SOs meats ete eresacse sees oc - betitetatst ss Niatabeesearsgeestset: Etaratacarals: hee phe grt. sO: 9201959 cuzees ity %O“ S 240 Per) Meals do OL Sane inet uae J " 1 r ey tah : wate \ “ne a D i oft : 5 ‘ae ue ¢ "1 , (e THE MONTHLY MAGAZINE POLITICS, LITERATURE, ART, SCIENCE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES. = OVULY ivi JANUARY TO JUNE. VOL, Ext. LONDON: SHERWOOD, GILBERT, AND PIPER, PATERNOSTER ROW ; W. F. WAKEMAN, DUBLIN; GALIGNANI AND CO., PUBLIC LIBRARY, PARIS. 1836, : yates : pata OE LantwoM t b) i | ae: ‘faa? | Beal ) ET eo we ES . Ml of oremoamtoam vig anotabsot ods. au. wRat w diorgs! ot | O83 ,868 -. . aheto aesift oft jatar hay Wee nr Ree he Ae Saree 2 3 “OUT ae Si) wher AEE yy ey } stag waay a)" aon. abide bashigal? .aoiesepnunt | awd Wo woivwatni teat ad! ao eonid . zinsicl “ont 8S , Oi ar. %c asiuBER. aiuisyadi oat ta ‘pth ; ues ‘eiqosT aitiae comme) adi atnak| ne / guid to exoiloatiosad mobass ebro |. G82 "3 i > « taaeuotk ee Bh |. axommiod of bas gilt BDIOT BE oo or BR + sve) Siamusioin (X gett zave.0 i a a a ane Lin eToys to asutsitavbaeilt , rovod. |. GBS ii ae ja Ww ay i athio: sueiteqesl edt, ae 5 eae 1 ae O43 Seb. age seickowiail uae rt 98fl8 as bedosnwairte od) Joma seaisalh Ev ey ss ot agoid Jowegra li, SO pag: *, gt -aoussibsM ? 3 iaultie® bas legod eat jewot-toli 2 ‘ retailed ee ee atuo silt ot gestalt | ode ; GO 26 . 2 tastsl eaotibd .cinemolt | iY THATL gd (8G VS) BSE 86. gli to zer0%k hiaolt | lies ; y Cc Ara . - dot aro] HS) Of ge Ye Gaarsbi i a eee Caey 4 ks satiod’? ao <éail”,st00l | ee ‘ORT: 4 o & Gin”. oR 201 ogrith @ otal iS _< q : YH ae A rAd wend saad rf te olds $ ae vw + Boo must sieisu stannl Jodt someraveTe 7 ; SS aa SP lo to agit atosney eostonsi | a % eee . Vaetaprre . . feoimedT .yonitat } ; : rye 148. 1Eb FOB: . “> wiprotit ,ro0teVE | ieee... moiei¥ ej gnisss Des gm : =) ile bape pie peace mas ont 3 y ¢ -ecedt mohish eaommaed £0" owt boeigndl of, oildu Dt aoinigO) hae 3 ow at SE dab ea to yiilidon isoy 9toRTS: 5 ¥. ce OPE of coiled ont asqat) Ao banter s ois ow alqoath ats eae ; sive pd . -ahbeasrbhis ani. gta | ae goeeenl auoivergs B sale PPR SLO ote LA, oie 4) eiiae a andigon® , reared Chee ot eT ae eae 1. tp agit an “Bit, 2 Tab). it fooatsim ers A silted PM fatiqs!) cemandaine | aes is bak re y ’ FV oa vhrd va aoa a © toigsanges T16 INDEX. PAGE, 237 438, 530 Anacrntontic, NoIV. .. . Atheist, the Mass ofthe . . B Bachelor,.loves ofa . . . 342 Ballad, from the Spanish. . ; 157 Bogy,old .. . ~- 20k Bronze, the Despotism of the ‘Age of 8 Cc aperomthe 9. . . . Chinese Ladies, lives of twas. Christmas Song... . Chureh, Jackina ... . Consumption, Dr. Clark on Cupid, Wine,and Love . . D 231 329 64 25 525 243 Daughter, the Puritan’s » =. «., » 249 De Ruanger and hisSongs . . . 46 Drama, afewwordsonthe . . . 35 Miranda ane oss! °.) 5 Sli l95, 275 Drama, the,inFrance . .. . 146 E PUA ON ss, ke tf F France, Engtishideasof . . . . G Goblet, fillthe bright . . . 45 Government, theChinese, versusO piu 538 H Hearing and seeing; a Vision . . Heliconiad, the . . . House of Commons, Random Recol- Jections of the . . . . Human Character, real nobility of the I ' Vill Twine for'thee . . . Treland, previous to the Invasion by the English at a ea iat a ec Treland, Poor Laws for , oer J Jin-she, Lines by Lady . ... Journal, Fragmentofa . . . . 238 555 56 454 276 97 356 414 415 PACE K Klaproth’s Letter onthe Loadstona 570 Munern -\< 2. \eepe er Se) ee Me EZ Lamentation, Highland Bard’s 105 Lines on the first interview of two :> Enfants . 538 | Literature, Review of 73, 180, ‘284, 380, 476, 574 Meant the, Commons, and the People 293 Lords, Random Recollections of the Houseof . . ise se Sacis we LF Lords, the, and the ‘Commons Sikes 495 Lover, the Unfortunate . .. . 444 Lover, Misadventures ofa, ChapterI. 546 M Madrigal. . oe ee eras the, and oe Inaratee 339, 432, £16 Mariner, Dream of the shipwrecked 451 Margaret, Linesto. . . sina a eee ce Meditation,” the ‘ First” sit se 400 Mei-Kwei, the Loyal and Faithful Minister . . : ne 263 Mistress, to the Poet’ Soa cghcers ae Moments, Editor’s latest . . 94,200 Month, Notes of the 86, 158, 277, 371, 589 form Atathe ys. + «he ad 2 ee: Se Moore, Lineson Thomas . . . 569 Music, a Dirge for 315 N Napoleon, Anecdotes of . . 304 Notices, Theatrical . 377, 487, 587 Notices, Literary . 391, 491, 591 O Opinion, Public, in England, &e. 65 P Papers, the Colton, No. 1V. 10 People, we arearuined . . . . 54 Poetry, Lines addressed to 438 Poetry’... -. ieee era aio |e Politicians, Omnibus Sel aie. nc, sa CO Pride; Picthresof. . . . . 221 Proscribed, the, No. 3 316, 427 Public Affairs, state of 393 Punishments, Capital . 54) iv INDEX. PAGE, R anraacs, thes, sis eye eye ke’ (6%) SSS Reminiscences, Convivial . . . 499 Report, Agricultural . 85, 199 Review, Dublin, No. 1. Remarkson 551 Ring, on the discovery ofa . . . 259 Rome and ber climate Sh a. ko ys SO) Russia, &c., Resourcesof . . . 457 Ss Scott, Recollections of Sir Walter 311, 423 Sketch,a Dramatic . .. . . 208 Society, Central Agricultural . . 156 Society, Royal sinc mpeg ae fl Sonnet, a 5 422 Sophene and Sophocles, “No. Iv. 39 No. V. ehh wt ee ORs, Sovereigns, duty of . . ... a 1 Soo-Hwuy,Odeto .. . . . 524 Stanzas,Consolatory . . . . . 