task to interpolate a few defensive para-
graphs and a sprinkling of admiration at the just, comprehensive, and
statesmanlike views of my respected father-in-law (that is to be), Sir
Jaleel Sternhold, upon this refreshing question. Use the trowel, Mul-
ciber, and smear with a liberal hand. Tomakawk his revilers with a
ferocious spirit, and spare them not. Never think of the multitude,
but of the man ; if he reads, regard not my inestimable public — it cares
little enough about anonymous scribblers, depend upon it — but if he
reads, as read he shall, thy future pathway may lead to fortune."

"The tones of your voice, Fred, during the last five minutes, have
alarmingly represented the bark of a dog. Does the sight of the water
move you much ?"

" Be quiet, or I may bite. In the course of my inquiries I discovered
that Sir Jaleel's private secretary was about to give or had given up all
interest in mundane politics — Pneumonia, in short, had marked him for
her own ; you, Mulciber, I have destined to supply his place — so shall I
better your fortunes, so shall you better mine."

" Generous, disinterested youth !"

" The rustle of drapery is on the air, and yonder I see symptoms of a
gathering ; our companions approach. Be still and secret, Mulciber ;
to-morrow evening we resume the subject in solemn seriousness. Obey
my behest ; employ the interim in converting your corn-law rubbish into
something like a pungent defence ; we are secure of our futurum, and it
shall be a lever to lift the luck of both of us. It is enough for me to
draw the outline ; you have judgment — at least, so you think, and we have
not time to dispute about it now — and I leave you to fill in the details.
You may affect, if you please, to treat what I have said as a very trum-
pery rigmarole ; but mark me, Mulciber — ruminate, and disdain it not.
— Ladies ! again we rejoice in your gracious presence."

It too soon became apparent, however, that one pair of the interesting
wanderers had stumbled upon a quarrel. Mr. Stephenson Cloves and
the amiable Miss Ogden were in the dumps — she looked dark and tar-
taric, he cool and indignant. The cause of this episode was not, of
course, revealed ; but it was quite clear that a solution of continuity had
happened " to the pleasantest day in the world" — at least, as regarded
them. When people have partaken too greedily of social happiness, it is
not unfrequently considered that a dose of ill-humour is the only true
corrective of the over-treat. The several members of the party, up to
this moment, had stood in the most amicable relation to each other ; but,
somehow, the petty feud began to be regarded with interest. Mr. Bute
and his lady, though previously in a state of the most tender cordiality,
became all at once taciturn. Mr. Hetherton made two or three abor-
tive attempts to fan the expiring harmony into a flame again ; but failing,
inwardly consigned their crabbedness to a very repulsive personage, and
became himself moody. Mulciber was fast relapsing into melancholy ;
Mr. Cloves' striped waistcoat had just reminded him of Truefit's last
pattern card : the image of that worthy citizen and its associate phan-

MULCIBER SMITH. 527

torn instantly recurred to his remembrance, and he was now deep in the
inquiry whether Fred's foolish prank might, by any roundabout possi-
bility, among the chances and changes of this odd world, " somehow or
other" help to extricate him from his difficulties. A most unexpected
accident — fate, in fact — had wafted him to an unknown district ; and
here, from the lips of his friend, he had been listening to the story of a
silly adventure, and to a mad-brained project which common sense fairly
laughed at ; but was it good philosophy to despise an agent because it
seemed absurd, puerile, and unlikely ? Fairly afloat in the regions of
speculation, Mulciber speedily forgot the troubles of his companions in
the greater fascination of his own, and he sauntered away from the party
to indulge in a little lonely meditation.

At how slight a feather will a sinking man catch ! Freed from the
perplexities of his actual condition, Mulciber would have turned from
such a scheme with contempt ; but sore pressed by the sickening anxiety
which now disturbed his better reason, and unable to devise a means of
instant relief, he seriously disposed himself to weigh the probabilities of
a scheme, the mere proposal of which, in a healthier state of mind, he
would have considered as insulting. Besides, there was, indeed, some-
thing paltry and contemptible about the affair, which squared not well with
his notions of propriety ; yet when poverty and want become objects of
one's apprehensions, one's native delicacy of sentiment begins to falter :
— this fact does not read well, but the truth of it is nevertheless too cer-
tain ; and those who have had the bitter misery to experience such a
measure of adversity, would attest it — if they durst.

Absorbed in these reflections, he unconsciously strolled to a consider-
able distance from the river, and overcome by the oppressive heat of the
afternoon he sate himself down on the shady side of a hedge, intending
to rejoin his friends after a little rest ! The grass was a verdant cushion,
the blue sky a pleasant canopy ; he looked into it, not to read the stars,
to be sure — for none were there — but to wonder what Fate had in store
for him ; he mused and dosed, dosed on and slumbered, slumbered and
slept — slept like a very top ! From four in the afternoon until seven
in the evening, three mortal hours, had Mulciber slept the sleep of utter
oblivion. He had heard not the shouts of his friends ; the name of
Smith is not good for shouting at any time, or under any circumstances ;
and they had long since departed : and he awoke now, not from any
external disturbances, but simply from having slept long enough. Alas'!
too long. He rubbed his eyes, as sleepers awakened are wont to do ;
and wondered where he was, as sleepers in strange places are accustomed
to wonder on regaining their consciousness. Mulciber had thrown off
his coat and hat previously to assuming his pastoral attitude, for the
double purpose of enjoying greater coolness and comfort ; he arose and
looked for them, but them he found not. A coat and a hat were, indeed,
there — the one of plush, faded, and much, very much, worse, for wear ;
the other might have been of felt, but an oilskin covered the original
fabric, the shape equivocal, and the aspect villainous. Mulciber looked
around him, but could descry no human being ; he went from field to
field, and called out with a loud cry, but he saw no body, and no body
appeared to hear him ; he traversed many hedges, and investigated the
dried-up ditches, but the search was fruitless. He retraced his steps to

528 MULCIBER SMITH.

the elm by the river ; a few corks and fragments of buttery paper were
strewn about, the sole remaining records of the festive party. He
wandered about coast- wise, but all alike deserted. Was this a prank —
had his friends been " larking," or was it a dark reality, a bona-fide theft.
Time's progress he inferred from the lengthening shadows ; the tide of
the river gave assurance of the departure of the company. He returned
to the place of his slumbers, and renewed his search ; it was unsuccessful
as before. He wondered, but wondering was of no assistance ; he put
himself in a towering passion, but his wrath was idle ; and not until
much valuable time had been expended in searching and swearing, did he
prepare for his dreary walk homewards ; to make such inquiries (where
and of whom could he inquire ?) as might lead to an elucidation. He
looked back many times, but no laughing joker followed him to return
his lost garments ; so, with the others on his arm, he made the best of
his way to the London Road ; cursing this new freak of Fate with a
bitterness by no means philosophical. Fate, however, had other things

in store for him, that night.

ALEXIS.

A SMILE FROM THEE.

A SMILE from thee were better worth,
Than all the sparkling gems of earth, —
Though dazzling bright their rays may strike,
They pour on all those rays alike :
Would I might deem alone for me,
That pleasure beams a smile from thee !

The gay sun, too, whose golden light
Enrobes the mead in garb so bright,
Awak'ning joy in every breast,
Of virtue, truth, and love possess'd,
Still shines on all ; but not for me,
That pleasure beams a smile from thee !

Cares may my peace and joy assail,
My warmest, brightest hopes may fail ;
And fickle Fortune's adverse frown
May tumble all my castles down :
Yet what will these reverses be,
If I can win a smile from thee ?

( 529 )

SIR WILLIAM FOLLETT'S AFFAIR, AT EXETER.

EATING and drinking are the besetting sins of the thoroughly beaten
Tories — the falsely-so-called " Tribunes of the Poor." There is
nothing to be done— nothing to be considered — no one popular subject
to be entertained, that pertains to the general good — or even a propo-
sition made, without a " glorious meal," — in the absence of meat and
drink ; in short, a " crammed stomach and a bottle of wine," and
further, by way of medicine, lots of grog, " cold without," &c. What
a pity it is that Sir William, who feels very much the loss of his
official consequence, et cetera, did not turn over a new leaf of his
" clap-trappery," and declare to the constituency of Exeter, that
the time had arrived when a "radical change" was called for in
the animal as well as the political system'. "Out upon such a
representative," would have been the instant and vociferous outcry of
the parson-ridden voters of Exeter and the imposturised county of
Devon. Bishop Phillpotts would have staggered forth from his
palace of church pestilent besottedness and political privacy : John
Baron Rolle would have galloped on Peter Pindar's Pegasus to town
in the twinkling of Captain Cooke's staff of office; Mr. Parker, M. P.,
would speedily have been on the sacred spot of his pestiferous ascend-
ancy ; the vulgar and unlettered formularies of Tory corruption and
intolerant municipal abuses, at Barnstaple, the degraded borough capi-
tal of North Devon, would have flown to the meat and drink Pharos:-— in
short, " all hands" would be on the qui vive, and sooner or later in the
arena, to join in the " great denunciation " that would — in such a case
— indisputably have been pronounced by the bribing and the bribed, on
Sir William Follett. But Sir William Follett, Knight, knows on which
side of his bread there is likely to be spread the most butter. He knows,
too, that Devonshire butter is not only the sweetest, but likely to keep ,- —
Sir William has a penchant, too, for clotted cream. Now, we need not
say, that it is from this very "clotted cream" that the butter, our trusty
Knight so much extols, is made. Captain Cooke will explain the re-
mainder to the entire satisfaction of Sir William and his JUNTA of cor-
ruptionists. Thus much by way of preliminary melancholy. Now we
shall touch a chord which, to say the least of it, may vibrate upon
some ears political, if not touch hearts most true and patriotic. Let us first
inquire, Who is Sir William Follett ? — politically, we mean. Does he
differ from his species in any remarkable degree ? Is he not what is — to
use an every- day distinction — a professional man ? Will Sir William
Follett himself, who has taken upon him all the fading and dingy
honours of out-and-out Toryism — stand before the " PEOPLE," and dis-
claim that peculiar distinction? No ! it were next to impossible he
should do so. Sir Willam Follett, then, is, "to all intents and purposes,"

M. M.— 12. 3U

530 SIR W. FOLLETT AT EXETER.

— provided always, nevertheless, and so on — a professional man.
Granted. We next proceed to inquire what are his pretensions as a
politician. First, how came he to be the chosen of the degraded
bondsmen of Exeter ? Ask the wretched muckworms of political cor-
ruption— ask the municipal beasts of burden — ask the bribing and the
bribed. But, answer make they none. Chopfallen, maddened to vulgar
and drunken despair, starvation staring them in the face, ruin at their
ragged elbows, they utter the illustrious name of Russell with an impre-
cation ; and stigmatize the venerable father of the Reform Bill with an
oath too foul, too slanderous, too malignant, to repeat. They find, at last,
poor misguided men! that even the name of Phillpotts will not convey to
their empty stomachs, and those of their wives and children, meat and
drink. And yet Phillpotts is a feeding and church-and-king name withal.
But what are Sir William Follett's pretensions ? They tell us, and truly tell
us, no doubt, that Sir William is a scholar and a gentleman. Are these,
then, the only necessary qualifications of an independent and practi-
cally useful member of parliament ? It is the more the pity — the
more to be lamented, we think, that a man, who is held to be a gentle-
man, and considered a scholar, should be found in the ranks of the ene-
mies of the people, and a professional advocate of the Tribunes of the
Poor. We will not even advert to the set " beef-and-pudding" speech
of the destitute knight ; it is unworthy the head boy at Tiverton school.
Mr. Dewdney, the luminous grocer, or his son, who is the very Bom-
bastes Furioso of political somnambulism, and has travelled all over "Asha
Miner and Grace," would have beaten Sir William out and out at that
sort of work. Sir William Follett, let it be remembered, did not omit
to inform the drones that gathered round him on the late occasion, that
" he was beginning his political life." Perhaps a word in time may be
of use to Sir William ; at all events, if Sir William be both a scholar and
a gentleman, we need not remind him that a word to the wise, in the
olden time, and by the philosophers, was thought enough. The present
is the eleventh hour, Sir William, and no mistake. Time does not insult
the understanding or impose upon the credulity of good men ; in that
class, let us hope, Sir William, you presume to rank yourself : your po-
litical sins will reply to this proposition. Truth is no libel now. Even
the corrupted voters who sent you to parliament, are about to cast off
the works of darkness, and to put upon them, instead thereof, the armour
of political honesty, which will bear the constant glare of open and broad
daylight.

The semi-official disguise in which you appeared before the political
world at Exeter, demands some further explanation of your character, as
well as an insight into your impotent and malevolent designs. You have
already, Sir William, obtained a popularity, that every advocate of national
freedom, and every friend to the sacred cause of civil and religious li-
berty, cannot but regret. But as you have won the " political
bays," you are justly considered to be deserving of all the odium
your prophetic popularity entails. You will now acquit us, Sir
William, of consequence, of any want of gentlemanlike or good feeling
towards you — we repeat, we should be extremely sorry to see you and
your party separated ; in the name of courage, moral as well as physical,
contrive it so as to hang together — we dislike divisions and sub-di-

SIR W. FOLLETT AT EXETER. 531

visions, very much. Besides, you know, Sir William, how true it has
often proved, " that a house divided within itself cannot stand ;" there-
fore, do hang — agreeably to our advice — together. It will be the most
interesting spectacle ever beheld ; to see a family so old — so religious —
so pure —so disinterested — so benevolent — so honourable a family, for
once united by chords of the strongest affection.

But, Sir William, a word in your ear. We are told you aspire to the
honours, the emoluments, and the fame, of the (falsely so called) great
Pitt. We invariably shudder at the bare mention of the name of that
hydra of political monstrosity, called immortal by the Tory Scandi-
navians. If such be your ambition, there is some reason for your preferring
darkness rather thanlight. But as you are, in your own person, a "Western
Luminary," we will just take leave to write a " Leader," for your next
publication. We will suppose, Sir William, that you are Mr. Pitt — in
power, and that we are addressing you as the minister. Well, then, Sir
William, to begin : you may put on your wig and band, and fling your
toga over the " left shoulder ;" it will indicate something that will
interest and follow you through life. " To be considered — and, what is
more, to be revered — as a statesman, is to attain the highest pinnacle of
human, as well as intellectual, aggrandizement. A man cannot attain
it in the absence of the superior mental faculties, which must belong to
so exalted a character : — they will stand out on all occasions of great
moment, and sudden and momentous trials, connected with state
policy. The share of felicity, which the just and prompt administration
of affairs of a great nation, and a free people, commands, we shall not
stay to determine. Sir William may find the affair treated of in some
of his old school books. Suffice it to say, the elevation must appear, to
all susceptible and thinking men^ one of no enviable kind ; and few per-
sons are found, during the tedium of one hundred years of time, cal-
culated for the high executive duties and important functions of Prime
Minister of England." Sir William knows that the days of your Liver-
pools, your Percevals, your Castlereaghs, are gone — passed away for
ever ; and that they have left indelible blots on their escutcheons — blots
which an age of oblivious apathy and unconcern would not entirely
wipe off the scroll of political perfidy and ministerial misdemeanor !
Doubtless, Sir William will express surprise at our inculpation of that
profound statesman, Lord Liverpool! for such the " Tribunes of the
Poor," and their journeymen ambassadors of corruption and misrule,
to this day, call George the Third's minister. Bah ! Lord Liverpool a
profound statesman ! Will the sailors believe this ? The marines laugh
at the joke.

Let not Sir William Follett accuse us of treating with ungenerous
levity the memory of Lord Liverpool. Sir William must not suppose
us capable of violating the sacredness of respect, either in a palace, or in
our own studio. We have taught ourselves to speak as men, having put
away childish things. We never can believe that Lord Liverpool was
a profound statesman. It may look very fine on paper — just as we have
seen the numerical strength of the armies of the Tyrant of all the
Russias set forth, at the very time when we had a practical demonstra-
tion of not only the lie direct, but abundant proof, that the troops he really
had, were worse than half-starved, rough-shod bandits — to have it printed

3 U2

532 SIR W. FOLLKTT AT EXETER.

and published, and soon, for the gratification of those on whom his favours
were showered, at the expense of the PEOPLE, to have him recorded as
a " profound statesman," an exalted character, &c. ; but we of the
present day know better. Lord Liverpool was nothing more than a
mediocre man ; he was amiable in private life. We forbear to speak of
him in his ministerial office.

But to return, Sir William, to yourself, and consequently the subject
matter of our present paper. Your political furor loquendi, as exhibited
at Exeter, that sink of corruption and church-pestilent thimbleriggery,
will bring you into notice — and, peradventure, some briefs. There is
something in that. But you are to be the Pitt of 1836, they insanely
tell us, with a forced smile of ridiculous gullibility. That you may not
lose the best advice we can give you, we shall proceed, immediately, to
the letter of the law.

"A statesman, then, Sir William, (such, as we before announced, we
would suppose you now to be,) emboldened by the artful applause of his
inflated and crafty party, and instructed by experience in all the arts of
unpopular delusion, cannot easily perceive the assailable position of every
influential party, the numerous enemies they necessarily provoke, the
opposite imputations they unavoidably incur. In your past labours —
both in and out of parliament — you had not striven to avert the fatal
collision of the opposing orders of your country — men which the late
important diffusion of extreme principles threatened. You saw (we
give you credit for much political sagacity, Sir William — doubt us not)
that in all human likelihood, they would be charged by the corrupt with
violence, and accused by the violent of insincerity. It was by no means
difficult, you know, to paint moderation as the virtue of political coxcombs
and hereditary cowards ; and compromise, as the undoubted policy of
knaves to the stormy and turbulent enthusiasm of faction : and the
malignant denouncements of a wicked, slanderous, and corrupt oligarchy,
would, it is sufficiently obvious, be forward to brand every honest
sentiment, and every mediatorial effort, as symptoms of collusion with
the violent, and of treachery to the cause of public order. It scarcely
demanded the incentive and the sanction of a solemn public measure
from your supposed government, Sir William, to let loose so many cor-
rupt interests and malignant passions on the natural object of their
enmity. Nevertheless, such a sanction and incentive might, of a truth,
add something to the barefaced activity of these interests, and to the
dying virulence of these passions. Such a sanction and incentive you,
as it should seem, unhesitatingly gave in your judicial (judicious) discourse
delivered to the deluded sons of Devon, at Exeter. To brand the up-
rising and all-conquering spirit of civil and religious liberty as treachery,
and a love of national freedom as open hostility ; to provoke the violent
into fresh indiscretions, and to make these senseless indiscretions the
means of aggravating the Toryism of the times, by awakening their
alarms ; to bury under one black and indiscriminate obloquy of licenti-
ousness the recollection of every principle of freedom ; to rally round the
banners of religious persecution, and of political corruption, every man
in his most gracious Majesty's dominions, who dreads anarchy as we
dread it, — and who deprecates confusion ; to establish on a wide basis op-
pression and servility— -for the present, and to keep up in store all the causes

SIR W. FOLLETT AT EXETER. 533

of anarchy and civil commotion for future times." Such, Sir William'
is the malignant procedure — the baleful policy — such are the mischievous
tendencies — such are the experienced effects of that demi-official rigma-
role, that fine tissue of demonstrable absurdities, which constituted
your harangue at the " beef and pudding" feed you gave the unwashed
dolts at Exeter — the very Sodom and Gomorrah of political cor-
ruption. It is enough, for the present, that it converts the kingdom into
one wide camp of vigilant political observers, who had long suspected
your political intentions, and denounced the motives of your abet-
tors— your private and public partizans — enlisted, strange to say,
through you, Sir William — but under a banner of a very different kind
to that under which you fight, and under which you would have them
battle ; — you, Sir William, would have enlisted them by their alarms to
defend your supposed power. Your political speech, as well as your
conduct, are indeed calculated to produce other remote and collateral
effects, which the short-sighted politics of the speaker had not, it is pretty
evident, discerned. It is, moreover, well calculated to blow into a
flame those sparks of radicalism which the calm and sincere moderation
of Lord Melbourne's government must have extinguished, but which
may, in future conceivable circumstances, produce effects, at the suggestion
of which good men will shudder, and on which sensible persons will
rather meditate than descant. Thus it has been shewn, Sir William, that,
instead of forwarding the prostrate and naked cause, you havedared,in the
eyes of England, Ireland, and Scotland, to publicly advocate by your
flippant, unwise denunciations, and premature political tomfoolery; — we
repeat, instead of serving the stinking interests of that wicked and
perverse cause, you have done for it what every honest man had
long and loudly called for — inflicted the punishment of death, and with-
out benefit of clergy ; in other words, your harangue has been as effec-
tual in irritating a large body of your countrymen — who read, and write,
and think, and talk, quite as well, as smartly, as acutely, and as sensibly
as yourself, Sir William Follett, into Radicalism, as Bishop Phillpott's
electioneering pasquinades, (hand-bills) have been in frightening others
into Toryism.