248 Steamer, three days, &c., on board a 107 Stotfield, the Fishers of Stranger, Lay of the Strictures on Mr. Matheson, &e. Town Traveller, Notes ofa Vassal, the Chieftain and his Violet, the first Vision, a . Wasp, to a disappointed What do Folks laugh at? V WwW William and Phoebe Wishes Zenobia Z . ee 6 . PAGE, 323 115 401 125 468 117 121 37 28 272 260 509 (1) THE: DUTY OF SOVEREIGNS, Tux schoolmaster has been abroad, lately—very lately; and, if we mistake not, the Spirit of the Age, in all the intellectual majesty of moral warfare, has travelled, incognito, with him. He has visited Kalisch and Tceplitz by appointment; and he continued ‘his predeter- mined route to Vienna. The Schoolmaster made_.a call, too, on that remnant of poor mortality, Charles the Tenth, of unhappy memory, at Prague. Wherever the Sage halted for the purpose of delivering a lecture on moral government, there the Spirit of the Age was found to be also. We may fairly pretend to a knowledge of the ‘‘ cause” of these visits ; and we cannot but feel deeply interested in the development of their effects upon the entire population of christian as well as barbarian Europe. The schoolmaster made his appearance in the capital of to-be- restored Poland! And in that devoted city, he perceived, with delight not unmingled with surprise, that the Spirit of the Age had preceded him! Nevertheless, the shoolmaster delivered a very strong and con- vincing lecture on royal insanity, which the Calmuck war-hounds mis- construed into a blow-up! How stupid! How vicious! How male- volent! How strange a fatality accompanies practical wickedness, whether in the guise of ignoble and brutal sovereignty or impotent state pauperism ! It is related of Francis I. (by Pasquier, in his Researches, we think, and deserves particular notice at this period of European history, as ‘displaying a proper feeling in that monarch, in regard to one of the - greatest duties of a sovereign,) that the Seigneur de Talant, a gentleman highly allied, having murdered one John de Manesto, long escaped the punishment due to his crime, through his interest with the persons in power. At length, the grandmother of the deceased went to Fontain- bleau, and fell on her knees before the king as a suppliant. Francis asking her what she wanted, “Justice, sire, justice!” she replied. He immediately bid her rise, and addressing himself to the surrounding courtiers, ‘‘ By the faith of a gentleman (said he), it is not for this gentle- woman, who desires nothing but what my duty to the public obligé MiM.<1, B 5 THE DUTY OF SOVEREIGNS. me to grant, to prostrate herself before me : but it is for those who im- portune me for pardons and remissions, which are only matters of royal grace and favour.” He then patiently listened to her complaint, and promised that she should receive redress; which was soon after per- formed by the public execution of the offender, notwithstanding the in- tercession of all his kindred and friends. We confess this version of the fact pleases us better than one which is told by Millot, and others, of Henry IV., as a striking proof of that prince’s consideration for the lower class of his subjects. Having been informed that some peasants at Campagne, had been plundered by his soldiers, he wrote thus to their officers, who were in Paris :—‘ Set off immediately—let the matter be rectified—you shall answer for it. What! if my people be ruined, who are to maintain me? who are to bear the public burdens? who are to pay your pensions, gentlemen ? By heavens ! to quarrel with my people, is to quarrel with me!” These ; words, as Millot observes, are those of an enlightened politician! and we know from other facts that they were spoken by a prince of great humanity. But, considered in themselves, they imply nothing more than a prudent regard to his own interest. For, might not the owner of a flock of sheep, who had been informed that his servants plucked off their wool for their own profit, say to them, ‘“‘If my sheep are fleeced, how am I to be maintained? bow are my rents, and your wages, to be paid? to rob my sheep, is to rob me!’ Yet this very master, at the «« shearing season,” will have them clipped to the skin, or will sell them to a butcher, if he think it for his own advantage. Ifa monarch comes to consider his subjects merely as his property, he can have no claim to patriotism or philanthropy, or any exertions to promote their prosperity, any more than a West Indian planter, for keeping his slaves in health and vigour. It is true this is ‘‘a policy’ which mean and little minds do not readily adopt, yet it is compatible with the most perfect selfish- ness. Its principle betrays itself as soon as some favourite object is em- braced by the monarch, which opposes the happiness of his people ; for then, the sacrifice of the latter to the former, is made without hesitation. Thus, this very Henry IV., after he had brought his kingdom, by the assistance of Sully, into such a flourishing state, that he was able by heavy imposts to fill his coffers, was about to put the public welfare to hazard, in pursuit either of a grand scheme of ambition, or of a licen- tious passion, disgraceful to his age and station. The prince who says my people, in the same sense that he would say THE DUTY OF SOVEREIGNS, 3 my dogs or horses, is in perpetual danger of using them, like those ani- mals, only as instruments of his pleasure or pastime. Let these examples, which we have contrived to set down on paper-— for the most part from memory—serve to persuade the SyrH1an Oppres- sor of outraged and groaning Muscovy, that his days ure numbered ; and that the ‘‘ weapon’’ which destroyed his Father, now glitters beneath the indestructible sun of Poland’s everlasting glory. Go to, vain man, proud Czar, thou talkest of nothing. But this is not all. England must look to it. The time is come when her deeds, her acts (not her ‘‘ words” and fair promises), will be looked upon, by all good men, as demonstrative of her sincere, generous, and noble intentions, as regards degraded Poland. Let all true patriots —whether at home or abroad, pause, ponder, and pronounce, after they shall have read the following, from a poem entitled ‘‘The World,” lately published: we quote from that melancholy, but spirit-stirring work, as follow, respecting Poland and Ireland :— “Oh! would that thy sad fate, Napoleon ! Would speak unto the nations with a voice Whereto the sound of thunder were the lisp Of infant innocence.