Your iron rule, thank the good sense of the nation, has not been of
long continuance ; for now, Sir William, we shall take leave to require
your attendance out of doors ; and of course beg you to consider your-
self no longer the Pitt of 1835-6, arid in the possession of supposed
power. Rise, Sir William Follett, Knight.

We have, as it were, seen you, Sir William, in power : let us now look
upon you a little while apart from your Carlton -confederates, and simply
as a young man of moderate pretensions — as you told the industrious
swillers* of malt liquor at Exeter, — beginning your political life as a
professional man. This last distinction we hold to be necessary to
our purpose. It appears then, to us, quite evident, Sir William, from
all we have seen, that the success of such a line of policy as you would
pursue — if by the remotest possibility you were called upon to fill the
office of his Majesty's first minister, to-morrow — would certainlv de-
mand, in the individual who adopted it, a rare union of talents and ac-
quirements— a combination of dispositions that have seldom been con-
centrated in one human being. Perhaps, even Sir William Follett, and

534 SIR W. FOLLBTT AT EXKTER.

his besotted flatterers and pretended supporters in Church and State, — •
all these, — will have enough political decency to acknowledge that Lord
Melbourne is a very remarkable exception to the general rule. But, Sir
William, if you persist in driving at power, and ultimately succeed, it will
be as well we should hint at some of the attributes necessary to be pos-
sessed by a minister,pre-determined to pursue a course of policy such as we
suppose you would have adopted had you remained in office ; but, thank
the gods — you are out, and therefore we are left to imagine some
person very similar to Sir William, but not the said Sir William
Follett, who is a professional man. Well, then, we will suppose a
case. For example, we will suppose the person whom we would fix upon
to be cold, stern, crafty, and ambiguous ; he must be without those entangle-
ments of friendship, and those restraints of feeling, by which tender and
sensitive natures are held back from desperate enterprises. No ingenuous-
ness must betray a glimpse of his designs ; no compunction must suspend
the stroke "of his ambition. He must never be seduced into any honest
profession of precise public principle which might afterwards arise against
him as the living record of his damning apostacy ; he must be fully pre-
pared for acting every inconsistency, by perpetually veiling his political
professions in the dead-letter types of lofty generalities. The absence of
gracious and popular manners, which can find no place in such a cha-
racter, will be well compensated by the austere and ostentatious virtues
of insensibility. He must possess the parade without the restraint
of morals ; lie must unite the most profound dissimulation with all the
ardour of oracular and parliamentary prostitution ; he must be prepared,
by one part of his character, for the violence of a multitude, and by ano-
ther for the duplicity of a court. If such a man arose at any critical mo-
ment in the fortune of a state ; if he were unfettered by any extensive
political connexion ; if his interests were not linked to the stability of
public order by any ample property or large possessions ; if he could
carry with him to any enterprise, no little authority, and splendour of
character ; that man, indeed, would be an object of more national dread
than a thousand radical pamphleteers — than your Humes and your
Roebucks, your Bulwers and your O'Connells, and all the host of them.
With this finished portrait, which, Sir William, is at your service,
and which you are bound to accept in courtesy at our hands, we take
leave of you— for the present. O-

FROM STATO, THE SARDIAN.

FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY.

OH, how I loved ! like the gorgeous sun,
(Firing the orient with a blaze of light)

Thy beauty every lesser star outshone.

Now, o'er that beauty steals the approach of night,

Yet — yet, I love, though in the western sea

Half sunk, the day-star still is fair to me.

( 535

POSTING IN RUSSIA.

THK origin of posting in Russia is as old, perhaps, as the fourteenth
century. At first there were no establishments for conveying travellers
from one place to another : and those who undertook journeys were
obliged to provide horses of their own, or to hire horses from the peasants
in the villages. As travelling became more frequent by the increase of
commerce, it gave rise in the villages along the highways to a branch
of business so profitable, that many of the peasants made it their princi-
pal occupation to supply travellers with horses, and in course of time
these peasants gradually began to form themselves into a particular class
or society. The villages where such peasants resided were called yam,
which signifies station ; and the people themselves were distinguished
by the appellation of Yamschtshiki. The period when this society was
first formed cannot be determined with certainty, but the term Yem-
shtshiki occurs so early as the fifteenth century.

At the beginning of the sixteenth century there existed a tribunal
called Yamskoi Prikas, to which all the Yamshtshiki were subordinate,
and from which travelling passes were delivered. Each Yamshtshiki or
post-boor received an annual salary of thirty rubles, was freed from all
taxes, and had permission at the same time to carry on his agricultural
labours. On the other hand, the Yamshtshiki were bound to be ready
in certain villages, with a specified number of horses, for the use of the
tzar, and in return they received at each journey a sum under the
name of drink-money, which, if we reflect on the period, might be con-
sidered as very great. In consequence of these advantages, the number
of the Yamshtshiki every where increased, and the boors were anxious
to obtain admission into this society. Travelling also became so easy,
convenient, and expeditious, that this institution is mentioned in terms
of approbation by foreigners who at that time travelled in Russia.

This institution, however, was not entirely of a public nature, as it
was destined chiefly for the tzar's court, or for persons in his service.
Private individuals might make use of it i but as no regular price was
fixed, they were obliged to enter into a new bargain with the peasants
at each station. In the year 1713 it first assumed the character of a
public establishment ; for at that period Peter the Great gave orders that
every traveller provided with a pass should be furnished with Yam-
shtshiki horses, and settled the price» which was a copec per verst for
one horse from Petersburgh to Novogorod, and half a copec for every
other part in the kingdom. On all the highways Yams were established,
at each of which a certain number of horses were maintained. The
post-boors retained their common dress ; but when on service, they
were obliged to suspend before their breast an imperial eagle of brass.
Instead of the Yamskoi-Prikas, a Yamskoi Chancery was formed with
an office at Moskva, and the annual salaries of the Yamshtshiki were

530 POSTING IN RUSSIA.

abolished, as they were now allowed to receive hire from the persons
who employed them.

In the year 1781 the Yamskoi Chancery was abolished, and the post-
hire, which in 1762 had been raised to two copecs from St. Petersburgh,
to Novogorod, and to one copec in every other part of the kingdom, was
in 1783 placed on the same footing, — namely, two copecs per verst
throughout all Russia in Europe, except on the first stages from St.
Petersburgh and Moskva, for which two copecs were to be paid. In
Siberia, the old hire was retained. Under the reign of Paul I., the
Yamshtshiki post was restored nearly to the original form given to it by
Peter the Great, and the hire was raised one copec per verst — an
impost which travellers must pay in advance to government for the
whole journey. The sum arising from this additional hire was assigned
to the directors of the highways, and is destined for the repairs of the
roads.

In Russia there are no public carriages which set out at stated periods
to convey travellers from one place to another. Those who intend to
travel post in that country must provide themselves with a pass,* which
if they mean to leave the kingdom, cannot be obtained till their names
have been announced three times in the gazettes. To travel with con-
venience, they must also have carriages of their own, for at the differ-
ent stations they can get only kibitkas. Formerly there was a great
difference in the length of the stages, which sometimes contained forty
versts, but at present they must not exceed thirty; and the number of
horses which a traveller obtains is determined by the quantity of his
baggage, the state of the roads, and the period of the year. The pos-
tilions have no horns, wear common clothes, and are no longer obliged
to have a double eagle suspended before their breast.

The Russian horses are strong and hardy, accustomed to great exer-
tion, and often travel a whole stage on a full gallop. According to an
established regulation, the postilions, from the 1 st of December to the
loth of March, and from the middle of May to the middle of September,
are obliged to drive ten versts in an hour, and the rest of the year only
eight. It is therefore very common for them to perform a journey of
more than 250 versts, or 166 English miles, in' twenty-four hours. In
the month of February, 1744, a traveller went from St. Petersburgh to
Moskva, the distance between which at that time measured on the road
was 748 versts, or about 500 English miles, in seventy-two hours. f

At most of the stations nothing can be obtained but horses, which are
got ready with wonderful expedition. As inns are seldom to be found,
travellers must provide themselves with every necessary article of accom-
modation ; for though the boors are exceedingly hospitable, this national
virtue does not exempt travellers from the necessity of carrying with
them bedding and provisions. This, however, is not the case in all the
provinces. On the principal roads between Petersburgh and Moskva,
between the former and Riga, in White Russia, and in some other
places, there are commodious inns ; and orders have lately been issued
for improving the post-houses erected at the different stages, and ren-
dering them better suited to their destination. The post hire called in

* Podoroslmaia. f Buscmng*8 Magazine, vol. 10, p 316.

POSTING IN RUSSIA. 537

Russia pragon, is paid in advance at each station. In all the post vil-
lages of Russia there are boors besides the Yamshtshiki, who hire their
horses to travellers, and who on this account are called Oshatiki, — that
is to say, volunteers. These boors not only assist the post when short
of horses, but maintain a correspondence with each other on the most
frequented roads, and have escorts in the different towns. Those who
apply to them may perform a whole journey by means of their assistance,
and in this manner can travel as expeditiously and somewhat cheaper
than by post-horses.

Before 1663 all letters in Russia were conveyed by special messengers ;
but in that year a regular post was established at Moskva, by the same
person to whom this empire was indebted for its first manufactory of
cloth. This post set out from Moskva twice every week from Riga and
Vilna, and brought back the letters from different parts of Europe. As
soon as the post arrived at Moskva the mails were carried to the Potzolkoi-
Prikas, or post-office in the castle, and there opened, to prevent private
persons from obtaining information, sooner than the court, of the state of
public affairs both in the kingdom and in foreign countries, but in par-
ticular to detect suspicious correspondence. The post brought also the
Dutch, Hamburgh, Konigsberg, and other gazettes, which the tzar
caused to be translated or read to him in the Russian language.*

Those, therefore, are wrong who ascribe to Peter the Great the in-
troduction of the post into Russia, as this prince only improved and
rendered it more generally useful. For the speedy conveyance of ukases
and letters, he caused posts to be established in the year 1720 in all the
large towns situated on the high roads. According to a writer who re-
sided at that time in St. Petersburgh, the order for this purpose was
issued so early as the year 1718. " In this year," says he, " the riding
post was established on the same footing as in Germany. The pos-
tilions were obliged to blow horns, and to wear a grey frock, having a
post-horn cut out of red cloth sewed on their back."f It is, however,
probable that this writer alludes only to the alteration which Peter made
in regard to the foreign post, for the establishment of the internal post
could not be earlier than 1720.

At present the business of the post-office is entrusted to the manage-
ment of directors, who reside at St. Petersburgh, and whose chief is
director-general of this department throughout the kingdom. Three
post-offices, each of which has a director — namely, those of Petersburgh,
Moskva, and Lesser Russia, are subordinate to them, and these three
have under their inspection all the post offices in the towns, the affairs
of which are conducted by postmasters.

The post-office at St. Petersburgh is the centre of all the foreign and
internal correspondence, and consequently the most important. The
posts which arrive at and set out from this office are, — -

1st. That of Moskva, which comes and goes twice every week; and
each time an extra-post, a light and a heavy, is dispatched also. This
extra-post conveys private letters, which are paid for according to
weight ; small packets, which do not weigh more than five pounds, and

* Kilburger, in Busching's Magazine, vol iii. p. 3J9.
•]• Weber's Veiandert Russkuid, vol. i. p. TJ6.

533 POSTING IN RUSSIA.

packets belonging to government, go free of any expence ; and heavy
packets, either belonging to government or to individuals, are paid for
at the rate of two rubles per pood, or two copecs per pound.

2d. That of Mittau, which brings the letters from most parts of
Europe twice a week.

3d. That of Riga, which comes and goes twice a week, and takes all
the letters dispatched to foreign countries.

4th. That of White and Lesser Russia, which arrives and sets out
twice a week.

5th. That of Viborg, the arrival and departure of which is the
same ; but it carries out and brings back Swedish letters only once
every week.

6th. That of Archangel, which comes and goes once a week.

7th. That of Yaroslavl, which comes and goes twice a week.

8th. That of Jassy, Constantinople, &c., which arrives and sets out
the 1st and the 16th of each month.

9th. The post of Cronstadt, which in summer comes and goes every
day, but in winter only once a week.

The post-office at Moskva has the greatest share of business, as its
district extends to the remotest parts of Siberia. It therefore employs
a much greater number of clerks than that of St. Petersburgh ; and
before the last partition of Poland, it had under it 1 08 offices in various
parts of the empire. It dispatches seven different posts, but none of
them, that of St. Petersburgh excepted, sets out or arrives more than
once a week. Between the smaller towns there are by-posts established
by the magistrates, and maintained by the revenue arising from the
carriage of letters.

The post-tax, which formerly was very different in different places,
has, since the year 1783, been uniform throughout the whole kingdom.
Letters are charged by the weight, and packets by the pound. Money,
whether in gold, silver, or bank-notes, may be transmitted also by the
post ; but one-half per cent, of the value must be paid as postage, and
the post-office is security for its safe arrival. The post-office in most
countries of Europe is a productive source of revenue ; but this is not
the case in Russia, as the expenses of that establishment exceed what it
brings in.

THE WANING MOON.

AND like a dying lady — lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapt in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber ; led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain
The moon arose up in the murky earth,
A white and shapeless mass.

( 539 )

INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A RAT,

TOGETHER WITH HIS ADVENTURES ATLEEDS, HARROWGATE, ILKLEY& HULL.

HAVING read with a great deal of pleasure and admiration, the recital
of the interesting adventures of the Rev. J. Winterbotham, on his jour-
ney from Haworth to Harrowgate, and being at the same time convinced,
that the majority of your readers have done the same ; allow me, though
but a Poor Rat, yet still having the amusement and instruction of my
race (as well as of the nobler race of animals, called human) at heart, to
detail to you, and by your permission, to your readers, my adventures,
and the interesting incidents which happened to me, a Poor Rat, on
journeying to the very same place (Harrowgate); rich.it is said, in "health-
giving water," and rich in fine air; but, in the opinion of the " poor
rat" who now presumes to address you, rich in barren heaths, rich in
chill cold air, and rich in the most abominable water that was ever
offered a " Poor Rat," with which to satisfy " the calls of nature, with
needful gratification."

It may be necessary, in the first instance, to mention in what manner
I became acquainted with the history of Mr. Winterbotham's journey from
Haworth to Harrowgate, and of the interesting incidents which therein be-
fell him ; — as " to how" he set outto walk to Keighley, to go by coach, but
being delayed past his time, by the sleepy god he with manful resolu-
tion determined " to pad the hoof the whole way ; and as " to how" he
had the unprecedented good luck " to fall in" with a cart, and the way in
whichhe got a lift on his journey; and as "to how" busy the town of Keigh-
ey was, the morning he entered, with the folks going from their manufac-
tories to their breakfasts ; and all the rest of the interesting, amusing,
and instructing, particulars of his journey, from its commencement to
its conclusion, from its " Oriental ascension to its Occidental decli-
nation ;" unlike the mad-scamp tricks of that foolish man, Don Quixotte,
and the outlandish incidents which befell him, but conducted in that
steady, sober manner, in which the journeys of the Rev. J. Winterbotham
ought to be.

Having always been from my youth— I had almost said from the time
when I first crept out of my nest, fond of hearing the news, and knowing
what was going on in the world, and being particularly in my element,
whenever 1 could hear the two-legged animals, who claim superiority in
every thing, discussing the politics of the day, and other matters novel
to rats, and always interesting because novel ; I was invariably an at-
tentive listener to every discussion, and frequently in the habit of going
to the different news-rooms in the town, purposely to hear the events of
the day, " mark, learn, and inwardly digest them." Why may not rats
hear the news as well as other people ? By this means I began to be looked
upon as of some consequence in the world, by my fellow-rats, and was
often a referee in their disputes ; and whenever I gave a decision, it was
always final, because, as they justly said, from my extensive knowledge,
I must be right, It was then, in Hellier's Coffee-House, in the Market-
place, Hull, that I became acquainted with the amusing history of the

540 INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A RAT.

Rev. J. Winterbotham's travels. How I came there, and in what man-
ner Mr. Winterbotham's amusing adventures got there also, I will, with
your permission, proceed to state. But let me tell you, Mr. Editor, in
the first place, that had I not been fired by the glowing colours in
which Mr. Winterbotham paints the marvellous events, which happened
to him in his renowned journey (for I can assure you it is much talked
about), the idea would never have entered into my head of publishing
the true history I am about to relate, and my valuable lucubrations would
thus have been lost to the world.

I was born in a hay-loft, over some livery-stables in Trinity St. Leeds,
and with nine brothers and sisters my young ideas there first " learnt to
shoot." I shall not weary your readers with a detail of the various
perils I ran, and of the numberless " hair breadth 'scapes" I had, before
I arrived at " the years of discretion ;" nor the ridiculous adventures
which befell me owing to my inexperience. I write this with a different
motive; to instruct the minds of my fellow rats, as well as to afford
amusement to the human animals, if they should condescend to read my
narrative.

Having been out one night on a foraging party, and having been
pretty successful, I, and three or four other " choice spirits," were trot-
ting homewards as the morning's gray and flickering beam just began to
appear ; and all being jovial and ready for a lark, we determined not to
go soberly to bed, without some frolic at least. Journeying on, unde-
termined what to do, we arrived opposite Trinity Church. Having often
been struck with the magnificent height of the spire, which appeared to
me to touch the clouds, and being moreover of an adventurous disposi-
tion, I thought now was the time to satisfy my curiosity — now was the
time to explore this lofty pile, raised in honour of our common Maker.
I imparted my thoughts to my companions, and it .was immediately
agreed upon, and we forthwith entered the church. After playing our
gambols in the middle isle some time, we took a comfortable rest on the
pulpit cushion, and held a consultation what was next to be done. I
proposed to ascend the spire, and off we all scampered up-stairs, until our
legs were quite weary. At length, however, we arrived at the top, and
here I must pause to describe the delight and wonder I then felt at the
scene before me. Having never explored further than the neighbouring
streets to where I was born, I had acquired the idea that Leeds was the
whole world, and that I knew the greatest part of it : conceive my asto-
nishment at now beholding around and beneath me, houses and streets
innumerable, spires, domes, and magnificent buildings of all descriptions,
of which being utterly ignorant until that time, I could by no
means have credited ; and extending my view further, I saw, as far as
the eye could reach, the most beautiful scenery imaginable. The sun
was just rising in its Phcebean splendour, giving brilliancy and light to
all around ; and the air had a delightful freshness 'that was quite en-
chanting ; at a distance the landscape looked lovely, and never having
seen anything like it before, it possessed, to me, an additional charm.
Long I remained silently gazing, until at last the loud and deep tone of
the bell aroused me from my reverie, and made me think that the crash
which will heap us into our original chaos was come. I however soon
recovered from my fright ; and, retracing my steps, I passed one of my

INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A RAT. 541

companions, who, trembling at the noise, had hid himself. My pre-
sence soon, however, brought him round, and we returned together ;
the remainder of our companions, not being of the same contem-
plative mood, had long before departed. On relating our ideas to each
other, and "comparing notes," I found he was equally charmed and
astonished with the prospect as myself. We continued relating to each
other our delight, and picturing in glowing colours the magnificent pros-
pect we had seen, until at last nothing would serve us, but that, like
other accomplished gentlemen of the age, we must set out on our travels,
to explore and enjoy the beauties we had seen but at a distance.

Our minds thus made up, we were not long in putting our plan
into execution. Having prepared ourselves for our journey, we, next
morning early, wended our way into the coach -office of the White Horse,
and snugly depositing ourselves in a basket of game, in a little time
we were safely hoisted to the top of a coach, which we soon learnt, from
the conversation of the passengers, was going to Harrowgate. Having
often heard Harrowgate talked about by gentlemen who came to our
stables, my companion and I were well pleased that that was to be our
destination, that we might add to the numerous visitors of this cele-
brated place of resort, where noblemen and their tailors, rich M.P.'s and
poor M. T.'s (empty's ?) rub shoulders one with another, and useless
vegetators, who go there to restore their fancied decrepitude, and poor
sharp-witted seekers after young ladies whose kind pa's have " laid up
something in store," — where rats of both high and low degree " mingle
in the same promiscuous group," and drink from the same " health-re-
storing well."