—O ! taught by thee, Would they but learn the sacred claims of Freedom— Which, long oppress’d, mus¢ rise again in strength Of fury irresistible, and break, Even as a potter’s vessel, thrones that stand In self-assur’d security—how frail— Upon a groaning nation’s prostrate neck. Still are the nations blind,—still are they deaf ; Or they would hear the earthquake muttering, — The first of that fierce tempest brewing now, And gathering with fell wrath, that soon must break Upon their crowned heads, aud crush them down Unto perdition, thence no more to rise. For how much longer, think ye, tyrant slaves, Fair Genoa shall mourn her freedom gone,— Or Venice, thron’d upon her hundred isles, Look out across the Adriatic wave, Whose every ripple murmurs liberty, And count her forged chains, and deem them sweet How long shall Norway writhe beneath the Swede, Or Poland curse in vain the Russian yoke ?” “Oh England !—orphan child of Liberty, Which else had died, and left the world no heir ;— Shame to thee, when the Polish battle cry First reach’d thine ear,—that thou wert foun as one B2 ~ THE DUTY OF SOVEREIGNS. That never had shed blood for Freedom's sake, Nor worn her colours on thy plumed crest! Shame on thee! what thou might’st have done is clear, Nor can’st thou now evade the damning stain Of foul reproach which still must cling to thee, Conniving, as thou didst, at Poland’s wrongs. Oh! had the British lion from thy shore Plung’d into ocean, and with dauntless breast, And streaming mane terrific, stemm’d the seas, How had the Baltic trembled at the sight! How had the Karpacs echoed with his roar! While slaves that languish in Siberian wastes Had heard the glorious sound with ecstacy. Shame on thee, France, white-liver’d France! (for then Thy lilies were a symbol fit for thee) That thou didst not pour forth thy chivalry, Thy armed youth, invincible indeed Had Britan join’d thee—and with rapid march Baffle this new-fledged tyrant of his will. And Austria, thou,—absorbing gulf of freedom, In which fair Italy has sunk at last,— Thou many-kingdom’d nation of fierce slaves Which soon shall drag from thy ensanguin’d brow Thy bold tiara, gemm’d with pilfer’d spoils. Thou hypocrite,—-whose ‘‘arm’d neutrality ” Was but a secret compact with the Russ,— Could nought appeal to thee ?—could nought avail ? Could not the claim of gratitude, well earn’d, Knock at thy heart for one remembrance? No.— Re nemberest thou when Sobieski came, In thy most abject need,—or else thy name, Austria, ere this, had been of things that were— And with fell valour suddenly put forth S atter’d the Moslem host, and with his sword Suck down her glittering crescent to the dust ?” “Yet Poland shall be free—she shall be free— The sound of her immeasurable wrongs, The sound of her despairing voice, goes forth To all the nations, and the time’s at hand When, Russia, thou shalt pay the great account, And retribution shall be wreak’d on thee. Say, dost thou fondly think that liberty, Which, like the element of water pent In the earth’s centre by compulsive force, At length must find its level—dost thou think That freedom, portion of the living God, His attribute and essence, and His power, Shall be subdued by thee ?—oh vain of thought !— Thou think’st, perchance, “he Polish husbandman Shall deem his bondage hght, when he beholds THE DUTY OF SOVEREIGNS. 5 His father’s sacred bones obstruct the ploug4, Or knows the blood outpour’d of his brave sons Has sunk in silence to enrich the soil ;— No—not far off I see the levying hosts,— Their bristling spears bright glist’ning to the sun— Their flashing swords quick leaping from the sheath,— Their fierce artillery with hurrying speed Drawn to the field, —charg’d for the ready mate’1— And there I see thy downfall—thy defeat— Thy vain opposing weakness, Tyranny, ’Gainst the resistless power of Freedom’s sons !” “O England! purify thy hands from sin, From the foul spot and stain of tyranny. Look to thy sister isle, and there behold A portion of thy empire, how depress’d, Degraded, and despis’d —wrong’d, basely wrong’d ! Faction predominant, that borrows terms » Of Christian faith to work oppression by, Upheld at home her curs’d ascendancy— Justice delay’d, because her groaning scns Have long become impatient of delay— Redress withheld, because they dare to tell ye, That they have wrongs that ought to be redress’d. Faith forced upon them, on religion’s plea, Because ye say (truly) “ cur faith is best,” The which to prove you claim their money for it. O profitable faith! and worth adoption, Since it serves two at once, both God and Mammon. Oh! tamper not with Justice, till at last, In deep disgust and horror at your sins, She fling ber scales aside, and wield the sword, The two-edg’d sword, with no respective mercy, When her most sacred dictates are despis’d. What! know ye not, or have ye never heard, Perchance, of the wild justice called Revenge ? Oh! swerve not from the path direct from right, Still to uphold a bloated hierarchy Useless or worse ; since to their sacred charge Incompetent, or else unserviceable, If rather they have not betray’d their charge. You have tried force with Ireland: it avails not; You have tempted them with scenes of luxury, Which, traitors to the faith they have been taught To hold as true, might have been shar’d with them. You have tried all things with them—and in vain : All things, save Justice, which you ne’er have tried; Give them but justice—make them one with us, And leave their altars free, and they are one !” J One word more, and we have done. Is Lord Palmerston in good 6: THE DUTY OF SOYEREIGNS. earnest, or not? And shall not England, the land of the greatly and proudly free—the nurse of manufactures—the cradle of commerce—the mother of arts and sciences—the empress-queen of the ocean—shall not England be permitted to—Strike the Blow ? Alas! my country. How are the mighty fallen! Your political cox~ combs cry ‘‘ peace,” but there is no peace. Oh, my country! How long shall we be doubly doomed to await the doubtful result of Lord Durham’s ministerial prostration before the lingering animal remi- niscence of the Czar’s late Empress Mother, Catherine? How long of political time will that otherwise sagacious and high-bosomed Saxon nobleman waste, in attempting to fling his peerless toga over the iron- plumage of the Russian Eagle? Is Lord Durham acquainted with the language of the eyes? Can his Lordship look into the eyes of humanity, as well as inhumanity? Has he not looked into the bright and beautiful eyes of bridal loveliness? Has. he not—long ago—looked into the eyes of Imperial, but villanous manhood? Now, if his Lordship have not done so already, let him look ‘ sternly,” into the eyes of the Eagle of the north. And if we are not prophetically deceived, he will see the words—Turkey! India!! England!!! The whole world (?) !!!! engraven on the tablet of his heart. As Englishmen, having some just pretensions to true patriotism—we conjure Lord Durham not to make this discovery a state secret. Lord Palmerston must not felicitate his vanity, by a constant contemplation of the splendour of his gaudy, yet worthless coronet—but spring away from his couch of political sloth, and put on the Roman, once for all— Humani nihil alienum. Would to heaven we could persuade ourselves that our Forricn Secre- rary had a mind calculated to grapple with the sun—that glorious day- god of wisdom, and universal: benevolence—and deem his nearest rela- tion to be the beatific and patriotic Creator of the wide and teeming universe—but we cannot. Eb. (7) SONG, O comr, my love! with me, And let us tempt the sea: The storms are all reposing in their wintry cave : The sun is shining high, And all cloudless is the sky, And the merry bark goes cheerly on the sparkling wave. But if thou’lt come with me, The sun, the sky, the sea, Shall wear a fresher tint and fairer beauty soon : Far brighter than the sky Shines thy bonny laughing eye, And thy ‘‘ merry smile’ is dearer than the deep spring noon! O come, my love! the deep Lies hushed in sunny sleep : The dolphin goes rejoicing through his ocean blue: O come, my love! we'll be As blithe and gay as he, \ Careering in our little bark the wild wave through ; And, as we bound along, We'll list some faery song, Of elfin champions tilting in the moonshine pale ; Or knights and ladies sheen, Beneath the summer treen, With sunbeams flaunting bright, on pennon, plume, and mai’. Then come, my love, with me ; Our little argosie Shall quickly leave the land and all its ecres behind: Or should they dare pursue, We'll drown the haggard crew, Or fling them with our canvass, to the soft sca-wird, For o’er the glittering tide, Attendant love shall guide Our little bark, light dancing through the foam and sprays And from his fragrant wing The vernal breezes fling, To guide us o’er the waters on our clear pathway. i (8) THE DESPOTISM OF THE AGE OF BRONZE. Tux despctism of the last reign is proverbial. It was, however, pregnant with events which have not only rendered out age an age of enlightenment ; but they have conduced to signalize it in a very eminent degree. True it is, “‘ the age of bronze” fostered that literature which was one day destined to destroy it. The literature of despotism, like our church pestilent-cant, and pulpit-hypocrisy, may not stand upon its own wickedness. Truth must be sought from a simple heart. It is impossible that we should discover it elsewhere. The learning of despot- ism consists of folly, ambition, and madness. Death is its bosom friend ; annihilation its polluted and final sanctuary. The chambers of Orus, and the burning brow of the adamantine divinity of heaven, have no charms for despotism. It shrinks, appalled, from both daylight and rational liberty. It turns with hatred, from unpretending patriotism; and affects to despise every true lover of his country. It presumes to de- nounce every independent principle of loyalty, and recklessly violates the first duty of practical humanity, by trampling on the laws which weremade to secure the general good, the peace and happiness of a free-born people. The intrusion of any popular voice was received with uncommon bitter- ness of exacerbation, and rewarded by a “ significant frown” from the highest quarter of the state. The very mention of the name of Henry Brougham was said to have more than once deprived the wearer of the crown of England of sleep,—not to say sweet sleep. Good and reflecting men will not marvel at what has been writ. They who have, through the noiseless loopholes of retreat, watched the progress of concurrent events, are more than prepared to hear what the historian shall write on the truth-telling page of history. It is no less a singular than an afflicting fact, that the reign which was so hypocritically celebrated as the climax of warlike and literary splen- dour, but which has