On we journeyed in a most comfortable bed of hay ; but the motion
was so unusual that, I confess, notwithstanding my habitual courage and
presence of mind, I felt a little of that nervousness which the Rev.
gentleman in his incidental journey has so well dascribed. But habit
soon gives confidence in the most dangerous undertakings ; can it be
wondered at, then, that we should soon regain that " ferocious boldness "
for which our race is noted, and be led to " contemplate foolish feats of
valour." We sat enjoying the prospect with our noses just out of the
hamper lid, and snuffing the breeze with keen satisfaction, until we
arrived at the top of Harewood bank, when some of the passengers de-
termined to alight and go through the park. Whilst the coach stopped,
we thought we could not do better than follow their example; so down
we jumped amongst the rest of the passengers. We created a little
sensation, and one great rough fellow had the unmanliness to throw his
hat at us — but we escaped unhurt, and were soon out of danger. We
proceeded very comfortably together, through the park, until we arrived
at Harewood Castle, where, attracted by the picturesque ruin, we entered;
and, ascending to the top, enjoyed one of the most lovely prospects.
Around and beneath us was a most luxuriant valley, the clear-streamed
wharf meandering throug the midst. A little to the right stands Hare-
wood Bridge and its beautifully situated Inn, which I had so often heard
amateur fishers talk about who came to our stables. On the left stands
the noble mansion of the present Earl, with its spacious fish-pond
beneath. The whole of the uplands displayed the greatest richness ; the
green verdure, intermingled with the autumnal coloured woods and the

542 INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A RAT.

yellow stubble, made a most varied and enchanting picture; and to u?,
who had never before seen anything like it, it appeared like fairy-land.
"Whilst we gazed on this beautiful scene we felt our hearts imbued with
the stillness, the peace, and the beauty of the place ; and felt almost con-
strained to forget all the turmoils and strifes to which rats are contin-
ually subject, and a disposition to be at peace with all our race, with
mankind, and all the world. I could not but forcibly feel the folly of
men who could live in such a peaceful, quiet scene, leaving it, and con-
gregating in masses together, to accumulate useless wealth, in noisy,
unhealthy, filthy towns : each contributing his mite of cunning, of deceit,
and of vice, to render his race execrable — and by their abominable con-
gregated ingenuity rendering the lives of all loyal rats anything but to
be depended upon.

We now hastily descended and quickened our pace through the park,
in order to regain our conveyance for Harrowgate, but saw it, to our con-
sternation, at a turn of the road, bowling away a mile before us. Being
thus disappointed of our conveyance, for it was vain trying to overtake
it, for the present we determined (especially as we began to feel the
cravings of nature) to stop at the first habitable abode we should meet
with, and proceed to Harrowgate at our leisure, and by easy stages, or by
the first conveyance. We soon came up to Mr. Sturdy's famed house,
at Harewood Bridge, where we found great numbers of our brethren ;
and were induced by their hospitality to stay a short time with them,
that we might enjoy the lovely scenery the country afforded. At length,
notwithstanding its rural delights, growing weary of its sameness, my
friend and I began to think of prosecuting our journey ; so next day
mounted a hay cart, going to the Queen, at High Harrowgate, where
we were safely deposited, after a comfortable nap of two hours.

Though no one can impeach my loyalty, and say that I would not
give the Queen the preference to any other house, fit for the reception of

gentlemen, and though Mr. D. , its jovial host, kept a most excellent

table, and I enjoyed, during my short stay, some of the greatest rarities,
washed down with prime old port, yet I soon got weary of its monotony,
and its bleak situation on the top of a hill, exposed to the chill blasts
which swept across the Moor, whistling their mournful dirge on its un-
protected front, subjected me to continual attacks of the quinsey, (it is
well known that our race cannot bear cold, and cannot possibly exist,
according to Buffon, further north than Norway). I therefore determined
to leave, and find a more genial place of residence. My companion,
however, seemed to like his birth, and would not leave his quarters, liking
the venison inside, and careless of the cold blasts out ; so we parted, and
one fine moonlight night, I wandered out alone to find a new lodging.

After passing a great number of large buildings, many of which
seemed capable of affording me very comfortable accommodation, I
arrived at last at a large dome supported by pillars, and the stench
which proceeded from under it soon convinced me that I must have
approached the celebrated mineral springs for which this place is so
noted. I forthwith proceeded to the wells, but on arriving within the
dome, the stench almost took away my breath ; but conceiving that
there must be something very tempting in the water, notwithstanding
its unpleasant odour — else why, I reasoned, should it induce the human

INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A RAT. 543

race to travel so far to taste it ? — I resolutely stopped my nostrils, and
approaching the well- side, dabbled my whiskers in it, and being thirsty,
took, or attempted to take, " a long pull," — but oh, horror of horrors !
I found its smell genteel to its taste, and its effect made me quite poorly;
so much so, that it was some time before I recovered sufficient strength
to crawl up the gentle ascent, at the top of which stands the famous inn
called the Crown. Here I took up my quarters, intending to stop and
see the gaieties of this noted place, conceiving rightly, that being so near
the springs, I should there see most of the company. I here also found
many of my brethren, and soon got a good introduction amongst them.
Next morning I went again down to the well, accompanied by an old
rat, who proffered to show me all the lions, and describe to me the folks
assembled. I was highly amused at the wry faces some made in tippling
the water, whilst others appeared to swallow it with the greatest ap-
parent gout. I was particularly struck with the manner in which the
attentive nurses strove to induce the little masters and misses to drink
the " nauseous draught," given them by the equally unprepossessing old
women who take it out of the trough or well, and should it prove too
cold for their stomachs, mixed a little smoking hot out of a jug, which
had been previously boiled : the mixture in this state I can liken to
nothing so much as to a broth made of boiled rotten eggs, and drunk
warm. In order to induce these young hopefuls to swallow the water,
the nurses throw an almond, a mint drop, or some other sweet delicacy,
which has such irresistible charms for youth, into the glass ; the young
martyr to Harrowgate water then holding the glass to his lips, and
viewing with longing eyes the treasure at the bottom, after " screwing
his courage to the sticking point," resolutely gulps down the contents,
and obtains his reward. This reminded me of diving for pearls, which I
have heard of somewhere in my travels. During my residence at the
Crown, I lived most royally. It was my habit to go into the ordinary
every day, and secreting myself behind the screen until " the tug of
war" commenced, I scrambled up the sideboard, and there dipped my
whiskers in whatever most took my fancy ; sometimes, however, I used
to be a good deal annoyed at the impertinent agility of the waiters, who
would remove the dishes so quickly that I could not half satisfy myself
with their several contents. I resolved, one day, though to have my fill
of a dainty which very much took my fancy, malgre the waiters ; and, in-
sinuating myself gently under the cover, absolutely rolled myself in the
rich ragout. Soon, however, the waiters hoisted me up, but, nothing
daunted, I sipped away. I was not, however, a little disconcerted at one
of the fellows, whilst I was being carried down stairs, lifting off the dish
cover, in order, perhaps, to help himself, and was obliged to leap in his
face to make the best escape I could. The poor devil in his fright let
fall the dish, smashing the crockery, and had his wages stopped for
three weeks afterwards, besides having abundance of cayenne compli-
ments on his awkwardness, from the good landlady. Sometimes I rather
exceeded the allowance which a member of the Temperance Society
would say was prudent — I found so many glasses of champaigne on the side
table, and was punished for my sins by a hearty headache next morning ;
but I invariably found that a morning's walk to the chalybeate spring
(which I found not near so disagreeable as the celebrated water,) set me

541 INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A RAT.

to rights again. In this way for some time I lived, until at last I be-
came weary of the place, and of the vapid conversation of the generality
of its visitors, and determined to accompany a scrofulous old brown rat
who was going to Ilkley, for the benefit of the bathing, on the first op-
portunity. An opportunity was not long wanting ; a party being made
to go and see its beauties, and in the boot under the seat of a donkey
carriage we jolted away. The party, which consisted of a young man,
his mother, and his maiden aunt, had not been unmindful of " creature
comforts," and had placed in the boot a large basket amply provisioned
for the day, consisting of a large pie and various other condiments, not
forgetting a bottle of sherry, which by a clever manoeuvre my companion
and I contrived to break : we there enjoyed ourselves amazingly, and
did not scruple to make free with the bounties placed before us. My
friend got so elevated with taking too much of the sherry, that on our
arrival, he flew right into the face of John the hostler, for presuming, as
he said, to disturb him at meals by taking his dinner from him. I am
afraid, however, he paid dearly for his freak, for a sharp little terrier
seeing him, gave chase, and how he came off I was never able to learn ;
I, acting more prudently, crept into one of the lady's bags, not liking to
trust myself even to the " tender mercies" of the terrier I had just
seen. I was then taken into the house, and heard orders given for don-
keys to ride up to the well ; so, thinking I was likely to get to the far-
famed well by remaining where I was, I composed myself very comfort-
ably, and soon after was swung on the arm of the maiden aunt, and together
with the remainder of the party, having mounted our donkeys, off we
set, to climb the hill with the " beasts." On our journey up I was highly
amused with the timid fears of Aunty about the safety of what the
Scotch call a beast, the ass she rode. It has often struck me as a sin-
gular fact, that they on whose lives the least depends, and who are com-
paratively worthless in creation, are often ten times the most timorous
lest anything should happen to them. I have no doubt, though, if Aunty
had known of the gallant gentleman she had swung on her arm, who in
case of emergency might act as protector, she would not have been so
fearful. After much toiling of the animals which the Scotch call beasts,
we at length attained the summit ; on entering the building where the
well is, I ventured to take a peep and look around me, and, growing tired
of my confined situation, jumped out, when Aunty, catching a glimpse
of me, uttered a most unlady-like shriek, and sans ceremonie fainted
away. A little application of the icy cold stream to her temples soon,
however, brought her round, and, in the confusion, I easily contrived to
find a place for myself, where I could be the unobserved " observer of
all observers ;" seeing, however, nothing here to admire but the beauti-
ful clearness of the water, I watched my opportunity, and bolted out of
the door. Here again my powers of description fail me to depict the
splendid landscape which lay before me. I found myself midway up a
considerable hill, with Ilkley at my feet ; at a little distance to the right
stood the town of Otley ; immediately before me lay the most beautiful
landscape which Wharfdale boasts ;—the Wharf meandering through
the valley — the various seats of the gentry in their solitary beauty, sur-
rounded by all the comforts which bounteous Providence gives with un-
sparing hand to ungrateful and thankless man.

INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A RAT. 545

The beautiful green fields, divided into innumerable shapes by luxuri-
ant hedges, formed a prospect which enchanted me : on my left, and
behind me, hill overtopped hill, further than " mine " eye could reach,
and were lost in the blue mists. At length, however, I thought of pro-
ceeding ; and it was here, in getting down to Ilkley, that I first learnt
"the principles of descent" (dissent ?) now so much talked about in the va-
rious circles in which I have moved ; and ere I had reached Ilkley I became
a thorough convert, and a most accomplished dissenter, — (descender).
On arriving at Ilkley, at the head inn, (a place I will not recommend)
I had scarcely time to satisfy the calls of nature (which had grown rather
clamorous by reason of the sharp air fron the hills) with " needful grati-
fication," when a coach arrived, which I learnt was going to Leeds. At
once I determined to avail myself of the opportunity, and insinuating
myself into the travelling- coat pocket of a stout old gentleman, I jour-
neyed very comfortably to the White Horse, in Boar lane, Leeds, from
whence I had first set out, and opposite that very church the rambling
up whose steeple had first induced me to travel. You may be sure I was
not long in finding out my old domicile, where I appeared to my won-
dering relatives, who had given me up as lost, quite an accomplished
gentleman ; and I did not fail to give myself all the airs of " the monkey
who had seen the world." I did not, however, remain long contented
at home : a restless spirit of enterprsie continually urged me on some
excursion ; and the Leeds and Selby railway being opened since my re-
turn, I resolved to take another trip, and try how I liked steam travelling.
Early, therefore, one fine morning, I wended my way into March -lane,
from whence the carriages start, and after having many marvellous es-
capes, in running through the company's warehouse, of being crushed to
death by the unmannerly crowd, who kept continually running to and
fro in every direction, I made choice of the Juno, first-class carnage,
and snugly deposited myself under one of the seats. Soon, however, we
began to move, and, I confess, I was under a little trepidation lest we
should get off the rails, or the engine boiler should burst, or some other
dreadful catastrophe should happen to us, and put an end to my valuable
existence ; but I soon got up my spirits. For a long time the passengers
along with me said nothing — they seemed lost in wonder, but on enter-
ing the tunnel, where all was pitchy darkness, a lady with a lovely look-
ing countenance uttered an exclamation of fright, but was restored to
calmness by the encouragement of a portly old gentleman, dressed in
black, who I undestood was a dissenting minister, and who assured her
there was no danger whatever — that he had often been before. This
was very consoling to me, also, who began to be alarmed at the dreadful
clattering the carriage made in running down the inclined plane through
the tunnel, superadded to which was the pitchy darkness. It reminded
me of an old song, I have heard our stable boy sing, of " Jarvey driving
to the devil." On emerging into the light, our party began expressing
themselves on the wonderful invention of steam carriages, and wondering
what the ingenuity of man would devise next. Our party soon became
quite conversational, and the remarks of the stout old gentleman were
particularly interesting. He had been a great traveller — and described
the manners and customs of other countries ; and the dinners he liked best
in one nation, and what suited him best in another. And though the

M. M.— 12. 3 X

540

INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A UAT.

young lady looked squeamish when he talked about friccasseed frogs, he
made my mouth water when he mentioned Guava jelly, — and I longed to
dabble my whiskers in the luxuries of Kangaroo soup and Opossum gravy ;
in all which dainties our ministerial friend appeared quite savant. In the
course of our conversation I heard that there was a steam packet from
Selby to Hull ; and, being fired by the talk about foreign parts, I resolved
to take my passage in it, in the hopes that, when I arrived in Hull, I
should find some vessel bound for those places about which my spiritual
friend talked so much ; and I already pictured to myself the full enjoy-
ment of the luxuries he had described. So, on the stopping of the car-
riage at Selby, with an agile spring, I bounded into the muff of the young
lady I have before mentioned, and was, by her, safely carried on board
the steamer — she being on her way to Hull. I could have wished to
have made a call oi> "a poor lone widow of my acquaintance, and
afford her creature consolation ;" but was unable, from want of time, so
to do — and I am afraid it would " add to her burden" to "know" that
I passed her door without calling to say how do you do, and tasting her
home-made wine. I must here be pardoned a slight digression, and
complain of the shortness of the time allowed to passengers by the Selby
carriages. It is utterly impossible even to run to the post-office with a
letter Rafter the carriages arrive, before the steamer starts : in my humble
opinion it would be much better if the public had a quarter of an hour
allowed to transact any business they might have, or to make a call,
which might be easily managed, by the train leaving Leeds a quarter of
an hour sooner. For instance, I was unable to call upon my poor friend,
" the lone widow," owing to the shortness of the time and the confusion
there was with the passengers' luggage. To return from my digression :
off at length we went, down the Ouse. I soon emerged from my comfortable
berth in the young lady's muff, and bolted into the steward's pantry, which
I soon found out by the unerring intelligence of my nostrils, where conceal-
ingmyself in a drawer containing ship biscuits, I very comfortably satisfied
the cravings of hunger. The unusual thumping of the engine and the
unaccustomed motion began to make me a little squeamish, but I com-
pletely restored myself with a draught of Mr. Stubb's O. D. V., after
which, I made an excellent repast on potted shrimps, and enjoyed my
passage exceedingly, which was unmarked by any particular incident
but that of running aground opposite to Goole, to the great annoyance
of many of the passengers, as we were delayed five hours thereby. I
very pleasantly occupied my time, making love to a beautiful sleek-
skinned-black haired little rat, who had resided some time on board,
under the protection of her father, a sturdy jealous old native of Spain,
who, thinking my attentions too particular to his daughter, made his
congt to me, and asked me what were my intentions with regard to his
daughter; "because," said he, " if you don't mean any thing particular, I, sir,
on the part of my family, wish you good morning." Not having any in-
tention " to be particular," I was obliged to say good morning to " old
Cerberus," and spent the last half-hour of my journey in a rather dull
mood. At length we arrived in Hull, and in the confusion of landing,
I adopted my old mode of creeping into a coat-pocket, which laid tum-
bling on the deck, and which belonged to a ruddy-faced blithe middle-
aged man, who came from Bradford to buy wools ; and by him I was

INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A RAT. 547

safely landed, and set down at Mr. II 's coffee-house, where having

solaced myself with a " hearty meal," he pulled a newspaper out of his
pocket, which proved to be the " Leeds Mercury," and was silently
drawing deep quaffs of knowledge and useful information from its pages,
when one or two others, who had gone there with the same intention as
himself, requested that, " pro bono publico," he would read aloud ; when,
after one or two preparatory hems, he proceeded to do so, choosing for his
subject the Revd. I. Winterbotham's Journey from Haworth to Harrow--
gate. I pricked up my ears immediately, and as he proceeded, my at-
tention became intense, and the applause which followed the detail of
each amusing incident, filled me with the ambition of obtaining it for
myself, and " my works," by a simple recital of my travels and adven-^
tures. The following afternoon proving very rainy, I sat down and
penned what I now, Mr. Editor, send you, in accordance with my pre^
viously stated ambitious design, and, labouring pretty hard (as to-morrow,
I hear, a vessel is going out for Rotterdam, by which I intend taking my
passage,) I have sent you a full and true account of my travels, which, if
they succeed in amusing you, or through you, your readers, one half as
much as they have done me in the detail, I shall be amply repaid. I
nay at another time, if your readers think my travels worth perusing,
urnish you with another sketch of my adventures abroad. Adieu,
VEr. Editor, and may the Monthly be universally read, is the prayer of
.in ill-used and vilified animal, A POOR RAT,

DEAR GIRL, THOSE TEARS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE GARLAND," &C.

DEAR girl, those tears of anguish dry,

I would not idly give thee pain ;

Say only thou art true, and I

Will take thee to these arms again.

I cannot love, as erst, and see

Those orbs of blue suffused with tears ;

Canst thou have wrong'd thyself and me.

The memory wrong'd of other years ?

They tell me some one, distant now,

Has won thy heart— thy red lips press'd ;

They hint that he has kiss'd thy brow,

And, loving, with thy love been bless'd,

Still, if thou wilt but smile and say,

As erst, so wilt thou love again,

Once more I'll own the magic swa

Of Beauty and her silken chain. jj

3X2

548 )

WHAT OUGHT TO BE DONE FOR THE CHURCH ?

THE time is at hand when, in the apprehension of all parties, some
changes will bex introduced into the church establishment of this country.
Turn right or left, or whatever way we will, every one we meet admits
this — in different phraseology, to he sure, yet it is the same thing that is
meant, whether expressed in the wailing accents of some, who tell us
the church is in the act of being overthrown, or in the less fearful man-
ner of those who hope and believe that alterations are likely to be effected
which will prove salutary reforms, and alike required for her own sake
and for the interests of Christianity. All, we say. are agreed in this,
that she will not be allowed to remain much longer in her present state.

During the last few years, a numberless variety of publications, sent
forth both by churchmen and dissenters, have treated of ecclesiastical
reform ; these are noticed here chiefly for the purpose of observing that
their pages have been mostly defective in one or two particulars, of much
importance to the right understanding of what ought to be done — where
changes are imperiously demanded, and where a firm stand should be
taken, in any attempts for the settlement of church matters at the pre-
sent moment. The defect alluded to more especially is, a seeming non-
acquaintance, on the part of writers, with the particular feeling of the
members of the establishment individually, and also of the sects in a state
of separation from her; consequently, the relation which they hold
towards each other, and the bearing their different opinions have
upon the common faith, have neither been clearly defined, nor have the
discrepancies between them been ascertained and rendered prominent in
connexion with proposals for such modifications or reforms as existing
circumstances are supposed to require. The same oversight has appeared
in our legislators : hence, when measures, well-intentioned, and designed
for good purposes, have been introduced into parliament, no sooner have
they been explained, than they have been discovered to be quite beside
their object — alike undesired by the people, and inapplicable to the re-
moval of the grievances complained of ; and the party having charge of
the matter in either house, has been obliged to withdraw it, greatly to
his own mortification.