always appeared to us to have been the consumma- tion of all that was terrible to human tenderness and the best interests of humanity, should have been sovereignised by a vain, dissolute, and ig- noble national magistrate. Talent appears, in those days of private and public abominations, to have been robbed of its conscious elevation in the scale of society, and of its undoubted claims to respect, if not deference, from both the King and his Ministers. Talent and independence, which almost invariably walk hand in hand, were invariably at a discount, whilst the Jerry Sneaks of both Oxford and Cambridge ever found a ready way to the imperial smile of valetudinarian decrepitude and irrecoverable debauchery. “‘ Where are the mighty thunderbolts of war? * The Roman Cesars and the Grecian chiefs, THE DESPOTISM OF THE AGE OF BRONZE, 9 The boast of story ? where the hot-brain’d youth “¢‘ Who the tiara at his pleasure tore, « From hings of all the then discovered globe, “ And cried, forsooth, because his arm was hamper’d, “ And had not room enough to do its work? « Alas! how slim, dishonourably slim, «¢ And cramm’d into a space we blush to name ! Proud royalty ! how alter’d in thy looks! “‘ How blank the features, and how wan thy hue! ‘‘ Son of the morning, whither art thou gone ? “ Where hast thou hid thy many-spangled head, “‘ And the majestic menace of thine eyes, “ Felt from afar ?” When splendid talent suffers itself to be deprived of that noble eleva- tion, of which it isreasonably proud—robbed of the erectness and giantry of its manhood, which is its noblest attribute, and best concomitant ; it is high time the nation to which it belongs, should suspect the purity of its motives, and the bent of its calamitous, if not pestiferous inclina- tions. In the last reign we had some independent, many good and literate men. The belles lettres are said to have flourished exceedingly. The mild and unostentatious philosophy of Bentham; the sublime fer- your of Reginald Heber: the simplicity of Crabbe ; the lofty, but satanised spirit of Byron; the wonderful powers of Scott; the attic mind of Mackintosh ; the patriotic purity of Carrington; all these, with a brilliant exception or two, should seem to have been confounded by a disgusting servility. It appears to us, as if the resplendent genius of man were laid prostrate at the foot of that shrine where sat the Tyrant Gentleman of the age, which he manifestly disgraced, who practised the duplicity and corruption of courts, without their amenity of manners, and entailed upon his people the awful responsibility of wars, that he might bask for a short hour beneath the sunshine of national glory. The highest praise the impartial historian can award him amounts to nothing; nay, less than nothing. He supported the stage-trick of royalty with more than usual sagacity, if not intellectual powers; but it is surely painful to contemplate any character more odious and despicable than that of a First Magistrate having become a bloated liber- tine, who, under the frown of a civil-list female, or a pluralist priest, signs the warraat for the execution of a malefactor, or the mandate that is to murder industrious citizens—lays waste a populated town or village —to create in the bosoms of mothers all the agonies of despair; in the minds and apprehensions of orphans all the horrors of indescribable de- solation ! True courage, manly fortitude, is ever found displaying itself on, as well as round about, thethrone. It bas been said that ‘* heroism” itself possesses a splendour that in great measure apologises for its want of moderation—or, in other words, its manifold excesses. But what ex- cuse shall be urged for him who, from the giddy summits of ideal se- curity, sanctions an order for the massacre of the inhabitants of Scio, or impels a Castlereagh to apply the knife to his jugular vein ? It is well for the English nation that a ‘‘ change has come o’er the shadow of its dream.” William the Fourth will live and die in the hearts of his people. Was ‘ Reform” necessary ? (10) THE COLTON PAPERS.—No, IV. I now turn from the sanguinary triumphs I have been attempting to describe to scenes of a less active, but scarcely less wondrous description ; I mean those in which, in the midst of danger and anarchy, a provincial government was suddenly organised; established order called into exis- tence from the elements of the wildest confusion; and the dynasty of one of the most powerful monarchs in the world, overthrown with a ra- pidity almost unequalled in history. To put the reader fully in possession of this part of the subject, I must return to my narrative. On the morning of Wednesday, I stated in a preceding ‘‘ paper,” that a meeting of several of the deputies had taken place, to consider the measures necessary for them to adopt under the circumstances in which they were now placed by the obnoxious ordinances. These gentlemen held subsequent meetings on Tuesday and Wednes- day, and on the latter day put forth a solemn Protest against the legality of this audacious attempt of the Ministry against the rights of election and the freedom of the press, declaring that they still considered them- selves the legitimate representatives of the people. It was at the man- sion of M. Laftitte, the banker, that this Protest was agreed upon. It was signed by most of theDeputies resident inParis,but the absence of some well-known names gave rise at the moment, and also subsequently, to considerable remark. Among the signatures appeared the name of one never backward when the cause of liberty demands his aid, that of the venerable Lafayette. This genuine patriot was now