We almost invariably rejoice when any proposed new law for the
church is compelled to be given up, from whatever cause we hardly care,
so that the attempt to heap another statute upon her burthened shoulders
proves a failure ; and for the same reason we are glad when an old church
law is abolished — indeed, if our will could have effect, we would burn
nearly all the ecclesiastical statutes in e-xistence, for the sake of the
church herself, believing, as we do, that an act of this description would
be more conducive to her prosperity, and that she would be better pro-
tected thereby, than by the thousand wished-for enactments, in her be-
half, which now float in the heads of my Lords Winchelsea, Roden, and a
number of other high churchmen who are frightened out of their wits at
dissent.

WHAT OUGHT TO BE DONE FOR THE CHURCH? 549

It is a most extraordinary fact, that with all the legislative precautions
adopted in her favour, and intended to secure to her exclusive privileges,
the Church of England at this day is more restricted and crippled in her
efforts to do good than any other denomination of Christians whatsoever.
Under the pretence, and perhaps with the intention, of protecting her,
she has absolutely been tied hand and foot, and put into prison ! where
nobody can get at her, except through bolts, and bars, and doors of iron ;
and from whence she cannot come forth to convey the gospel, unless by
asking leave of so many, and giving such large securities for the non-
commission of irregularities, that nearly all attempts of the kind are re-
linquished as hopeless. The church, to be made prosperous, needs nothing
so much as to be released from her present thraldom ; she would then dis-
play her strength and develope her sufficieney for all the purposes of human
salvation.

But lest these should be thought to be merely figurative expressions,
we will be more explicit. The machinery of the established religion in
this country, and the safeguards — as we suppose they must be called,
though they afford her no safety at all — which are placed around her,
was the work of a former age, when other sects being either unknown,
or existing only in small numbers in connexion with civil disabilities,
which necessarily prevented them from being formidable competitors,
she could bear to be limited. There was, too, at that time, political
danger, which had to be provided against, and which occasioned the du-
ties of her functionaries to be rigidly defined, and put into force. But
what changes have taken place, within the last half-century, in the intel-
ligence of the great body of the people ! in their capability and habits of
thinking, and in the concessions made to the claims of liberty of con-
science by altering the laws affecting both catholics and dissenters ?
The church has now only one prerogative over other religious bodies,
and that is her connexion with the state, which gives her the right of
having her clergy provided for out of the revenues set apart for the main-
tenance of Christianity in Great Britain. But if dissent should continue
to gain upon the establishment, as it has recently done, it may be doubted
whether claims will not be set up by it, ere long, of sharing with her the
province which she has hitherto enjoyed alone. A conviction of this
nature has recently forced itself upon the minds of Churchmen, and has
stirred them up to devise what can be done for the Establishment. The
subject is indeed deserving of the greatest consideration.

We have just observed, that the church has only one privilege left ta
her over the Dissenters ; but as a counterbalance to this, how great are
the number of disadvantages that she has to contend with, which dissent
has not ; and it is from them that she needs emancipating, and from
which she must be emancipated, in order to prosper.

We do not think the people of this country generally disapprove of a
state religion, nor that they prefer the dissenting principle for its own
sake ; our opinion is that the church has in her the power either of in-
creasing tenfold the number of them who separate from her, or of re-
covering nearly all who have left her, and of extinguishing every rival
interest. All depends upon herself and upon her friends. She has piety,
and learning, and wealth, and public feeling on her side ; and, in the
name of every thing sacred, we ask, why may she not prosper ?

560 WHAT OUGHT TO BE DONE FOR THE CHURCH {

There are two classes of character, each of which has its own plan 0
securing the welfare of the Establishment. The first is composed o
persons holding what are erroneously, we feel assured, called high church
principles ; these are chiefly Tories in politics, and they would have the
same rule of government acted upon in religion as in the state ; that is*
to grant a monopoly of privileges and favour to their own party, and
keep down the rest by trampling upon their rights as Christian men and
fellow subjects, merely because they happen to hold opinions different
from their own. Nay, we fear, if this had not the effect of rendering
the number small, some of these patented zealots would go even further,
and employ the terrible arguments of outlawry and persecution for the
purpose of showing their fellow creatures how much they are in the
wrong. We have in our mind two slight reasons for not joining these gen-
tlemen— churchmen as we all are — in their plans for maintaining the as*
scendancy principle First, they are impracticable according to the state of
things at the present ; secondly, if it were possible to carry them into
effect, they are unjust and cruel, and therefore unchristian. We are not
required by our religion to attempt in its defence that which in the nature
of things cannot be done, or that which, being wicked* ought not to be
done. Now, as all the high-church-tory schemes for maintaining
the power of the church are based on either the one or the other of
these principles, they cannot be practically observed, and will not be
entertained by sober-minded men, who would exalt her by other means*
alike within their reach, and compatible with her character.

We have been largely treated, of late, with protestant expositions and
remarks on Dens' Theology ; and, on the other side, contradictions have
been given to some of the explanations and inferences of the M'Ghins
and O'Sullivans, at their great meeting. We have also heard much of
the destructive intentions of the Dissenters, respecting the Church.
Well ! admittiug popery and dissent to be worthy of all the condemna-
tion which has been pronounced upon them, by the most exclusive and
red-hot churchmen — what then ? we repeat the inquiry — what then ?
The polemic may conclude his argument most satisfactorily against all
Who differ from the church ; but the politician feels it a more difficult
matter to put them down ; and it is from want of considering this dis-
tinction, that we find so many projects thrown out* and spoken of, as if
it were the easiest thing in the world for government to protect the
church, and secure to her every kind of support and prerogative, over all
the rest of the sects in the kingdom. No dream can be more fanciful,
or stuffed with greater absurdities, than are the heads of the high-flown*
self-styled friends of the church ; and if their suggestions and wishes,
respecting her, were to be attempted to be acted upon, by the legisla-
ture, in seven years there would be no such thing as an ecclesiastical
establishment, in England or Ireland. There may be no difficulty in
conducting her into the field ; but if she once appear there in the mili-
tant character of an extirpator of all other religious parties, neither the
Orange duke, nor the Waterloo duke> would be able to bring her out
again in safety.

We have the greatest confidence imaginable in the ability of the
church, not only to maintain her present position, but to extend her in-
fluence, if a few changes were made, to adapt her more effectually to

WHAT OUGHT TO BE DONE FOR THE CHURCH. 551

the present state of things ; and if these alterations be not effected,
neither the abolition of tithes and church-rates, nor the extension of
pluralities and non-residence — all of which we hope to see accomplished
— will alone render her prosperous. Emancipations of different kinds>
we rejoice to observe, have lately been the order of the day, and we trust
the principle will soon be applied to the church ; and then a bright mor-
ning of glory will dawn upon her, such as she has not seen since the
time of reformation from popery.

Amongst the things requisite to be done for the benefit of the esta-
blishment, nothing is half so much needed, nor half so essential to her
welfare, as the freeing her from a number of restrictions which are now upon
her. One attempt of this kind, and only one, has recently been made ;
and we grieve to say, the effort was unsuccessful. We allude to the
bill brought in by Mr. Hardy, the member for Bradford, the session be-
fore last, to do away with the registration of places of worship. The
law, as it now stands, is thus : — if twenty persons assemble for divine
worship in a place which is not licensed for that purpose, each individual
so present, and the proprietor of the room, or whatever the place of
meeting may be, is liable to a fine. This would not be of much conse-
quence, as a licence could be obtained, were it not that such licence
can only be procured, on the parties applying for it professing them-
selves to be dissenters. Now, the effect of this is, dissenters can get
these licences without difficulty ; but a churchman cannot, because he is
a churchman, and unable to profess himself to be a dissenter, and there-
fore he is prevented from applying in the form required. Let us now
mark how the system works in respect to this particular.

Here is a place containing — say two, three, or five hundred, or even a
thousand inhabitants, and the parish church is two, three, or five miles off;
and there can be found many such cases. Here too one, or perhaps a few
wealthy churchmen reside, to whom it is no particular inconvenience to
attend the establishment, though at so great a distance, because a carriage
is kept, but with the bulk of the people it is otherwise : some are old,
others are infirm, and so far as regards these, the church might as we-H
be in India, as five miles away, for any spiritual advantage they can de-
rive from it. By great efforts they visit it, once in two or three years,
at a funeral, or sometimes at a christening — -that is all. So ignorant are
these of the church, that they hardly know that it exists for any other
purpose than to sprinkle infants in, and read a form of words over the
dead ! Now, suppose a wealthy resident churchman considers the case
of the religious destitution of his poor, old, and sickly neighbours ; and
that he proposes to the clergyman, as there is no service in the church,
later than prayers at two o'clock, to take a seat in his carriage, and after
tea to instruct, for an hour or so, a number of parishioners who may be
assembled in his servants' hall. Would there be any harm or heresy in
this ? or would it tend to the overthrowing of the church ? Yet it can-
not be done as the law now stands, because the house must either be
licensed as a dissenting meeting -house, or a penalty is incurred, and the
poor persons present, not being able to pay it, might be seat to prison, in
England ; and for what ? why, for " worshipping God according to the
forms of the established church of England." This is literally the state
in which our church lawgivers have left her, in the nineteenth century*

OO'2 WHAT OUGHT TO BE DONE FOR THE CHURCH ."

while they have been besides busily granting catholic emancipation, abo-
lishing the test and corporation acts, creating bishoprics in our colonies
abroad, and displaying besides liberality and zeal for religion in a thou-
sand other ways. If the two houses of parliament had been composed
of Roman catholics and dissenters, we might have looked for such things
as the liberation of their own sects, and the continuance in bondage of
the church ; but when we consider that nearly all the peers, and a large
majority of the commons, are churchmen, such shortsightedness and
inattention to the true interests of their own religion, are unaccountable.
Nay, we venture to affirm that, had the legislative power been in the
hands of the church's enemies, she would have fared better than she has
done, for they could not, for shame, have conceded so much to other
sects, and have left herself in the state she is in.

We have seen, in the instance just cited, how the church is prevented
by the licencing system from instituting her worship in places situated
at a distance from the parish steeple ; let us now mark how the same
regulation operates with regard to Dissent. And here we may take the
liberty of stating, that we do not speak without book — for the facts can
be proved, if necessary ; when we say that the very persons who have
found it impossible to introduce the service of the establishment to their
poor ignorant neighbours, have felt it a duty in some cases, rather than
allow them to live and die without the ordinances of religion, to counte-
nance, and even to encourage, the Dissenters to come amongst them.
And is not this justifiable ? — for though sectarianism may be objectionable
in itself, yet the evils resulting from the want of opportunities for
divine worship, are infinitely more to be deprecated. So thoroughly are
we convinced of this, that while our council is — worship with the church
of England if you possibly can, yet, rather than live without public
worship, perform it, we say, any where and with any party. And such
feeling is becoming more and more diffused, and we tell those whose
province it is more especially to look after the interests of the church,
if they do not provide greater facilities than there are at present for
giving her access to all the people, and all the people access to her : they
will turn dissenters; and nothing can, or indeed ought to hinder them.
If the church continue to allow a great portion of the population of the
country to be placed in the dilemma of either listening to sectarian
teachers, or to none at all — whatever may be said of them for so doing,
they will choose the former. One of the first things which ought to be
done for the benefit of the establishment, clearly, is to pass some suoh
bill as the one introduced by Mr. Hardy, for abolishing the necessity of
licensing places of worship. The church would then have the opportunity
of getting at the people in a way that she cannot have while the law
stands as it now is.

It has been charged upon the clergy, as a class — and we fear, with
too much truth, though there are some enlightened exceptions, that,
of all men, they are the slowest to observe, and the last to acquire wis-
dom from, what is transpiring around them. While they inculcate a
teachable spirit upon their audiences, and impress upon them the duty
of becoming wiser by every day's experience, they are themselves too
often inaccessible to the plainest lessons of instruction, furnished by
what they are seeing and hearing continually. Another peculiarity in too

WHAT OUGHT TO BE DONE FOR THE CHURCH ? 553

many" of those who hold the sacred office, is, the confounding religion
itself with its forms and circumstances ; and because the truth of God is
unchangeable and eternal, they regard all its appendages, and the mode
of teaching it, as bearing the same high and immutable character.
Hence, when any change is spoken of in services or circumstantials of
the church, these men take the alarm, and speak as if the church her-
self— i.e. her doctrines, or the essential parts of her constitution, were
about to be removed or impaired ; and their notions evidently are, that
we must either take the church as she is, with every incumbrance and
imperfection, or not at all — that to touch her even with a view to remove
the dust from her walls, or the damp from her floors, is a sacrilegious
attempt to effect her ruin. Now let the reader judge whether these indi-
viduals, who are constantly trumpeting forth their own praise, and the
praise of each other, as being the only true churchmen, are indeed her
friends ; or whether that title does not, in justice, belong to those who
are equally attached to her doctrines and the fundamental parts of her
constitution ; but who, from the purpose of increasing her usefulness and
her influence, would remove abuses from her; and, in order to adapt her
more fully to the wants and habits of the present generation, would give
a more popular character to her services, which must afford her great
advantages over dissent with the general population, who, we reiterate,
are not disposed, of themselves, to forsake the church, but are driven from
her, partly because many live at a great distance, and partly because her
worship is so formal and uninteresting, as to be both tiresome and un-
profitable.

In reference to the proposed change in the law requiring a licence,
and by that means the facilitating the establishment of subordinate reli-
gious assemblies, in neighbourhoods situated a few miles from a church,
we are aware that a difficulty will present itself to the minds of many, as
to the impossibility of obtaining clergymen to officiate on such occasions,
should the number be greatly increased, as it would be, if the plan were
once adopted. . We may remark in reply, that the difficulty of supplying
these places would not,in all probability ,be so great as atfirst it may appear.
It should be remembered, that there are in the church of England, at the
least, from eighteen thousand to twenty thousand regularly ordained
clergymen, and it is not unreasonable to believe, that amongst such
a number, many would be found ready to perform a little extra duty, if
it could be done, in the assurance that it would promote the salvation of
man 'and the interests of the establishment. We are aware that some
of the clergy regard their talents merely as marketable, and not to be ex-
ercised except at a stipulated price : but we have too high an opinion oi
the whole body to think this is their general character, and we feel confi-
dent that, as they are the first to contribute liberally, according to their
means, to the religious and benevolent institutions in the kingdom, so they
would come forward gratuitously, if necessary, to aid in a plan which
should have for its object a compliance with the divine command, which
is to go into the highways and hedges, and compel men to come in and
partake the blessings of the gospel. Are not our clergy the foremost to
support missionary societies, for the sending of Christianity abroad, and
would they be less disposed, if the opportunity was given, to spread it
amongst their fellow subjects at home ? we are strongly persuaded those

554 WHAT OUGHT TO BE DONE FOR THE CHURCH ?

who represent them as unwilling to co-operate in any way which might
least promote the spiritual welfare of mankind, do them an injustice.

But further, it may be added, the service required to be performed on
these occasions would not need to be altogether without reward ; in
some cases it might be free, but in others a limited remuneration to the
officiating party could be afforded; and, indeed, would be given most
readily ; and that which was humble in its beginning would probably, in
many instances, grow into importance, and be able to make provision for
the maintenance of a clergyman, as well as to erect a church in which
to perform divine service for the accommodation of the public. Why
may not the Established accomplish what has often been achieved by
other sects ? — who have been known to begin to worship in a small
room, in a populous village ; and, starting at this point, have preached
until at length a neat, or even an elegant, meeting-house, with a resident
preacher and a numerous congregation, have been raised, and the whole
of the inhabitants alienated from the church. Now, had the church
been unfettered, as we would have it, her friends might in such places
have done all that the Dissenters have effected, and instead of a ehapel>
there would have been a church, a clergyman, and a people worshipping
the Almighty in union with the venerable establishment of this country.
We cannot help repeating that the church is not equitably dealt with
— she is tied up just as she was a century ago, when the Dissenters and
Catholics laboured under so many restrictions, all of which have been
removed ; and they can now go every where, and do every thing they
choose, in behalf of their party. But if the legislature will make no
changes for the benefit of the church, we cannot but indulge the hope
that her bishops> in the plenitude of their authority, might assist her in
some degree, by granting dispensation. We are not much conversant
with ecclesiastical law, but it strikes us, as highly probable, that those
invested with episcopal power must have a discretionary licence, respecting
some things, which might be advantageously exercised under present
circumstances. We are not the advocates of irregularity and disorder ;
at the same time we cannot be insensible that there are, also, conse-
quences which follow a stiff antiquated deportment, which are, perhaps*
equally undesirable. The present is an age of enterprise in regard to
religion, as well as in other matters, the spirit of which must either be
partaken of by the church, or her influence will be abolished and her
numbers diminished, notwithstanding the excellencies of her constitution
and liturgy. There is a feeling abroad that the inhabitants of the whole
nation ought to be instructed, especially in religion : and the people
themselves are becoming of that opinion ; and, unless the establishment
stir up herself, the busy intrusive spirit which pervades the Dissenters
will lead them into every corner of the land, and the population naturally
falling into the hands which first take hold of it, will, of course, be
transferred into the ranks of those who have left the church. Church-
men may speak against this, and write against it too, but the effect will
be the same ; for the people will, as soon as they begin to think, con-
trast the merit of them by the church, with the attention of the sects to
their interest, and, comparing the conduct of both with the example of
him who " went about doing good," it is easy to say in whom they will

OUGHT TO Bfe DOI-JE FOR THE CHURCH ? 555

jperceive, in this respect, the strongest marks of resemblance to that per-
fect pattern of benevolence, which should be imitated by us all.

The Church has made one experiment, chiefly in large towns, in con-
formity with modern habits, the success of which has been so complete>
that one would have expected it would have led to others — some of them
bearing upon the rural parts of the kingdom. — We allude to the institu-
tion of Sunday evening service, and, in some places, a week-night service
also. What occasioned this alteration in, and in some cases an addition, to
the usual times of worship ? Why, it was observed how numerously Dis-
senting meetings were attended at those hours ! and the wish naturally
was that the church should have the benefit of a prevailing disposition to
engage in devotional exercises at a later period of the sabbath day. The
result has proved the expediency of making the change; and the marvel
is that the same faculty which discovered the propriety of the church
having service on Sunday evenings, has not, also, seen the necessity of
other modifications which might be equally favourable to her interest.
It was a new thing, and as some contended an irregularity, to open the
church on a Sunday night — but the advantages of the innovation have
justified its adoption. And so, we contend, would the good which must
result therefrom justify other arrangements ; and amongst, if not above,
all the rest, would the appointment of occasional auxiliary worship in
vilages or neighbourhoods inconveniently situated for attending the usual
parish church, be beneficial to our establishment : and we leave those>
who say the thing ought not to be done> because it would be irregular,
to determine whether it were best for the church, that these people should
worship in communion with her, nearer than our places of abode ; or
whether they should so worship — for they will, after all, worship at
home in connexion with Dissenters. This is the real, indeed the only,
question to be decided > — will the church relinquish her claim to a great
portion of the population, or adapt herself to their circumstances and
convenience ?

In conclusion, we submit the foregoing observations to every sincere,
sober-minded friend of the establishment ; and more especially to those
who have influence in ecclesiastical matters, under the profoundest con-
viction that the wisest policy, being most agreeable to the genius of our
holy religion, would be, to free the church from some of the restraints
which are at present upon her — to afford her every facility for conveying
the gospel to every locality in the kingdom, and to let her have full
liberty to increase her strength and influence in every possible way, for
the spiritual benefit of the whole population of Great Britain and Ireland*

( 55G )

THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN.

Corpora magnanimo satis est prosttasse Jeoni :
At lupus, et turpes instant morientibus ursi j

El quemque minor nobilitate fera est. OVID.

IT is an odd thing for a man who is a bachelor, not merely by profes-
sion, but in point of fact, to think of deciding on the kind and quantity
of influence which is exercised on the part of females over men. "If
the question were reversed," cries a love-sick youth of eighteen, " and a
bachelor, instead of writing on the influence of females over males, had
to speak of the influence of males over females, his own ugly face or some
other natural defect would sufficiently testify, that he had exercised the
influence of fear over all the spinsters of his parish ; for few men of good
report, and tolerable proportions, are allowed to remain in a state of
single blessedness." — The fit having taken me, however, (by the way, I
must acknowledge the exactness of the other fit in regard to the ugliness
of my phiz), I will not be discouraged by any inuendoes from pursuing my
original plan. When I commenced this paper, my intention was to
inform you of something which may illustrate the question already started,
and I now proceed to the task.