called upon, not only by his brother Deputies, but by the unanimous voice of the capital, to become the head of a Provisional Government, and Commander-in- Chief of the National Guards. These important, and at this moment most dangerous posts, the vete- ran patriot of 1789 did not for a moment hesitate to accept, and having hastily written a proclamation, announcing his acceptation of the com- mand, which concluded with the following cheering sentence, ‘ Liberty shall ‘triumph, or we will all perish together,” he set out from M, Laf- fitte’s, to assume his functions at the Hotei de Ville. The General was escorted by a large body of the National Guards, and followed by thousands of his fellow-citizens, amid whose acclamations, and the roar of cannon and musketry from the neighbourhood of the Lou- vre, where the conflict was raging with unabated violence, he was in- stalled in his great office. General Gerard and the Duke de Choiseul were appointed to co-operate with Lafayette in the government at this momentous crisis, but the nomination of that respectable nobleman M. de Choiseul was not acted upon. Other members were afterwards added to the Provisional Administration, as will be subsequently explained. But we must now proceed to put our readers in possession of the public do- cuments and immediate operations of this Proyisional Government, —— THE COLTON PAPERS. ry which, with a courage truly Roman, and aconviction that at such a mo- ment neutrality was a crime, because vacillation might be fatal, grasped with an untrembling hand the reins of authority—Trepidantem protegit urbem. Acting on this principle, ‘‘ Salus populi suprema lex,” they in- stantly adopted those firm and decisive measures which we are about to record ; measures that, in the glowing language of Demosthenes, ‘‘ have caused the danger that hung over the city to pass from it as a cloud;” measures that reinstated tranquillity, security, and happiness,—those golden fruits of a constitutional freedom, their legitimate and parent stock. The principal and prominent acts of the temporary Government will best be understood by a perusal of those documents through which they were promulgated. These authentic papers will be matter of future history, and we give them a place in our memoir, on account of the great interest they must command. They paint in the most forcible language the then very critical state of Paris, and the feelings of the legislative authorities at this awful moment :— °“ BRAVE CITIZENS OF PARIS. Your conduct during these days of disaster is above all praise. While Charles X. abandoned his capital, and gave you up to gendarmes and Swiss, you defended your homes with a courage truly heroic. Let us but persevere and redouble our ardour ; let us put forth a few more efforts, and your enemies will be overcome. A general panic has already taken possession of them. We have stopped the courier they had despatched to Dijon for reinforcements, and to command the Duchess d’Angouléme not to return. A Provisional Government is established—three most hon- ourable citizens have undertaken its important functions. These are Messrs. Lafayette, Choiseul, and Gerard, in whom you will find courage, firmness, and prudence. This day will put an end to all your anxieties, and crown you with glory. ‘Les DepurEs DE LA France.” “July 29th. The first public document of General Lafayette appeared as follows, on the morning of Friday :— ** DEAR FELLOW-CITIZENS AND BRAVE COMRADES. *“The confidence of the people of Paris has oncelmore called me to the command of the public forces. I accept with devotedness and joy the duties entrusted to me, and, as in 1789, I feel myself strongly sup- ported hy the approbation of my honourable colleagues now in Paris. I make no profession of my principles—they are already well known. The conduct of the population of Paris during the last days of trial has made me still more than ever proud of being at their head. Liberty shall triumph, or we will all perish together ! : “Vive la Liberte! Vive la Patvie! «July 29. “ LAFAYETTE.” “STAFT OF THE NATIONAL GUARDS. “ Gen. Lafayette informs the Mayors and Members of the Municipal Committee of the different Arrondissements that he has accepted the chief command of the National Guards, which had been assigned him by the public wish, and with which he has just been inyested unanimously by 12 THE COLTON PAPERS. the Deputies assembled at the house of M. Laffitte. He invites the May- ors and Committees of each Arrondissement to send an officer to receive the General’s orders at the Hotel de Ville, whither he is about to proceed to await their arrival. ** By order of Gen. Lafayette, ‘July 29.” ‘‘ His Aid-de-Camp, Beauvais Poque.” ** ORDER OF THE DAY. ‘‘The Geaeral commanding in chief, on issuing this his first Order of the Day, cannot refrain from expressing his admiration of the patriotic, courageous, and devoted conduct of the population of Paris. They won their freedom in 1789, and France will owe them the same obligation in 1830. The Commander-in-Chief considers it a cause for great satis- faction to the Capital and himself, that he is aided by the co-operation and counsel of General Gerard, whose name alone promises every thing for France, and for all Europe, but towards whom the General-in-Chief feels bound to express his personal gratitude for his conduct towards his old friend on this important occasion. The generous conduct of the citizens of the capital is a sufficient guarantee that they will maintain that which they have conquered, but the necessary repose must be united with the noble efforts which the country and the cause of liberty