Returning the other evening rather earlier than usual, from the club
of bachelors to which I have the honour to belong, I was led to follow
up the conversation of my friends, by my own solitary meditations. It
is a curious fact, that, whenever I arrive at my lodgings before the
" witching time of night," I grow exceedingly wise and moral in my
reflections ; and what is not always the case with my poor head, am able
to remember, with distinctness, the most trivial occurrence, and to dis-
tinguish with accuracy every object of the sight. Whereas, if " the
clock strikes one" while I am out, " I take no note of time," and am
never able to hear it, either on account of some peculiarity in the atmos-
phere at that particular juncture, or in my ears, or both. And as to
seeing, I can see nothing at all, nor am I able to determine whether this
myopy arises from the excessive darkness of the midnight hour, or from
some periodical defect in my organs of vision. But I am only wandering
from the point.

On the evening to which I have alluded, I was the more inclined to
moralize, because I had not only retained a mens sana in corpore sano, —
having neither received the salutations of the charlie's bludgeon, nor
passed my meridian, but had also, on account of the tremendous lagomachy
of my boon companions, refrained from expressing my own opinion con-
cerning the Influence of Women. I was, therefore, left to chew my
cud over the question, and digest it at my leisure. — Well, thought I, as
I arranged my person in the easy chair, and wheeled round to the fire,
without any faith in astrology, the Influence of Women is equally various
with that of the stars ; and God knows — with a sigh — they are equally
numerous. Numerous, however, as they are, I think one might abbrc-

THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 557

viate their history by dividing them into a certain number of classes ; and
as I have begun my comparisons in astronomy, let me see how they will
fit to the twelve signs of the Zodiac.

Some are like Sagittarius, and from eyes of blue, black, or hazel,
delight in aiming at the hearts of men, the sure and sharp arrows of
their almost inexhaustible quivers. Others may come under the deno-
mination of Librarians, not because they are learned, but on account of
their propensity to weigh the matter on both sides, and by long delibera-
tion, and long faces, to induce their captives to make more liberal settle-
ments. Gemini will include those who, by their astonishing fecundity,
so powerfully urge on their husbands the necessity of making suitable
provisions for an increasing family, and influence them in redoubling
their exertions for that purpose. By Cancer one may understand a
respectable body of females, who as they recede from the stage of human
existence by slow and regular gradations, have considerable influence in
suppressing, with their snappishness and ill-humour, the gallantry of
those who would otherwise most willingly take them by the hand. The
Pisces are another odd kind of fish, which, though they do not multiply
among themselves, are yet, I fear, increasingly numerous. They live
out of water, it is true ; like owls, they only venture forth in the night-
time, and contribute, by their meretricious arts, to excite the bad, while
they destroy the worthier passions of youth. Virgo is a title to which
a numerous band of females lay claim so resolutely and vehemently, that
one had better substitute virago, or even Taurus (malgre the gender), as
applying to a much more extensive class of Amazons, who engross among
themselves the singular faculty of bullying and intimidating all little men
with squinting eyes, crooked backs, and bandy legs. The Scorpions are
a very terrible and deceitful race, and the man who is about to consum-
mate his earthly bliss, must "take heed to his ways that he offend not with
his tongue," or he will find to his sorrow, if he marry a person of this
stamp, " it is better to dwell in the corner of the house-top, than with a
bawling woman in a wide house." Those whom I would distinguish
by the name of Capricornus, are a very considerate class of creatures.
Not wishing to be over burdensome to any single man, they allow one
the privilege of calling himself husband, and reserve the other to sustain
the character of lover. This sort of ladies are noted for cutting rather
curious capers ; and they take considerable pleasure in ranking their
submissive spouses with horned cattle. The Aries are women who never
condescend to argue a point but at the sword's point, and are accustomed
to thrash all their opponents, until the chaff is separated from the wheat,
and they gain them over to their own opinions. The followers of Aquarius
are the least in number and repute of any in the Zodiac. These are they
who go with a clean face and neat attire, are as innocent as doves, and
have every thing very comfortable ; but they sail down the stream of
time as though they were the only inhabitants of earth, without taking
notice of either men or things, and have no further influence on the
minds of mankind, than as they sometimes induce poets to compare them
with the noiseless water-brooks, which

lose them at vessel length

In matted grass, that with a livelier green
Betrays the secret of their silent course.

558 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN.

I scarcely knew what to do with Leo, and had entered so extensively
in the way of research on the suhject, as to wander even to " the land of
Nod ;" where having satisfied myself that Cain's wife was the lion of
the place (being the mother of the first poet, forsooth,) I suddenly
returned by reason of the terror which I felt on an imaginary sight of
the murderer's bloody hand. On recovering my self-possession, I remarked
that she alone is a lion among women, who is of a noble and passionate,
but yet forgiving nature ; — she whose love for him that is worthy of
her remains

'* Unqueched by floods, and uneonsumed by fire j"

She who is a lover of her country and her children — she who is just and
merciful — she who is chaste and honourable — she who is righteous in
anger, but easily restrained, and of whom it might be said,

Tempore pcenorum compescitur jra leonum,
Nee fentas animo, quse fuit ante, manet.

She, in fine, who, in whatever sphere she is placed, acts with a manly
resolution, and who, without divesting herself of any the least of those
peculiar charms which concentrate in British females, carries every thing
before her,*

-ft

* "The following epigram," says Bayle, u was in every body's hands about the
year 1561, having been occasioned by the greatest part of the kingdoms of Europe
being then governed by women, or at least under their administration." It may
not unsuitably follow the above article.

Vulva regit Scotos,(a) hceres(£) tenet ilia Bntannos,,

Flandros et Batavos nunc notha vulva(c) regit.
Vulva regit populos quos signal Gallia portu,(«f)

Et fortes Gallos Itala vulva regit. (e)
His furiam furiis, vulvam conjungite vulvis,

Sic natura capax omnia regna capit.
Ad Medicam artem insertam, Gallia saucia tend is.

Non uti Medicis est medicina tibi.
Non credas Medicis, vena qui sanguinis hausta,

Conantur vires debilitare tuas.
Ut regi, matrique suce, sis fida Deoque,

Utere concilio Gallia docta meo.
Et pacem tu inter proceres non panito bellum,

Hospitafy^ lis. Artus rodit agitque tuos.
(a) Mary Stuart. (b) Queen Elizabeth,

(c) Margaret, Duchess of Parma, natural daughter of Charles V.

(d} Catherine of Austria, sister to Charles V. widow of John III. King of Por-
tugal, and Regent during the minority of Sebastian, her son

(e) Catherine de Medicis.

(/) An allusion is here meant to the name of the Chancellor De 1'Hospital, ta
whom Catherine de Medicis chiefly owed the Regency.

(559)

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

Encyclopaedia Britannica, No. LXVIL, edited by PROFESSOR NAPIER,

THE mode of imparting instruction through the medium of an Encyclopaedia, is
well calculated for those persons who are anxious to attain knowledge, but whose
indespensable avocations in life leave them insufficient leisure for the study of the
minutiae and more elaborate details of science and art. This species of publica-
tion, therefore, on their first introduction to general notice, experienced a rapid
and extensive sale : and, in consequence of the eagerness manifested by the public
to purchase, a considerable quantity of ill-digested surreptitious trash crept into
the market. However, such has been the attention paid to this eminently useful
description of literature by men of profound erudition and extensive attainment,
find the improvement resulting from their persevering and highly important labours,
that an Encyclopedia of the present day may be said to constitute a complete library.
Of this description the work before us forms an excellent, and indeed a splendid
specimen, equally distinguished for sound judgment and consummate ability. It
contains, amongst a great variety of important articles, a highly interesting account
of Iceland ; which, it seems, though one of the largest islands in Europe, being
in length, from east to west, 280 miles; and in breadth, from north to south,
varying from 180 to 200; enumerates a population of only 53,000. Ireland,
about the same extent, numbers human beings nearly in the proportion of twenty
to one. We give the following extract :

" There are about 194 parishes or livings in the island ; but the clergy number
at least 300, as many of the parishes have two churches, the great distance and
the danger of travelling, particularly in winter, when the rugged fields of lava are
covered with snow, making it frequently impossible for all the peasantry of the
same parish to attend at the same church. The clergy are partly supported by a
species of tithes, which are mostly paid in kind. These stipends, however, are
extremely miserable ; the largest in the island not exceeding 185 dollars ; and the
average little above them, 35 dollars, or £6 sterling per annum. Nothing is there-
fore more common than to find the parish priest in a coarse woollen jacket and
trowsers, or skin boots, digging peat, mowing grass, and assisting in all the opera-
tions of haymaking. They are all blacksmiths from necessity, and the bestshoers
of horses on the island. The feet of an Iceland horse would be cut to pieces, over
the sharp rock and lava, if not well shod. The great resort of the peasantry is the
church ; and should any of the numerous horses have lost a shoe, or be likely to
do so, the priest puts on his apron, lights his little charcoal fire in his smithy, and
sets the animal on his legs again,"

Boiling springs and volcanos are numerous in Iceland, and are described in a
very scientific and highly interesting manner. On the subject of Zoology, we are
told that " Amongst the birds of the island, are the sea eagle or erne, a very
destructive creature among the eider ducks ; the falcon, which used formerly to
be a valuable item in the exports of the island ; and the raven, a large and more
powerful bird than those of Britain, frequently pouncing upon and carrying off
young lambs, and destroying poultry ; it is met with in great numbers, particu-
larly on the cliffs near the sea-coast. The ptarmigan snipe, golden plover, wag-
tail, and curlew, are well known. Water fowl of every description common to
northern latitudes, are met with on the coasts and in the lakes. Of these, the most
valuable to the inhabitants is the eider duck, which is strictly preserved, a penalty
of half a dollar being exigible for shooting one of these birds. From this circum-
stance, they become so remarkably tame, especially in the breeding season, that

560 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

they frequently make their nests close to the houses, and in spots which have been
prepared by ridges of stones artificially built up for them; and, in such places,
during the process of incubation, it is not unusual for the female to remain on the
nest, and suffer herself to be fondled. The lining of their nest, being the downy
substance plucked off their own breasts, is taken away, even a second and a third
time, until the poor bird has plucked herself nearly naked. Their eggs, too, are
removed once or twice, and are eaten in the same manner as plover's eggs.
Swans are very numerous on some of the lakes in the central part of the island,
where they remain immolated till the ice sets in, when they betake themselves to
the sea-shore. The eggs, the feathers, and the down of this fine bird, like those of
the eider cluck, supply the peasantry with an article of food, and also of commerce."
The interesting subject of Ichthyology forms a brief, but well-elucidated history,
in which new and important matter is introduced; arranged with sound and scien-
tific judgment, and written in a vigorous and expressive style: — "The form and
structure of fishes are as admirably adapted for rapid movement through the
water, as are those of birds for that aerial motion called flight, suspended in a
liquid element of almost equal specific gravity with themselves. External organs
resembling those of birds in size would have been disproportioned and unnceces-
sary ; but the air bladder (the functions of which, by no means entirely under-
stood, have never been satisfactorily explained in all their bearings) is known to
possess the power of contraction and dilatation, the exercise of which is followed
by a corresponding descent or ascent of the animal's body. Thus, a small, central,
and inconspicuous organ effects, in the easiest and most simple manner, the same
object which even the soaring eagle or giant condor can only attain by great exer-
tion of the wings, and after laborious and frequently repeated gyrations. We
shall ere long, however, have occasion to observe, that the air bladder, although
essential to the economy of such species as possess it, is by no means indispensa-
ble to the class of fishes, as in many tribes it is entirely wanting."

The graphic illustrations of Ichthyology are not only well executed, as far as the
burine is concerned, but present all the characteristic truth so essential to the
correct elucidation of the subject.

Again, we have a very interesting summary of the History of Illyria, condensed
with judgment and industry.

Finally, we have to observe, that we have perused this number of the Encyclo-
paedia Britannica with more than ordinary satisfaction ; nor have we the least
doubt the work will continue to experience that extensive patronage to which its
pre-eminent merit so j ustly entitles it.

The Loseley Manuscripts. By ALFRED JOHN KEMPE, Esq., F.S.A.

1 vol. 8vo. Murray.

Mr. KEMPE is well known to the literary and antiquarian world, as a contributor
to the " Transactions of the Society of Antiquaries," and " the Gentleman's Maga-
zine," &c., and is, we believe, the author of the letter-pres>s of "Stothard's Monu-
mental Effigies," and a small volume on the sanctuary and Collegiate Church,
" St. Martin's Le Grand."

As antiquaries, we are, in good truth, but sorry ones, for though we do know
the value of old wine and old friends, we freely confess our ignorance as to anti-
quities commonly so called. Show us a coin bearing the head of Boadici or
of Augustus, and we gaze on it with interest — not, however, as antiquaries, but his-
torians. We think of that period when a British Queen died for her country, —
we call to mind the patron of Roman literature. It is with this historical rather
than antiquarian feeling, that we commenced the perusel of the Loseley Manuscripts,
and we have seldom, if ever, derived more amusement combined with knowledge
from any collection than from the present.

It consists of rare documents (some unique,) from the reign of Henry VITI. to
that of James I. These documents contain so many curious and minute accounts
of the life, dress, food, amusements, &c., of our ancestors of that period, that we

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 561

actually, For the time being, seem to live among them. We converse with them
about the new religion ; we dine with them, off " multons" at 8s. ; " capons, at
Is. 4 d. apece ;" and " conyes" at 3s. the dozen ; and drink with them from earthen
pots of Dutch manufacture; or, if the liquor be Canary, Leres Sec, or Hock, we
drain a cup of the one, and a long-handled glass of the other, to " the destruction of
the Invincible Armada and long life to the Queen !'*

Anon we deck ourselves out in " doublets and long hose of black taffeta, cut
upon tinsel, with two embroidered laces," and, in a few minutes, behold us at
<k the Globe," alternately laughing and crying, as it pleases Will Shakspeare to
make us. In short, we join in their revels, their sports, and their wiles ; and — but
hold ! who have we here ? truly, the " Lord of Misrule" and his masque ; with
" Venus in a chaire triumfall ;" Mars with " a target of his armes" in one hand
and "a naket sworde" in the other, and Cupid, " a letell boye, with a bow and
arrows, blinfelde."

There is an exceedingly curious, and probably unique, printed pamphlet con-
taining the Ordinances of War, promulgated by Henry VII I., on occasion of his
expedition to Boulogne, A. D. 15 13, and are the ordinances upon which are founded
the Articles of War of the present day. It is from the press of Richard Pynson.
We have, also, various original documents, relating to the Lady Jane Grey — the
ill-fated Queen of a few days ; original documents, some under the sign manual
of Queen Mary, relating to Wyatt's Rebellion; notices of the Palace of None-
such, &c.

Some Parochial Accounts, A.D. 1552, are so curious, that we cannot refrain from
giving an extract or two ; the more so in consequence of the remark of the Editor,
that " this paper bears evidence of the unsettled state of religion in the sixteenth
century, when the new-born reformed church and the old papal hierarchy were
striving, as it were, for the mastery." There are payments '« For setting up rood-
lofte, 10d.,"— "For poolyng doune the roode, 14d.,w — "For pluckyng the alters,
plastering the walles, and mending of div'se places, 7 shilllings."

The Editor has given an engraving of a Lottery Chart for 1567, containing the
different prizes, such as money, silver spoons, cups, beakers, &c. The original is
5 feet in length by 19 inches in breadth, and is very probably unique. We give
a few of the "Posies/' or " Poesies," of the different adventures, extracted from a
book intituled «' Prizes drawen in the Lottery/'

" My pose is small,

But a good lot may fall.
Per John Burnell, Whitston, 81, 763,— Is. 3d.

What is a tree of cherries worth to foure in a company,
Per Thomas Laurence, Lond. 123, 487,— Is. 2d.

If a very rich prise arise should to our lot,

Al that would be employed on our decayed port,

Tho. Spikernell, of Maulden, in Essex, 331, 597,— 2s. Id.

Armouth for a haven is a fit place,

And a haven it may be if it please the Queene's grace;

Per Willia' Mallocke, of Armouth, 85, 573,— 3s. 4d .

Best hop have the ring.

Per Bosham Parish, Sussex, 236, 933,— 5s. lOd.

God send the Queen good issue.

William Walshe, of Yoghul, 204, 673,— Is. 3d.

Hope helpeth.

Tho. Lord Howard, Vicount Byndon, 5, 927,— 2s. Id.

Of many people it hath been said,

That Tenterden steeple, Sandwhich haven hath decayed.

Per Ed. Hales, Tenterden, Kent, 40, 884,— Is. 2d.

M.M.— 12. 3 Y

5G2 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

I loked for no more.

William More, Lowsley, Surrey, 276, 013.— Is. 3d.

Fortune Amy, Sir Thomas Gresham, knight, 345, 471, — Is. 2d.

Piiestes love pretie wenches. Per Rich. Enecke, Sibforde, 13, 569,— Is. 2d.''

There are many others equally curious, as illustrating the manners, feelings, and
quaint devices of the period, but for which we cannot afford space.

Several royal visits to Loseley are mentioned in different papers, with an ac-
count of the precautionary measures taken against the Armada,

We have, among others, original letters of Dr. Donne, Dean of St. Paul's, with
curious ones of Lord Herbert of Cherbury, and original documents relating to Sir
Walter Raleigh, from which it appears that Count Gondemar knew the real ob-
ject King James had in view when he allowed him to proceed to Guinea for the
purpose of drscovering gold mines there. Interesting, however, as many of these
are, the most interesting, and, we conceive, the most valuable, are four original
Autograph and Confidential Letters of King James to Sir George Moie, Lieutenant
of the Tower, in which he wishes him to advise the Earl of Somerset " to confess
his guilt as to the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury, and thus leave his Majesty
some place for his mercy to work upon;" " if he will yet confess before his trial,
the king will perform what he has promised towards him and his wife;" '« if he
would send him any message concerning the poisoning, it need not be private ;"
" if the Earl appear to be distracted in his wits, his trial may be adjourned."

From an envelope, in the handwriting of the time, it would seem that it was the
Countess alone, and not the Earl, who was the guilty party. The envelope con-
cludes with, " but the truth is, King James wase wearye of him ; Buckingham
had supplied his place." We have perused, with much pleasure, several other
letters, more particularly those respecting Sir Thomas Monson, as concerned in
the above murder; — of Chancellor Egerton to Sir George More; — of the Infanta
Isabella, daughter of Philip II. of Spain, to the King; — of Sir William Chaworth,
as ambassador to the Infanta, containing various details of court manners, cos-
tume, and etiquette, as well as the " intention, abstract, sum, and end" of his
journey.

Upon the whole, we consider " the Loseley Manusciipts" to be among the most
valuable, in every point of view, of any that have been as yet published, and we
feel confident that such will be the opinion of the public. We had well nigh
forgotten to state that clever Fac-simile, are given of the autographs of some of
the most distinguished individuals by whom the letters were written.

The Intellectual Calculator , and Key. By J. T. CROSSLEY and
WILLIAM MARTIN. Simpkin and Marshall.

THIS is the arithmetic of the British and Foreign School Society, and about
which Lord Brougham spoke so highly in his speech on national education. We
never saw so much matter in so small a space in a school book, nor so many
practical examples in arithmetic. The complete system of mental arithmetic is a
novelty, and ought to be known by every schoolmaster, as it will save himself
and pupil many a head-ache. A Royal Road to Fractions is also appended ; all
of which tend to make the work, what it is called, Every Boy's Arithmetic.

Every Lady her own Housekeeper. By a LADY. T. Tisdale, Strand.

" WHAT is a housekeeper's book ? " asks the authoress, in her " hints to young
housekeepers." To have this question properly solved, our readers should
purchase the very useful work under consideration. All upon whom the duties
of housekeeping devolve, will find the work invaluable.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 5G3

Butler's Atlas of Modern Geography. Coloured Plates, &c.
Longman & Co.

IT would be useless to apply any additional praise to this work, so well known
and so universally adopted by academecians. The present new and revised edi-
tion, like the one we have no'iced above, exhibits a fine specimen of the arts
connected with the work, *uch as mapping, map- engraving, colouring, &c., &c.
Dr. Butler's Atlases have no competitors; there have been some p0or, and, in-
deed, contemptible imitations of the<n thrust upon the public, but without the
desired success of their parents.

A Sketch of Modern and Ancient History, for the use of Schools. By
SAMUEL BUTLER, D.D. F.R.S. £c. 12th Edition. Longman & Co.
pp. 364, demy 8vo.

THIS is an enlarged and handsome edition of a work, already so reputable, that

it would be mere idleness to do more than give publicity to the fact. Spotiswood

was the printer. This is a very handsome book.

The Popular Cyclopedia, being an Original Dictionary of Arts, Sciences,
and Literature, Biography, History, and Political Economy, &c. &c.
with Dissertations on the Rise and Progress of Literature, by Sir
D. F. SANDFORD, D.C.L. & M.P. ; on the Progress of Science, by
THOMAS THOMPSON, M.D., F.R.S. , &c. Vol. 3£. Glasgow:
Blackie & Son, G.R.S., H.U., N.S.

THIS valuable utilitarian and inexpensive work proceeds with all possible
celerity, and, we are glad to learn, abundant success. The influential, name
of Sir D. F. Sandford and Professor Thompson are, it will be allowed, a host in
themselves, and cannot fail to attain the support of the literary and scientific.
" THE POPULAR CYCLOPEDIA," when finished, will form the most complete
library for the middle classes ever yet published. We therefore feel deeply
interested in its success.

Mahmoud, in 3 vols. Edward Churton, Public Library, Holies Street.

MR. CHURTON is certainly a most enterprising publisher. We have perused
with infinite pleasure, another " smart novel" which has just issued from the
teeming press. The author's name is not set down in the title-page. Is the ab-
sence of it an indication of modesty or a proof of confidence ? No, Churton's
lips are sealed. " Silence" becomes the religion of bookselling, when the author
of a promising work, such as we verily take «« Mahmoud" to be, happens to be in
nubibus. Well : it is no use to ask Churton any thing concerning the author —
let that pass. It must be recollected too, that Mr. Churton has become exceed-
ingly aristocratic of late, and has been elected a member of the conservative pub-
lishers. There is something in that, as they proceed. But what of Mahmoud ?
A great deal in few words. It is a very sensible and well-written work ; full of
spirit, and containing a narrative or combination of curious and deeply interesting
facts, which cannot fail to amuse in the highest degree. In short, the events de-
tailed in these volrmes, so far from being improbable, constitute the every-day
pictures of eastern life. From beginning to end of the work the style is pre-
served ; it is after this manner: —

u Stamboul gave me birth; Stamati Morozi, a Greek merchant, was my sire,
and Constantine the name by which I was known in early life — my apostacy
gave me the title which I carried to my grave."

3 Y2

564 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopedia, Vol 72.— Natural History. Longman,

& Co.

THIS is a very excellent volume, in continuation of that which preceded it. It
is wholly occupied by a classification of quadrupeds by W. Swainson, Esq. The
wood-engravings are of the most finished kind ; and the naturalist has executed his
task with ability and taste. We would direct the attention of the reader to the
fine delineation of the horse, at page 184, to the elephant at page 193— two of the
most powerful things we ever met with. The letter-press in Mr. Spottiswood's
best style.

The Poetical Works of SAMUEL ROGERS, Esq. Illustrated by 128
Vignettes, from Designs by Stothard & Turner. Part 9.

WE scarcely know what to say of this elegant work, after our repeated eulogiums.
If any thing, we think this part, as a whole, an improvement on the last. Part 8
was, indeed, surpassing in beauty of illustration.

Dr. Butler's Atlas of Ancient Geography. Coloured Plates. Longman,

& Co.

WE hail, with delight and satisfaction, this new and revised edition of Dr. Samuel
Butler, which, to say the least of it, should be placed in the hands of every scholar.

The Martyr of Verulam and other Poems. By THOMAS RAGG, Author
of " The Deity." Second edition, revised. Longman & Co.

Mr. RAGG has sent forth a second edition of his last poem, bearing the above title.
It is useless, at this time of day, to attempt to add to the praise so generally be-
stowed upon this last of the productions of Mr. Ragg's muse. If Mr. Southey
may be trusted, as an authority upon which to found an opinion of our author's
merits, we cannot do better than repeat his words — " what Mr. Ragg has accom-
plished is surprising; an age ago it would have been thought wonderful." It may
not ne thought irr proper to remark, in this place, that, as Mr. Ragg is of Notting-
ham, and as at Nottingham there are other poets of fame and nature, we would
have both Mr. Southey and Mr. Moore pay their personal respects to Thomas
Miller, a basket maker — and what is more, a true poet. We do not believe there
exists any congeniality of feeling betwixt the poets of Nottingham — between Mr.
Ragg and Mr. Miller, none we believe betwixt Mr. Priestcraft Howitt and them.
They are opposing brothers of the trade.

Manual of Entomology, Nos 13 and 14.
THIS work proceeds with considerable spirit.

History of British Fishes, by Wm. FARRELL, F.R.S., Part 9. John Van

Vorst.

THIS is a smart number. The wood engravings are admirable. The talents of
Mr. Bonner, the wood-engraver, are employed upon this interesting history.

Winkle's Cathedrals. Illustrations of the Cathedral Church of Wells.

By THOMAS MOULB, Author of an Essay on Roman Villas, No. II.
THIS richly illustrated work continues to merit the patronage so justly awarded to
it. The present is a most interesting number.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

565

The Rambler in North America, in 1832-33. By CHARLES JOSEPH
LATROBE, author of " The Alpenstock," &c. 2 vols. pp. 336, postSvo.
R. B. Seely & W. Burnside, Fleet Street.

THIS is a work of considerable importance to our winter nights' readers. It is
one, indeed, of no less merit than interest, a series of "rambles" (and voyages)
in North America, a land of beauty and sublimity, where nature, in all her
grandeur, laughs wildly beneath the flood-gates of the golden sun of daylight
and liberty.

Our author has dedicated his work to the Phoebus of American and modern
literature — namely, Washington Irving, which, by the way, was in good taste.
The style is easy and persuasive, because it is natural ; and the narrative con-
tinues to interest as well as instruct the reader as he travels over the pages of the
Rambler. The interest is well kept up throughout the work. At page 41, vol. 1,
we have the following :

" Well may America be proud of such scenes. All bear the impress of sub-
limity. The feelings which they convey to the human mind may be less pleasing
and less definite, but they are more durable." — " One scene yet remains, which,
though you have gazed upon the Alps in all their splendid attractions of high
sublimity, and acknowledge the presence of the same feeling while floating on
the bosom of the Ocean in calm or tempest — still stands forward among these,
the world's wonders, and vies with them in claiming its degree of this attribute —
and that is Niagara : the huge step between the waters of an upper and lower
world whence the thunder of nature has echoed through the forests, and the
vapour of the great cataract has ascended for ages, like smoke from an altar
of the great Creator of All."

The Engineer's and Mechanic's Encyclopedia. By LUKE HERBERT.
Part I. Thomas Kelly.

THIS is a new, and, from what we have been able to discover, a very promising
utilitarian undertaking — a work of prodigious labour and infinite research. The
editor, who is well known as the author of " The History and Progress of the
Steam Engine," " Register of Arts and Journal of Patent Inventions," &c.,
may feel assured we shall follow him through his " Practical Illustrations of the
Machinery and Process employed in every description of Manufacture of the
British Empire," with sincere pleasure ; and most happy shall we be to add our
modicum of praise in recommendation of this ably conducted publication. The
work is well printed by Mr. Clay; the illustrations in the best style, both
wood and copper. We really congratulate Mr. Kelly upon his enterprising and
admired spirit, which we have no doubt will be amply rewarded by the reading
and scientific public. This is really a cheap, and, at the same time, a utilitarian
work, of undoubted merit and utility.

A Supplement to Captain Sir John Ross's Narrative of the Second
Voyage in the Victory, in search of a North- West Passage ; contain-
ing the Suppressed Facts necessary to a proper Understanding of the
Causes of the Failure of the Steam Machinery of the Victory, &c. &c.
By JOHN BRAITHWAITE. Chapman & Hall, 186, Strand.
THIS is a " full and particular account," as it would seem, of the cause or
causes of the failure of the machinery supplied to Captain Sir John Ross's steam-
ship, the Victory, written by the engineer, who manufactured and supplied the
same. We are bound to say Mr. Braithwaire's statement carries conviction with
its undoubted veracity. It is well written, and commands the attention of all
parties concerned or interested. Sir John should not fail to reply to this state-
ment as soon as possible.

566 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

PAMPHLETS. — By Ridgway and Sons.

THE considerations on the political state of the intermediate countries between
Persia and India, by Sterling, is a small geographical compendium, pointing out
the different passes for European armies consequent on the conquest, of India.
Imperfect as the work seems lo be, it may still become of some utility to active
leaders of «roops.

There are hardly any lemarks f< r ihe specula1 >ng politicians of Europe; still,
in the two, and only two, worthy of any notice, the author seems to flatter his
hopes rather lhan to show any argument for their support: man too easily be-
lieves what his heart w^hes to see realised. Thus, speaking of Persia, he remarks
(pages 1 and 2), that Persia is accessible to the English as well as the Russian nation.
But what is the spirit of the accessibility ? Russia has conquered and taken pos-
session of Erivan, and, indted, of the most fertile provinces of Persia, while the
influence of England iscoufu ed t > a friendly intercourse of a few insignificant
agents of the Company with th^ Arab hordes of the adjoining countries.

The second remark is couched in the words of advice. " To stifle the jealous
feelings between Russia and England on the subject of the eastern dominions,"
Mr. Sterling advises that each sta'e should define the boundaries; the Calm uc
tribes, being the rightful inheritants of Russia, and the south of the river Sihon
should be left free and uncontrolled. This line of demarcation should remain
sacred, and the responsibility for the observance of the compact should never be
violated by any party without being called to account. It would be a fair argu-
ment and a judicious advice did Persia care for the promises she gives in the
treaties, and had we not so many instances that all remonstrances against her
faithlessness have proved like the evanescing voice to the winds.

As to the Khans of Khiva, Bokhara, Andegan, &c. (pp. 75 to 78), the Englih
Goverment ought to seek their friendship and alliance, according to Mr. Sterling's
advice.

A STATEMENT of Facts, by a Resident at Constantinople, is a very excellent
pamphlet, and deserves to be read with attention, and remembered in all argu-
ments on the subject. The beginning and end are written with a particular spirit,
and every word seems happily applied to the soundness of argument. Still he
has moved merely upon the path which was pointed out by the article of which
I will speak in my next observations.

THE author of "England, France, Russia, and Turkey," must have had the best
authorities for his opinions; and they are valuable, strong, and correct in them-
selves. His knowledge of facts, and the experience drawn from the past, render
him capable to prognosticate of future events ; yet his ideas ought to be rendered
more intelligible by making them more simple. His arrangements might be also
improved upon, and the repetition of one and the same argument would be thus
avoided. As a whole, however, it is very good, and ought to be translated into
French, as it may serve to give new ideas to your transmarine allies respecting
their political position in the east.

A few Observations on Religion and Education in Ireland. By the
Rev. EDWARD STANLEY, A.M., Rector of Alderley. Ridgway and
Sons, Piccadilly; J. Swinnerton, Macclesfield.

Tins is not only a well-written, but a well-intentioned, pamphlet. The rev.
author says, very properly and truly, no doubt, at the beginning of his disquisi-
tion, that he also laboured for peace, but when he spoke to them (alluding to the
Irish Catholics, en masse, we opine) thereof, they made them ready to battle.
The rev. author, it appears, has been an eye-witness of the reported distress ex-
isting in Cunnemana, and the islands of the coast of the county of Mayo. The
gross pomps and absurd farcicalities of what is called the Catholic religion, are
"shown up" in a way calculated to impress the educated, and enlighten the com-

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 567

paralively ignorant. We really desire (although, as we have been informed, the
" Monthly " has the reputation of Con?e< vative Whig politics) to hear that this
candid mid well-intrant appeal to the highmindedness of Protestants of all ranks
and denominations, should be geneially circulated, and universally read. We
cannot help saying a word or two respecting tlte printing of this sensible publica-
tion, which is really excellent, and goes a Jong way to demonstrate how that
"sublime art" has progressed towards perfection in the provinces as well as in
the metropolis, within a few years.

ANNUALS.

The Forget Me Not. A Christmas, New Year's, and Birth- day
Present. Edited by F. Shoberl. Ackerman & Co., Ill, Strand.

THIS is a delightful visitant; and one too which will live in the memory of many
a youth of both st-xes. Those of the literati who have'contributed to its enriched
pages, are al! of the higher walks of literature, save the Ilowitts' of Nottingham 9
and we could wish they had been — sent to Coventry, instead of — the press. It
is consoling, however, to find, that Mr. Priestcraft Hewitt's name does not appear
in this chaste and beautiful work : no; only Mary Ilowut, and Richard. The
latter is a very amiable man. The contribution? of Miss Laudon and Leman
Blanchard are the most attractive; whilst those of Delta and Montgomery are
delightfully pleasing.

Jennings's Landscape Annual, or Tourist in Spain, for 1836 — Andalusia.
Dedicated to His Majesty Louis Charles, King of Bavaria, &c. &c.

THIS illustrious stranger, by far the most brilliant of the annuals we have yet
seen, comes upon us in all the majesty of new-born publication, redolent with
beauty of design, lovely delineations, splendid pictorial landscape, and other en-
gravings, graphic descriptions, etcetera. It is by far the most interesting; and,
at this period of Spanish history, cannot fail, we think, of attracting all eyes to
its brilliant pages. The •' Bull Ring," at Saville, is a most delightful picture ;
indeed, above our praise. The Rock of Gibraltar is a fine engraving; the heights
and the downs <.re admirably managed, so as to produce admirable effect. There
are many others equally attractive.

We were not a little surprised to hear from the best authority, that the capital
employed in the bringing out this elegant specimen of the arts of drawing, en-
graving, printing, &c., exceeded 5000/ ; and" that the tl Landscape Annual," which
comes properly under the denomination of a stock book — unlike its ephemeral
fraternity — sells throughout the year. We might say more, it was scarcely pos-
si ble to say less. We most heartily recommend it to both ladies and gentlemen
of condition and taste.

The Musical Keepsake : consisting of Selections, Vocal and Instru-
mental, including the Overtures and all the favourite Pieces from
Auber's Opera of Gustavus ; Donizetti's Anna Bolena j Auber's
Massaniello; and Rossini's II Barbiere di Siviglia; to which are
prefixed Five Songs, by John Barnett, composed expressly for the
Work. The whole adapted for the Piano-Forte, Harp, &c., by
Herz and John Barnett. T. Hurst, St. Paul's Churchyard.

"THE MUSICAL KEEPSAKE," will, no doubt, be well received by the lovers of
vocal and instrumental music. The name of John Barnett will have the effect of
securing the publishers a loug list of purchasers. The work is elegantly bound,
with a handsome frontispiece, and cannot fail of proving an acquisition to the
musical world.

( 568 )

NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH.

THE COMET. — Little is accurately known of comets, save that they are
very eccentric bodies; and, truly, MR. HALLEV'S (so called) has been a
practical confirmation of the fact — and nothing more! Half Europe
has been kept in a state of hot water, for the last twelve months, about
the coming comet, yet people might have saved themselves their trouble
and trepidation ; for surely no disappointment could ever be greater, more
general, or more ridiculous than that which hath been just experienced.
From the seventh of last August to the seventh of next February the
great comet was to have been visible : — that was something. On the
fifth of October it was to have been seen, beneath the paws of the great
bear, blazing away with a super-celestial splendour, perfectly terrific :
— that was grand. On the fifteenth, it would arrive at the point of its
shortest distance from this planet of ours, when, being only ninety mil-
lions of miles or so removed, nothing short of a gentle flick of its tail, or
haply a slight scorching, was to be expected : — that was sublimely terri-
ble. It was then gradually to lessen the exuberance of its brightness,
getting—

" Small by degrees, and beautifully less,"

up to the first Sunday evening after next Candlemas : — that, if we all sur-
vived, was cheering. And at this period it was, with a graceful quiver
of its tail, to bid the world good bye, till somewhere about Midsummer
of 1911 : — that was a blessing — so " hurrah for the comet!" Such
were the predictions of M. DAMOISEAU and other astronomical ready-
reckoners. What have been the facts ? August came, but no comet ;
September followed, and where was the comet ? October succeeded — has
any body seen the comet ? Anxious inquirers were told to turn their
eyes eastward to Kensington, and look to SOUTH ; South pointed to
North ; and, after much hunting, an obscure star-like something was at
length discovered in the ' far west ' — but if that was the great comet, it
had, evidently, not yet (to use the words of a journeyman carpenter,
which we one evening overheard) " turned its gas on." It was to have
pursued its course between the feet of Ursa Major — it took a nearer path,
and that right a-head ! it was to have had a tail : it had none (except
the tale that had been told of it) for a long time ; and when, indeed, it
did sprout out, the tail was on the top, a double one to boot, and both
marvellously indistinct ! — instead of the expected singeing, we have had
nothing but cold, clammy, cloudy, rainy weather, ever since its appear-
ance, (to make a figure of speech) and every living comet-hunter has
been ludicrously disappointed. In short, a more lamentable prognosti-
cation, of an indifferent reality, it were hard to conceive.

So much for penny almanacs ; cheap and cheating. O ! Francis
Moore, Francis Moore, how wast thou maligned ! hadst thou been with
us, this sorry deception had scarcely been !

NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH, 569

QUALIFICATION TEST. — From a schedule published in a Macclesfield
paper, of the houses in that borough, it appears that there are rated

at from £ 1 0 upwards 417 houses

from £5 to £10 422 -

at £5 and under 4385 •

so that out of a population of 5224 householders, a little better than
one thirteenth only has the privilege of voting for members of parliament.
Now, if property be the test of a man's eligibility, i. e. moral fitness, to
choose such honest, wise, and worthy representatives, as shall be the best
guarantee of the safety and welfare of the kingdom, it follows that the
Macclesfield people have been wilfully or accidentally cheated out of a
great right : — namely, the benefit of a voice which is now mute. As-
suming the standard of a £10 qualification to be the soundest that could
be established, it seems that, as 4385 times £5 make £21925 — multiply
the houses by the rent in round terms — we have here, at Macclesfield,
(waiving the middle item) property equivalent to 2192 good and indi-
pendent votes, which are totally unembodied! — and as it is in Maccles-
field, so also may it be in other towns. What a loss to the common
weal, then, is this ! what an appalling oversight, or what an abominable
fraud !

We are perfectly sensible of the extreme difficulty of discovering a
safe qualification test, but if property be to be the criterion, let it ! but
let it at least be fully and unequivocally so. The plan by which we
should be disposed to rectify the blunder, or the worse than blunder,
just made manifest, is, that wherever property exists, in no matter how
many hands, two, or any given number of persons who can club together
the requisite qualification, should be allowed to vote as one per-
son ; providing, of course, they all unanimously concur in opinion. By this
means the actual advantage of all property will become apparent, and be
made available for the universal good. This notable crotchet would have
been long ago propounded by the Conservatives had they thought it would
have served their turn.

THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE. — We understand, upon authority which
may not be disputed, that, whenever a dissolution of parliament comes
to pass, it is the resolute determination of the master spirit of "the Age"
to oppose that indefatigable pamphleteer, and member for all England,

Mr. Junius Roebuck. Why Mr. , standing as he does in society,

should, in his efforts to become an " honourable gentleman," have chosen
a Bath for his first plunge ; or why, of all men and members, he should
have fixed on the unhappy Junius for victimization, is more than we have
learned — but the fact is as we have stated it. The scribe in question
had better prepare for the coming contest in time ; for were he to lose
his present seat for that ancient and independent borough, he might,
possibly, indite three-ha'penny tracts from July to eternity, ere he se-
cured his return for another.

LIBERALITY OF THE CLERGY. — The Bishop of St. Asaph, at his late
audit, had the generosity to deduct 10 per cent, from the amount of

570 NOTBS AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH.

tithes, receivable by him ; and, as this reduction was unsolicited and
unexpected by the tithe-payers, the liberal conduct of his Lordship has
been much vaunted by the church-in-danger people. But, without
making any detracting insinuation, we would desire to know whether
the clergy have any right to make such gratuitous deductions. Tithes,
we are told, are an imposition upon the laity, intended not only for the
support of the clergy, but for providing that body with a fund from
which donative distributions might be made among the necessitous
brethren of the several churches, at the discretion of the dispensers. So
that these liberal deductions (handsome as they appear in print) are, in
reality, either a positive loss to the needy of the flock, or a proof that the
clergy are in receipt of a greater share of the wages of unrighteouness
than they actually require for the support of their calling : and it does
really seem to us that, if tithes be of the divine ordinance, and appointed
for the purposes which the dignitaries of the church would fain teach us
to believe, the clergy have no more right to abridge, modify, or release
the payment of tithes, in part, or in whole, than the tithe debtors would
have in refusing its payment altogether. The " liberality" in question
already originates a wrong ; by whom is it done, and who is the sufferer ?