still re- quire from them. The Commander-in-Chief is therefore occupied in regulating the duty in such manner that a part only of the citizens need be under arms on each day. Orders in this respect will be published. «July 29.” These were immediately succeeded by the three following proclama- tions : — ‘€ HEAD-QUARTERS OF THE NATIONAL GUARDS. “‘General Lafayette has been to-day, as he was in 1789, nominated General-in-Chief of the National Guards. Count Alexander dela Borde, one of the Deputies, resumes his functions as Chief of the Staff. M. Au- dry de Puyraveau, merchant, another Deputy, has been appointed by the General-in-Chief to be his first Aid-de-Camp. To Arms! to Arms! brave citizens of Paris! To Arms, ye National Guards. We call upon you in the name of the nation. ‘The women are invited to make up tri- coloured cockades, the only national colour. «The National Guards of Paris are re-established. ‘The colonels and officers are invited to re-organize immediately the service of the National Guards. The sub-officers and privates should be ready to muster at the first beat of the drum. In the mean time they are requested to meet at the residences of the officers and sub-officers of their former companies, and to enter their names upon the roll. Itis im- portant to re-establish good order, and the municipal commission of Paris rely upon the accustomed zeal of the National Guards in favour of liberty and public order. The colonels, or in their absence the chiefs of battal- ions, are requested to present themselves immediately at the Hotel de Ville, to consult upon the first, steps to be taken for the good of the service. ‘“‘This 29th of July. (Signed) “ LAFAYETTE. A true copy, etc.’ ‘© ZIMMER. ‘The companies of the National Guards will continue their formation THE COLTON PAPERS. 13. so happily commenced. An officer from every legion is to be sent im- mediately to the Hotel de Ville for orders. ‘« The different armed corps will receive orders from head-quarters, or are to apply there for them. «« All persons are expressly forbidden, in the name of good order and the public safety, to fire off their arms upon any other occasion than for the defence rendered necessary by the most outrageous aggression upon the public peace and liberty.” ‘* ORDER OF THE DAY. ‘« Let the means of defence be organised in each legion, and let com- munications be established, so that the weakest points may be most strongly guarded. Leta reserve be made from such of the legions as are least in danger, and be formed of a moiety of the disposable force, and let the abandoned barracks be as much as possible re-established. Let them be put into relation with the environs, so that no person may be permitted to pass beyond the barriers without a permission from the Commander-in Chief, or from the commission of government. Let a daily return be made to head-quarters of the numbers of each legion, the state of the arms and ammunition. The commandant renews his order ‘to the commanders of legions for them to send daily an officer with 25 men to form the guard at head-quarters. There shall be established at head-quarters a body of 25 young men, to be employed in carrying out orders, and who shall be distinguished by a badge on the arm. «From the Hotel de Ville, this 29th July. LArayertr.” General Dubourg, who in the anarchy which reigned during this morn- ing, had been momentarily invested with, or had assumed, the command of the citizens, and was afterwards admitted to a temporary command under the provisional government, issued the following proclamations :— ‘* FELLOW CITIZENS. «*You have by universal acclamation elected me to be your general. I will prove myself worthy of the noble National Guards of Paris. We fight for our laws and liberty. Fellow-citizens! triumph is certain. I entreat your obedience to the commands of your chiefs. Troops of the line have already surrendered, and some of the regiments of the royal guards are ready to do the same. ‘The traitors who have excited this civil war, and have conceived that they might with impunity massacre the people, will be compelled to render an account before the tribunals for their violation of the Jaws and for their sanguinary plots. “From head-quarters on the Place de la Bourse, which is the general rendezvous, this 29th July. “‘GENERAL Dusoura.” “ORDER OF THE DAY. “The authorities, who derived their title from the charter, have torn it to pieces, pronounced their own condemnation, and.abandoned all their posts; all good citizens have now only to follow the dictates of their own courage and conscience. The people have taken up arms; they have maintained order, and are on the point of reconquering all their rights j 14 THE COLTON PAPERS. but organization is still called for in every direction. To obtain it, it is earnestly desired : ‘“¢], That the deputies of the departments assembled at Paris, will j im- mediately proceed to the Hotel de Ville, which is become the centre of organization, there to consult on the measures to be taken. “<9, That the mayors of Paris do immediately repair to their respec- tive mayoralties to wait the instructions that will be sent to them for the maintenance of order, and the defence of persons and property. «©3. That each of the mayors will send one of his deputies to the Hotel de Ville to join in forming a commission to deliberate upon the interests of Paris. «‘4. The members of the definitive bureaus of the colleges of Paris at the last elections, will meet at the chief places of their respective mayories, to form together with the mayors a permanent council. “5. The deputies of Paris are specially invited, in the