INDEPENDENCE OP THIS BAR.— The conflicts which occasionally take
place between the Bench and Counsel, at some of the minor metropolitan
courts, are sorely disgusting ; the parties not only disgrace themselves
in the estimation of all right-thinking persons, but bring into contempt
the seat of justice itself. It may appear, to a barrister, vastly inde-
pendent to bully and defy a high civil functionary to his face ; but the
temerity bespeaks very bad taste, and great native vulgarity : it may
appear, also, to the court a very dignified leniency to sit quiescent under
virulent attacks ; but such patience, though estimable enough in the pri-
vate character of a conscientious man, comports not with the respect
which is publicly due to his office. We blame both parties : first, and
particularly, the advocate, whose insolence gets the better of his discre-
tion ; and, secondly, the court, for submitting to an insult, gratuitously
offered to the King's Majesty, whose presence, by a fiction of law, is at
all times supposed. If a judge be incompetent, partial, or unjust, a per-
sonal insult is not the fitting rebuke, neither is it a means of repairing a
wrong done to the public service ; a simple representation of the fact, to
a superior tribunal, would rectify that error. Or should his manners
be haughty, discourteous, or revolting, public opinion would soon
impart a better tone to them, without the intervention of open contempt
on the part of a hot-headed barrister. A white horse-hair wig, and a
black silk gown, are no justification to a person for behaviour within the
walls of a law-court, which would insure his expulsion from private society :
and, whilst we despise the advocate who could so misdemean himself,
we cannot chuse but blame the court (or rather its personal representative),
who can passively endure the indignity without taking instant measures
to redress such an outrage, by inflicting, on the malapert, summary
punishment.

These exhibitions, indeed, are most common at the sessional courts :
and when they do occur, the chief performers are not many. Fortunate

NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH. 571

it is that such is the case, for half-a-dozen more of these ' Bully Bottoms'
would convert a hall of justice into a tennis-court — judge, jury, tipstaves,
prisoners, and witnesses, all in high melee together. As it is, indeed,
the moral decencies are sometimes sadly at discount, for when the Bench
is bearded, with as little ceremony as the culpr it in the dock would be,
both by insulting language and gestures more insulting still, it is not
very likely that those who happen to he present can entertain any great
reverence for the court, or be impressed with the solemnity with which
it ought to be invested.

In the superior courts, such scenes are very rare ; and if it has hap-
pened that a great sweeping authority, more eminent as a politician than
as an expounder of the statutes, was made the peg whereon a disappointed
unit or two hung their peccant humours, the ill-feeling was expressed,
nevertheless, in a manner which any gentleman, in the sullens, might be
generously forgiven for. Either he was brought to his senses by the
learned friends about him ; or, if his peevishness was very grievous, he
selected some other court for practice : but there was nothing of that
bow-wow barking impudence, and swaggering vulgarity, which certain
members of the profession are somewhat overmuch fond of displaying,
on slight occasions, elsewhere.

Barristers do sometimes take censurable licences — admitted, but we
believe that the bar, generally considered, is distinguished for great
earning, correct feeling, and a high sense of honour ; it is the uniformly
dignified bearing of the majority, which places the unseemly conduct of
the few in such striking and disgraceful contrast. As an illustration of
the effect produced by the mistermed independence of the bar, alluded
to, we may mention the retort of an angry mother, who was cuffing her
daughter for insolence — " Sa'cy, Mrs. Simson, lord bless 'e ! the hussy's
as sa'cy as a Hole-Bailey Couns'lor."

These remarks are founded upon a scene which occurred not many
days ago, at one of the Criminal Courts, where the " sa'ciness," as Mrs.
Simson's gossip calls it, was remarkably caustic. But fame such as
this is, surely, not glory.

POLITICAL ORATORY. — The dinner speeches at the Bristol festival in
honour of Lord John Russell were " expressed" to town at the rate of
fifteen miles an hour, and the Times felt itself called upon to express its
thanks to the various postmasters on the road for the unparalleled
celerity which, by their efforts, was afforded to the dispatches.
Very creditable to the postmaster's horse-flesh, and to the gratitude of
the once leading journal of Europe. After all the contemptuousness
shown towards " little Lord John" by the hireling press, does it not
seem strange that any extraordinary means should have been used to
publish an account of " the feed," or that the words spoken by so puerile
a being, as the Tories affect to consider him, should be of any supposed
value to the public ? But the anxiety shown to furnish a supply, pretty
clearly infers the urgency of the demand. Any speech of Lord John
Russell's is looked for and listened to by the people of England with
deep anxiety, and the Conservative newsmongers know it full well ; so
well, indeed, that arrangements are made at any cost to secure even a
fractional report of the proceedings with an expedition exceeding the

572 NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH.

rate of posting of any potentate's courier in Europe ! And in the same
breath that these simple, spluttering bodies give vent to their gratitude
for the mighty achievement, they seek to throw odium on his Lordship
for the crime of being personally little ! O'Connell is abused for being
big ; Lord John for being little ; the other leading liberals for being
neither — good taste, sound argument, and irrefragable proofs of the po-
litical incompetency of the Whigs !

Lord John Russell makes no pretensions to oratory, but there is, ne-
vertheless, an eloquence in all his speeches more commanding, and every
way more influential, than all the Tamworth flourishes put together ; it
is the eloquence of practical common sense, addressed to a reasoning and
matter-of-fact people, who want not their ears tickled, but their minds
rationally satisfied ; and this his Lordship accomplishes without the aid
of florid fustian, or a tissue of jingling, carefully-cropped, words meaning
this, that, or any thing, according to the listener's construction. His
speeches are unmistakeable, plain, straightforward, English declarations,
which every body can understand and every body likes — except the cor-
ruptionists, of course. Let any impartial man read over the speech of
Sir William Follett at Exeter, and contrast with it that of Lord John
Russell at Clifton : in the one he shall have an able, well-digested,
subtle, and lawyer-like piece of declamation, generally condemnatory of
the shocking Whigs ; in the other, a masterly exposition of the plans of
government for the welfare of the people, and a calm denial of dishonesty
which carries conviction to every unperverted mind. Apart from the
speakers as individuals, which address do the people care most about —
that which gave another " lift" to a rising orator, or that which gave
confidence to the country ?

RAPHAEL'S CARTOON. — The grand painting in distemper (not by our an-
cient friend Urbino, but by a redoubtable namesake of his) has excited the
liveliest attention of the political critics, who, ever since its first exhibi-
tion, have been canvassing its design, grouping, colouring, general com-
position, and effect, with an avidity proportioned to the interest and
a skilfulness equal to both. Any work on such a subject could provoke no
less at any time ; but at the present, sated as the public mind is with
full-lengths, half-lengths, kit-cats, caricatures, portraits, and limnings of
the trite studies which have so long engaged the genius of our politico-
literary artists, the subject of the new cartoon, were it only for its novelty,
was sure to command a large measure of speculation and some gratitude.

The picture has been criticised, of course, according to the peculiar
bias which elementary education has imparted : — those of the Whig
school of painting seeing little in it to challenge particular investigation,
whilst those of the Tory school, on the contrary, profess to discover in
the work, its details, handling, tone, perspective, and distribution of
shade, much to engage a rigorous and elaborate notice. The artist has
certainly treated his subject with some skill. The event portrayed is
apocryphal, and he has therefore judiciously sketched in the principal
figure with an indistinctness of outline that leaves much to the imagina-
tion of the beholder. Though it occupies, necessarily, the foreground,
yet the light thrown upon it is subdued and misty to a fault ; the cir-
cumjacent accessories, to be sure, are so arranged as to give a truculent

NOTES AND EVENTS OP THE MONTH. 573

character to the attitude and contour of his hero (manifestly designed to
supply the defect of outline) ; and the background and mid- distance are
thoroughly enveloped in darkness. In this contrivance we discover the
chief point which tells in the work ; a Rembrandt-like effect is produced
—a spot of light amidst a mass of blackness — which helps the interest
and deepens the charm of mystery. Nevertheless, we do not think
that the production will either become a lasting favourite with the pub-
lic, or contribute to the painter's reputation. The drawing is harsh, and
singularly unequal, the handling unsteady, and the colouring, though
designedly dark, is cloudy, muddled, and infelicitously laid on — as though
the artist had employed a dirty brush ; indeed, the greenish* tint which
prevails throughout the composition detracts from the imposing effect
which grandeur of guilt, whenever well delineated, is" sure to convey.
There is, in truth, nothing F^or-ous in the whole composition ; but a ge-
neral and ludicrously apparent flatness every where predominates. Our
own opinion is that the painter is unequal to the task he has undertaken,
and we are borne out in this suspicion by the general glazing and redun-
dancy of varnish he has had recourse to by way of concealing certain
conscious defects of drawing and colouring. The work, we believe,
was painted on commission, but it is doubtful if ever he will be repaid
for the loss of trouble and materiel that have been expended.

JUSTICE'S JUSTICE. — The chairman of the Middlesex Sessions has
made another " mistake." Not long ago the worshipful Bench, under
that learned person's presidentship, appointed a whole calendar of delin-
quents to various exercises for the benefit of their health and morals,
when it was suddenly and just in time discovered, that a little juridicial
precipitancy nullified the whole of the sentences ; in other words, that
those expounders of the law had been expounding with illegal celerity.
That was a sad enough blunder of "judgment" in very truth, and not
a little humiliating. One might have reasonably supposed [that, made
cautiously wise by unpleasant experience, and with the remembrance of
such a mishap staring them in the face, nothing supereminently rash
would have speedily occurred again ; but, 'Las-a-day ! a second blunder
has just been perpetrated, more fatally hurtful to their reputation than
the first. The learned chairman (in his own name, some say, though,
strictly speaking, in the name of his worshipful colleagues — for, judicially
considered, he was nobody if he were not their organ) has been ap-
pending his name to reports highly deregatory to the character of His
Majesty's goal of Newgate ! which gaol being specially under the super-
vision of the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of the good city of London,
some of that excellent body took occasion to repel the alleged slander,
with befitting promptitude and indignation. What was the consequence ?
The worshipful chairman before mentioned, taking immediate umbrage,
thereat, and considering that the impugned Bench ought to require
gentlemanly satisfaction, at the hands of the impugning Bench ; and
furthermore considering that a passage of arms between all the civic

* There may be some extenution in this particular ; the subject is essentially un-
palateable, and he should have exclusively confined himself to chalks.

574 NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH.

magistrates on the one side, and all the sessional Solons on the other, migh
be attended with inconveniences, deemed it his duty, as the commander"
in-chief of his own troops, to send off a gauntlet of defiance to the
comman-der-in-chief of the other forces, and invite him to mortal com-
bat— just as two mighty men of valour were wont, in the days of chi-
valry, to call off their respective troops, and determine the issue by a
single tilt ! The unknightly result, so far as it goes, is matter of history.
Now, was not this a very droll attempt at jousting ? Had you and we,
dear reader, come to a misunderstanding, and been blockheads enough
to meditate a fracture of the king's peace, the worshipful challenger in
question would, as a magistrate, have had no compunctious visitings of
honour, or of conscience, to hold us both to bail, as attempting viola-
tions of the laws. Knowing the law, and admitting it to be just and
sacred, by dispensing the law as it exists, he would fix upon us, by his
judgment, the aspersion of aplanned infraction of it; and have putus, more-
over, to the expense and trouble of breaking the peace of his most
Christian Majesty King Louis Phillippe, or of Leopold I. of Belgium,
because we could not break King William's. But here we find a justice
of the peace, declaring in his own person, and by his own acts, that the
law is unjust, and unfit to be recognised by any gentleman of sensitive
feelings ! What an authority for the King's lieges ! If a person in the
commission of the peace may engage himself in the commission of war,
surely you and we, gentle reader, ought to be allowed a game of bullets with
impunity. Or is it to be inferred that men of law may be lawless in their
right? expounders to others of laws which themselves maycontemn,break,
abuse,and throwto the winds for dogs to bark at. We believe Mr. Rotch
to be a high-minded and most honourable man, and do not doubt that he
will crave permission to withdraw his name from the roll of magistrates and
vacate his seat as chairman — for what an absurd thing would it be in the
eyes of the public, and how perplexing to his own feelings, were he called
upon, after this affair, to sentence some cuffing, gamesome, street brawler
to the tread-wheel, as a punishment, for breaking the king's peace !

Is THE DUELLO LAWFUL ?— After all, it seems that Mr. Rotch may be
right. At the sittings in Banco at Westminister, the Lord Chief Justice
(Denman) lately pronounced the opinion of the court, upon a case, which
leaves the question of law as uncertain as ever. The Attorney- general
had obtained a rule calling on the defendant to shew cause why a criminal
information should not be filed against him, for having endeavoured to in-
cite the prosecutor to fight a duel ; and Sir William Follett having, on
the part of the defendant, shewn cause, by a detail of severe provocations,
the court were of opinion that " the rule ought to bemade absolute ; for,
however great the provocation, the door of a public court of Law [the
offensive words had been used to the prosecutor while standing at the
door of the Nisi Prius court at Exeter] was not the place where it should
be resented, or an explanation demanded in a tone of defiance. There
were other places where such a step should be taken!" Thus it would
appear, from the dictum of a Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench,
giving voice to the concurrent opinion of the other judges, in conclave as-
sembled that it is competent to any person to provoke another to a duel,

NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH. 575

he can, provided the provocation be not offered within the precincts of a
Law Court ; which (and which only ?) renders him liable to a criminal
action at law. Here again, then, we have the Judges versus the Law.
Really, this is too provoking. Is law law ? is it to be abided by ? may it
be infringed ? in what cases ? by whom ? are there places of sanctuary,
where timid people may receive insults without losing caste, by re-
senting them in a certain way ? is it penal for a man to be a man of
honour ? is it legal to break the laws ? which of them ? when ? how ?
and to what extent ? Surely, it is not too much to require this necessary
information : and we pause for an opinion from the twelve Judges.

ALIMENT FOR THE POOR. — There has been a great deal of talk, lately,
by and about one of the metropolitan vestries, upon the subject of pauper
provender. It appears from a very nicely digested estimate, that the
able-bodied poor may be maintained by a parish, at the rate of fifteen -
penceh-a'penny per stomach per day — no, not per day, we beg pardon,
per week — which of course reduces the diurnal expenditure to twopence
half-farthing ; the number in ounces of fluid and solid nutriment — bread
and broth in several luxurious varieties — being carefully stated, so as to
enable other figurative overseers, in other parishes, to check the total
summation if they will. It also appears, that the poor-law commis-
sioners, upon becoming acquainted with this fact, felt themselves scan-
dalously outraged by such a piece of wilful and flagrant extravagance,
against which, moved by a proper spirit of economy, they determined
resolutely to set their faces. Whereupon the incensed overseers of the
parish alluded to, took it upon themselves to declare before their rate-
paying constituents in solemn vestry assembled, the sore wound which
their own humanity had sustained by the stinting interdiction of the said
commissioners, and appealed to the meeting, whether, as men and free-
born Britons, as fathers, husbands, and brothers, they would countenance
such shocking illiberality as that contemplated by the board ? Loud and
indignant cries of shame and other vocal missiles, were launched against
this spirit of parsimony ; and the meeting, much to its own honour,
testified alike its detestation of short commons and its approbation of the
Samaritan-like sympathy displayed by their fifteen- penny overseers —
who, accordingly, came off with flying colours.

It is not our intention, as it never could be our desire, to bring into
contempt the efforts of the Poor-law Board ; and we expect nothing less
than the most kindly and liberal construction will be placed on our ob-
servations. But we do thinkthat, forasmuch as the objectof the legislature,
in appointing it, was avowedly to save parochial expenses, it would be
more manly and straightforward, more strictly in accordance with the
spirit of the act — cot to approach in these slow degrees the actual starving
point ; but at once, and by a bold practice (as the doctors call it) to
reach the goal of intention by mercifully starving the wretched creatures
out of hand. This would spare them the miseries of suspense, and
effect an entire saving to every parish in a surprisingly short time ;
all parties — paupers, rate-payers, and commissioners, would speedily
attain the common object ; the sufferings of the poor would be promptly
determined, parishioners would save their money, the central board its

576 NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH.

labours, and government will then have solved one of the most trouble-
some problems which have puzzled the heads of many dozens of politi-
cal economists.

But, alas ! there exists in this country (especially among the Conserva-
tives) a very extensive and a very inveterate dislike to all change in
regularly established institutions ; and, perhaps, it is rather too much to
expect, that so abrupt a conclusion to official labours as the one just
hinted at would be suffered. Well, then, as it is the attribute of great
minds not to create difficulties, but to overcome them, we have advice
to tender, even under the slow and sure system. It is well known that
leather contains a large portion of nutriment — either of farina or gelatine,
or both, we forget — which might be made easily and cheaply available
as food for the support of our pauper population. Now when we con-
sider the myriads of half-worn-out shoes (soles as well as upper leathers)
that are cast away by improvident people in the course of one year, it
must be instantly plain that a very shameful waste is permitted in an
article applicable to one of the grandest objects which can engage the
labour of man, namely — the extrication of human food from surrounding
substances ! Need we say another word ? We are not writing an essay,
and are content, therefore, to leave the suggestion to keen-witted and
intelligent overseers — with this simple declaration, however : that we
will undertake to demonstrate the fact that there will be found as much,
if not more, of nutritive matter in " thirteen ounces," (the official modi-
cum) of shoe-soup, as in many of those usually prepared for similar
purposes. Let no one be startled at the novelty of the aliment and
thence doubt its aptitude — gas was doubted on its first introduction !
The digestive apparatus of paupers, be it remembered, is proverbially in
good condition, and a decoction of shoes, boots, &c., would make very
excellent chyle — that is to say, quite good enough for the ordinary wants
of such persons. A little attention should of course be paid to the removal
of dirt and other impurities from the raw material before submitting it
to the culinary process ; but on no account ought hob or other nails
to be withdrawn. Most preparations of iron are strengthening, and the
diet in such cases would thus exert not only a tonic and sedative influence
upon the stomach, but be at the same time its own condiment. Gloves,
saddle-seats, buckskin smalls, &c. are equally appropriate, of course. We
desire to arrogate no undue degree of credit for this suggestion. We
once heard of a respectable person (Scotch or Irish, we forget which)
who out of six shillings a week supported himself, a wife, and five
healthy children — and saved money ! Shoe-soup was the favourite diet of
the family !

These remarks, we trust, will not be misconstrued ; we desire to stand
well with all parties. We concur with the commissioners in deeming
the purvey of the fifteen-penny overseers highly objectionable ; we con-
cur with the overseers in deprecating an insufficient allowance of food to
the poor. We blame nobody, and heartily pity the necessitous..

NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH. 571

IMMORALITY OF Mu.sic. — It is a pleasant thing to behold the pious
alarms which move the magistracy of this happy (but alas ! sinful) land,
in their zeal to discourage the abominations which encompass us round
about. Praise and honour to them, according to their deserts ! for
verily their disinterestedness equalleth their sagacity. It is known to
those whom most it concerns, that a certain period in the year is set
apart for granting, renewing, or withholding, the claims and petitions of
sundry loyal lieges, cognominated Tavern-keepers, who, instigated by a ge-
nerous spiritto cater for the public amusement, or by some other motive, seek
permission to make the public heart glad, by means of music, miming,
and other pleasantries. This period — vernacularly called Licensing-day
— has just passed, and if the prayers of many have been denied, yet,
surely, the hearty anxiety displayed by their Worships, the licensing
magistrates, to preserve unscathed the morals of thoughtless cockneys,
must soothe the asperities of the disappointed, and be a voucher to the
pure in spirit, of righteous intentions, on the part of the (lesser) powers
that be.

Among many of these worthy rulers it is the well-assured conviction
that music hath that in it which leadeth to the road whose goal is
destruction — and that it is the guileful charm of the charmer who
tempteth that he may devour — the serpent, in short, of Adam's day,
which, now embodied in harmonic sounds, wriggleth guilt into the heart
of man, through the unfast gate of his auricular organs — that is to say,
of the poor man, for riches have a neutralizing power and a resisting,
which the needy know not of. Tuneful sounds, so it is deemed, by
tickling the ear, conduce to a herding together of men and women in
unseemly community; for wheresoever such sounds be rife, thither
gathereth the multitude, and evil must of needs be where the many are
congregated — clearly proving that sinfulness hath a sharp ear for music,
and delighteth in melody with an exceeding great delight. This is a
mournful acknowledgment of a fact, which the vulgar comprehended
never before — that so it is, we have the testimony of a worshipful Bench,
whom to doubt were to wrong grievously.

Long time, and assiduously, have these magistrates striven to interpose
a shield of protection between melody and the multitude, but as yet
their success hath not corresponded with the effort ; and it is very greatly
to be feared, that in this age of innovation, the barrier will ere long be
broken down with the strong arm of a benighted generation. Time was
— a time of golden days ! — when honest citizens were wont to be con-
tent with the solemn grindings of a street organ, from whose groanings
and squeakings, in dreadful diapason, no alacrity of sinful imaginings
was to be feared. But now, alas! our streets are infested with
gangs of minstrels, singing men and singing women, players on
harp and oboe, trumpet, timbrel, flute, and sackbut, viol, clarion,
and bugle — wanderers, cunning in their craft, the chosen of
Satan, by whose instrumentation he designeth to cajole the virtuous
into iniquity, concerting his attacks in concertos, making overtures in
overtures, and triumphing by the score ! Now and anon, indeed, an old,
rusty, distempered, flatulent organ may be heard growling forth hideous
sounds (which bear some remote analogy to the old hundrelh, possibly,
or if not that, to nothing else), making more miserable the miserable

M.M.— No. 12. 3 Z

572 NOTES AND EVENTS OF THE MONTH.

being behind it : it is, however, a rare occurrence, because of the intol-
erance of deluded ears, which abide not its outpourings gratefully — so
hath the race become well nigh extinct ! Yea, even the little, lazy, vaga-
bond Savoyard boys, abandoning their whirring hurdy-gurdies, have now
betaken themselves to upright cabinets, French-polished, bedizened with
brass scrolls, and puckered taffety; and, grinning white-teethed smiles,
to their wild and pleasant measures, the while, set the hearts a-dancing of
all who heed them — the very police, (new no longer) charmed out of their
strict orders to put music down by taking the machines up ! These are
fearful truths, that make pious hearts bleed, — as well they may. Yet,
amid this besetting depravity of our times, it is consolatory and comfort-
able to ponder upon the exertions of philanthropy, and to think how
perfect the world would become were our moralists of the Bench, on the
one hand, and those precious servitors and chosen vessels in the Lord,
on the other, (of whom Saint Andrew, in the Senate, is the living voice,
at once, and ornament) to have it all their own way, in the guidance of
the public body and soul.

I DRINK TO THEE!
ANACREONTIC, No, 2.
. C. 33. TOOtfon.

I DRINK to thee ! belov'd and dear,

Girl of my heart ! I drink to thee !
While cups are brimm'd to beauty, here

I pledge thee deep — in memory !
When friends are met — and round the board

Quaff wishes kind, mid mirth and glee,
Safe treasur'd, like the miser's hoard,

My silent heart shall drink to thee !

Thou art a gem, too pure to name

Mid the wild revel's boist'rous throng !
I would not have thy maiden fame

Echo'd, the festal board along !
I drink to thee, belov'd and dear !

And long and deep the draught shall be ;
But, guarded from mirth's sullying sneer,

Within my heart the pledge shall be !

There, thou shalt have a fitter shrine

Than mid the banquet's noisy din ; —
Nor be the worshipp'd saint, where wine

Blushes the circling cup within !
Let others pledge to beauty here,

Thy name, they'll ask in vain from me ;
Too sacred 'tis for mirth's rude ear —

My heart alone shall drink to thee !

( 573 )

AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

I AM of opinion that nothing can be more remote from the truth, nothing more
ridiculous, than to talk of the Commercial Prosperity of the country at a moment
when the Agricultural Interest labours under unparalleled depression j the latter
may be regarded as the basis of the former; and therefore, when the one is very
sickly, the other cannot enjoy genuine health. It is true, much bustle may be ob-
served in the commercial world, and much business may be transacted also ; but,
since the circulating medium of the country was not merely crippled, but reduced
to comparative nothingness, by Peel's Bill, the profits arising from commercial trans-
actions have become reduced far below the fair renumerating average. The
same cause has operated in the same way in the manufacturing districts; where
we perceive the smaller manufacturers swept away, the business thrown into the
hands of the greater capitalists, and the wages of the workman reduced to so scanty
a pittance as scarcely to afford him the means of a miserable existence.

The enormous demands made upon the resources of the country by the late
war, produced a factitious state of things: the necessaries of life rose in price
beyond all precedent, beyond the utmost stretch of all anticipation : the land-
holders, therefore, raised their rents, and the cultivators of the soil cheerfully sub*
milted to the increased demand, conscious of their capacity to discharge the obliga-
tion. While the progress of the late war raised the price of the productions of the
ground beyond all calculation, commerce was monopolized, to a very great extent,
by this country, and, on the whole, a degree of seeming prosperity pervaded
every ramification of trade and commerce, which has since been followed by the
most disastrous consequences. — Peace and Prosperity ought to go hand in hand ;
but, no sooner was the sword returned to its scabbard, than the industry of this
country was energetically met by foreigners, and our commercial monopoly,
which had been cemented with rivers of blood, crumbled to pieces. A decline in
businesss became perceptible immediately ; yet, things might have been let down
to their natural level without incurring that terrific havoc which has marked the
retrocession caused by the ruinous monetary measure above mentioned. Exten-
sive circulating medium, and extensive credit, the one the natural consequence of
the other, were indispensable in order to support the declining business of the
country, which the violent outrage committed by Peel on the currency contracted
most ruinously.

From this period, the agricultural interest, which had been on the wane ever
since the conclusion of the war, declined with fearful rapidity ; and from that
factitious state of things, which raised the price of the bushel of wheat to thirty
shillings, we have arrived at a period when the average price of this indispensable
article of human existence scarcely reaches five shillings, or one sixth of the
maximum just mentioned ! Of what avail, therefore, is it to the agriculturist to talk
of the promising appearance of his crops, since no crop which it is possible for
the ground to produce, can afford him a subsisting remuneration.

While such is the state of things in this country, we find that the late harvest
proved abundant all over Europe : the price of corn, therefore, is lower in the
markets of our continental neighbours even than that which rules in this country.
However, as regards the prospect of the newly-sown wheat, generally speaking,
the weather has been propitious; and though some raw harsh frosty winds occurred
towards the middle of last month, the young wheats were not in a state to sustain
injury from their chilling influence or operation. Corn was brought to the sickle
at an earlier period than usual ; and therefore the seed was got into the ground
accordingly, and had time to take a firm hold on those friable lands found
in some parts of Oxfordshire and other places, before the commencement of the

571 AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

equinoctial gales, which frequently make such havoc under other circumstances ;
that is, when seed-lime has happened so late that the tender sprouts were not
sufficiently rooted in the earth.

An early harvest can scarcely fail to produce a good seed-time for wheat, because
it enables the husbandman to take advantage of the weather ; but, although an early
sowing-time is suitable for most parts of the kingdom, for the midland and southern
counties in particular, it is not found to answer so well in Lancashire. Ifwhe.it
be sown unusually early in the Palatinate just mentioned, it gets too forward prior
to the winter, and suffers very much if that season happen to be severe. It is a
common observation amongst the laborious farmers of Lancashire, that they do
•* not like two summers upon their wheat," alluding to the fine weather which
frequently occurs at the latter end of the month of October and the beginning of
November : if the wheat be well up before Christmas, they are satisfied : the land
is principally a light sandy black soil. On the stiffclays of the county of Chester,
on those of Yorkshire, Leicestershire, &c., wheat can scarcely be sown too soon.

Thepotatoe crops in Lancashire (where this highly useful vegetable is cultivated
more extensively, and attains much greater perfection, than in any part of the
kingdom,) failed very much in the years 1833 and 1834, owing, beyond all
question, to keeping the same ground too long under the plough and the potatoe
fork : the present year has scarcely produced a fair average crop ; but abundantly
sufficient to supply the market, as the price would scarcely average eighteen pence
per bushel of 85 or 90 Ibs. The war price was seldom under three shillings, and
occasionly reached seven. The farms in Lancashire are small, the cultivators of
the ground are a very hard-working industrious race ; and as, owing to the very
numerous population of this county, and the many large towns which it contains,
a ready sale is experienced for the minor productions of the garden, the farmers
are enablefl to meet the pecuniary demands made upon them more easily than the
same class of persons in other parts of the kingdom.

The Grazier and the Dairyman have not suffered in the same proportion as the
Agriculturist, as beef and mutton, as well as cheese and butter, have not ex-
perienced so great a depression of price as every kind of grain without exception.

The heat and uncommon dryness of the weather which characterized the summer
of the present year, and particularly the latter end of it, proved injurious to the
turnip crops ; more so than to mangel wurtzel ; while the aftermath was unable
to make its appearance till a period too late to render that essential utility which
is generally derived from it. All that fine grazing country on the north western
side of Northamptonshire, as well as the grass lands from this county to the banks
of the Trent in Derbyshire, suffered severely from the excessive drought which oc-
cured at the latter end of the summer.

The grazier may perhaps be enabled to procure the means of existence by the
present price of his produce ; but I must honestly confess I can discern no pros-
pect of bettering the condition of the agriculturist, unless the expenses of govern-
ment, and the interest of the national debt, were reduced in some degree of
proportion to the descent which has been experienced in the various ramifications
of busy life Peel's bill, while it reduced the cultivator of the soil to beggary,
nearly tripled the property of the fund holder ; and, consequently, enhanced the
enormous sum bequeathed to the originator of this baneful measure by his father,
precisely in the same manner ! Is this consistent with reason and justice ?

I well recollect observing, some years ago, the persevering efforts made to
cultivate many of the moorlands of the north, even half way up the dreary hills ;
I well recollect their return to moorlands on the decline in the price of grain.
Of the policy of the corn laws, I was always inclined to doubt, and at length we
have arrived at such a state, that, notwithstanding the most ample legal restrictions,
the price of agricultural produce will scarcely pay for the cultivation of the land,
to leave rent altogether out of the question. No legal enactment, however, of this
description, can reach the source of the disease, and consequently no permanent
cure can be expected : indeed, temporary excitement cannot be thus produced.
The commercial prosperity of the country is frequently rung in our ears; yet the

AGRICULTURAL REPORT. 575

paradox is presented to our eyes, of bread being offered at a price immeasurably
low, and the labouring classes of the community, the busy instruments of the
commercial prosperity, unable to purchase sufficient to supply the cravings of
nature !

The price of wheat, may be regarded as a criterion of every other grain : thus,
if we take the price of wheat at five shillings, barley may be quoted a trifle
more than 3s. 6d.j while oats are under 3s. Beans have, for many months,
supported the best comparative prices of agricultural produce, and may be quoted
at the present moment, at 4s. 6d. or 4s. 9d. per bushel. Hay and straw are low in
price, and experience a dull sale. In the London markets, coarse meadow hay
finds a sluggish sale, at from 56s. to 65s. per load of 36 trusses. Good average
qualities from 70s. to 75s.

The Butter Market is brisk ; good fresh butter experiences a ready sale at 12s.
per 12!bs. — Inferior quality in proportion.

Inferior Beef (in the London markets) fetches from 2s. to 2s. 2d. per stone of
81b. by the carcass : prime do. 2s. 6d. to 2s. lOd.

Inferior Mutton from 2s. 2d. to 2s. 4d. : Prime do. from 3s. to 3s. 4d.

Veal 2s. lOd. to 4s. 6d.

Large Pork 2s. 6d. to 3s. : Small do. from 3s. lOd. to 4s. 4d.

The Woollen Trade has been in a favourable state for some time back ; but, we
are sorry to observe, has exhibited a trifling decline of late.

ExcLiSH.--The attention of the trade has been almost entirely absorbed by the
heavy sales by auction which have taken place in London during the early part of
last month. Prices being understood to have been well supported, holders calculate
upon being able to maintain their quotations. The amount of business lately has been
limited. — Per Ib. — Combing fleeces, 17d to 17^d ; Down ewes and wethers, 15£d to
; ditto tegs, 19d to 20d ; super, skin, I5£d to 16£d ; head ditto, 13£d to

SCOTCH. — We have to report a steady business in most descriptions of Scotch Wool.
Perhaps not quite so much done in Laid Highland, as some weeks ago. Without
any advance, prices continue quite firm, and there is a general feeliug, that if prices
continue steady, a good and permanent business may be expected.

per stone of 24 Ibs

Laid Highland Wool, from 10s Odto 10s 6d

White do. do 13s 9d 14s 6d

Laid Crossed do 13s Od 14s Od

Washed do. do Us 6d 16s Od

Laid Cheviots do 14s Od Ids Od

Washed do. do , 18s 6d 30s 6d

White do. do 28s Od 20s Od

IRISH. — Prices have improved, but there is little doing. — Per Ib. — Irish fleeces,
mixed lots, 15£d jo 16^d; ditto wethers, I4fd to 15^-d ; ditto hogs, 17£d to 18d ;
ditto combing skin, I4^d to 15£d ; ditto short skin, I4d to 15£d.

FOREIGN. — There has been little doing in foreign wools. — Pr Ib. — Odessa, fine, 2s
to 3s 6"d ; Portugal R, 16d to 18d ; Portugal, low marks, l'2d to 14d ; Spanish II,
2s 6d to 2s 9d ; Spanish F S, 2s 2d to 2s 4d ; German fleeces, 2s 2d to 2s 6d j Ger-
man assorted, 2s 6d to 2s 9d ; German lambs, 2s 6d to 3s 6d ; New South Wales,
2s 3d to 2s lOd ; Russian wool, 8dto 9d ; Buenos Ayres, 4d to 5d ; Mogadore and
Barhary, 4|d todd.

( 576 )

LITERARY ANNOUNCEMENTS.

WE are happy to learn that a work, in 2 vols., entitled " Fame, with
other Sketches, to which are added Gleanings from the Portfolio of a
Poet," from the pen of Mrs. Cornwell Baron- Wilson, is in the press, and
will appear early in the ensuing month.

The Volume of the Affections, or Bridal Offering, by the editor of My
Daughter's, and Young Gentleman's Books, will be ready for publication
on the 28th of December.

In the press, and shortly will be published, "The Literary Remains
of Samuel Taylor Colebridge," vols. I and II. edited (with the permis-
sion of Mr. Coleridge's executor) by Henry Nelson Coleridge.

Preparing. — A new and complete edition of Juvenal's Satires, linearly
translated, with notes, &c., by Dr. P. A. Nuttal, translator of Horace
and Virgil.

The Landscape Gardener, by the Rev. Prebendary Dennis, which
has been so long announced, may now be shortly expected, the Plates to
illustrate it being nearly finished.

The Florist Cultivator, on a plan different from any work hitherto
published, by Thomas Willat, Esq. (Amateur Cultivator), is nearly ready

The Fourth Part of Dr. Lindley's Genera and Species of Orchidious
Plants, containing part of the Orphrydea, is ready for publication.

A Second Edition of Ladies' Botany, by Dr. Lindley, is also ready.

Mr. Grahame has just completed, in four 8vo. volumes, " The History
of the United States of North America, from the Plantation of the
British Colonies, till their Revolt and Declaration of Independence,
in 1776."

A very interesting History of the Roman Catholic Church in Scotland,
its Establishment, Subversion, and Present State, has just been com-
pleted by John P. Lawson, M.A., Author of the Life of Archbishop
Laud.

A Member of the Aristocracy has a work in the press, founded on
facts, entitled, " The Bar Sinister ; or, Memoirs of an Illegitimate," to
be published about Christmas, in two vols. post 8vo.

The Rev. John Aiton has now ready for publication, " The Life and
Times of the Rev. Alexander Henderson," giving a complete History of
the Second Reformation of the Church of Scotland, and of the Cove-
nanters during the reign of Charles the First.

Those interested in the Trade with China, will be pleased to hear that
a British Merchant, resident in Canton, has a work nearly ready, en-
titled " An Address to the People of Great Britain," explanatory of our
Commercial Relations with the Empire of China, and of the means by
which they may with facility be extended.

LITERARY ANNOUNCEMENTS. 577

The Editor of " My Daughter's Book," " The Young Gentleman's
Book," " The Volume of the Affections," &c., announces the following: —

1 . — Female Anthology, for the use of Ladies' Schools, especially.

2. — The National Expositor.

3. — The Book of the Mind, — two vols.

MR. MURRAY S, OF ALBEMARLE STREET, FIRST ANOUNCEMENT.

The Author of Sketches of Corfu has a work in the press, under the
title of " Evenings Abroad," being Sketches of Manners and Scenery
gleaned during a Continental Tour ; with Historical Notices, Tales, and
Legends of the places visited.

The narrative of Captain Back's overland expedition to the North Pole,
will be brought out in a cheaper form, and with greater expedition, than
any of the previous arctic journals.

A Campaign with the Guerillas during the present war in Spain. By
Mr. Henningsen, an English officer, who served for eighteen months
under Zumalacaraguy, up to the time of his death.

The Dispatches and Correspondence of the Marquess Wellesley while
Governor -General of India, Ambassador in Spain, and Lord Lieutenant
of Ireland ; with the Letters of Pitt, Canning, Grattan, Lords Grenville,
Grey, Castlereagh, Clive, Cornwallis, &c. &c.

GLASGOW ANNOUNCEMENTS.

On the Mental Illumination and Moral Improvement of Mankind ;
illustrated with numerous Engravings. By Thomas Dick, LL.D.,
Author of the Christian Philosopher, &c. 12mo., 8s. cloth.

Philosophy of Religion ; or, an Illustration of the Moral Laws of the
Universe. By Thomas Dick, LL.D., Author of the Christian Philoso-
pher, &c. Third Edition, 12mo., 8s. cloth.

The Bridgewater Treatise, On the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of
God, as manifested in the Adaptation of External Nature to the Intel-
lectual and Moral Constitution of Man. By Thomas Chalmers, D. D,,
Fourth Edition. In Two Volumes, 8vo. 16s. cloth.

Preparing for Publication, a Complete and Uniform Edition of the
Works of the Rev. Dr. Chalmers, to be published in duodecimo, in
sucessive Quarterly Volumes, price Six Shillings each, handsomely
bound in cloth. The First Volume will appear in the beginning of
January, 1836'.

( 578* )

THE EDITOR'S LATEST MOMENTS.

LONGMANS' HOUSE.

Margaret Ravenscroft, or, Second Love. By James Augustus St.
John. In 3 vols.

Travelling Sketches, in Rhyme By Lady E. S. Wortley.

MURRAY'S HOUSE.

Boswell's Life of Johnson, including his Tour to the Hebrides. By
Boswell ; to which are added " Johnsonia ;" or, Anecdotes by Hawkins,
Piozzi, Murphy, Tyers, Reynold, Stevens, &c. and notes by various hands.

WHITTAKKR'S HOUSE.
New Year's Gift, or Mrs. A. Watts's Juvenile Souvenir, for 1836.

TILT'S HOUSE.

The Angler's Souvenir. By P. Fisher, Esq. assisted by several
eminent piscatory characters, with illustrations by Beckwith and Topham.

SMITH AND ELDER'S HOUSE.
Marco Visconti; an Historical Romance of the 14th century. — 2 vols.

BAILEY & Co CORNHILL.
The Battle of the Annuals — a fragment : " arma virumque cano" — •

TEESDALE OF 164 STRAND.

A New Year's gift, for Young Ladies. Arranged and written by a
Lady for her own daughter. 3s. 6d.

These, with many others, most delightful and refreshing publications,
shall be included in the space devoted to that interesting department in
our number for January, 1836. We hear, from several well-informed
quarters, that Southey's edition of Cowper has proved an utter failure :
and that the publishers will, eventually, sustain a heavy loss. It is
quite clear, moreover, that Southey's name no longer satisfies the public
discernment.

The " political intrigues" at Brighton, and elsewhere, proceed without
abatement ; nevertheless, we hold Lord Melbourne himself to be im-
movable, as first minister of state.

Russia 'has partly succeeded in persuading America to war with
France ! In the West of Europe, all is enthusiasm : the Queen's cause
is that of justice. Spain will soon be pre-eminently free. Sir Francis
Burdett, we rejucet to write, is more than politicallv — defunct.

PRESENTED