name of the duties imposed upon them by their nomination by their fellow citizens, to proceed immediately to the Hotel de Ville. «6. All persons employed at the prefecture are required to repair to their posts to execute the orders of their superiors. «7, The legions of the National Guards will muster in their respec- tive arrondissements, in order that they may, by the usual measures, protect persons and property. “ or the provisional government. ‘« By order of Genearl Dusovure, “J. Baup. “Hotel de Ville, 29th July. ——_— ** Colonel Zimmer.” The reader may conceive the effect of these inspiriting documents upon the public mind,—harassed by the most frightful suspense, and hourly agitated by reports of disaster and defeat. Until this period, the inhabi- tants of Parishad not permitted themselves to hope that their resistance could be attended with a triumph so complete. But the name of Lafay- ette and his patriot associates gave a promise of success, of peace, order, and security, which tranquillised the most timid, and gave new courage to the bold. Crowds surrounded every placard, and “they were every where read with transports of joy. Previous to the formation of the provisional government, an attempt at accommodation with the King was made on the part of the Deputies, who had again assembled in the morning, at the house of M. Lafiitte. A deputation, consisting of General Gerard, Count de Lobau, and Messrs. Laflitte, Casimir Perier, and Mauguin, proceeded, amidst the fire of musketry, to treat with the Duke de Raguse, at the chateau of the Tuileries. M. Lathtte represented in glowing language the deplorable state of the capital, blood flowing in all fire aoa, and the report of musketry heard in every quarter as in a city taken by assault; and in the name of the assembled deputies of France, declared the marshal personally responsible for the fatal consequences of so lamentable an event. The marshal replied —‘ military honour is obedience.” ‘‘ And civil honour,” rejoined M. Laffitte, ‘‘is not to massacre the citizens.” The marshal then said :—‘‘ But, gentlemen, what are the conditions you propose ?” The answer was :—‘‘ Without reckoning too much upon our influence, we believe we may reply that every thing will be restored to order upon the following conditions :—the repeal of the illegal ordinances of July 25 ; the dismissal of ministers; and the conyocation of the chambers on the SEE THE COLTON PAPERS, 15 8d of August.” ‘The marshal admitted that, as a citizen, he might not disapprove, but even participate in the opinions of the deputies; never- theless, as an officer, he had received his orders, and would execute them ; he would, however, engage to lay the propositions before the King, in the space of half an hour. ‘‘ But, moreover, gentlemen,” added the marshal, ‘if you wish to have a conference on this subject with the Prince de Polignac, he is at hand, and I will go and ask him if he can receive you.” In a quarter ofan hour the marshal returned, and inform- ed the deputies that the Prince considered that the nature of the conditions proposed rendered a conference useless. ‘‘ There is then a civil war,” answered M. Laffitte. The marshal bowed, and the deputies withdrew. It would appear, however, that the conditions thus peremptorily re- jected by the President of the Council, were not so unpalatable to his master, for, on the same evening, the Marquis de Pastoret, Chancellor of France, M. de Semonville, grand referendary, and the Count d’Agnault, a peer of France, arrived at the Hotel de Ville, to announce that his majesty,had appointed the Duke de Mortemart to the post held by Polig- nac, and to declare that he would accept any ministry he might select, and withdraw the fatal ordinances;—but that which would have been accepted in the morning with gratitude, it was now too late to offer, and the reign of Charles the Tenth had, from that moment, virtually closed. There are many other brilliant exploits conjoined with this brief era of prodigies, but of a minor and less important character : among which may be named, the storming of the archbishop’s palace, and gallant attacks upon severalstrongly-guarded public buildings; but,asthese affairs are more or less connected with anecdotes of personal prowess and traits of individual magnanimity, an account of them will be reserved for a subsequent part of our narrative.—At four o’clock on the evening of this glorious day, the awful question of victory might be said to be decided, and the battle won. At this triumphant moment, we might, without a solecism, affirm that the Parisians had taken Paris! Words of brief but most portentous import, involving no less a consequence than this, whether that city, the emporium of such treasures of science and chefs d’wuvre of art, a city so heroically rescued from the grasp of tyranny by its inhabitants, should, henceforward, be tenanted by free- men or by slaves. We will now proceed to give a rapid sketch of the aspect, crest-fallen and forlorn, which the troops exhibited at this particular moment. Three days of fatigue and privation, of peril and of havoc, had consum- mated their work. Of all that formidable array of splendour and of strength, of pomp and of power, nothing but a wreck remained. These brave, but misguided victims of an authority both insolent and imbecile, were broken down and frittered into numerous small parties of fugitives, presenting motley groups, composed of fragments of different regiments whom chance or accident had thrown together ; many of these fugitives were without arms or equipments, and many more in disguise, but all of them in full, but disorderly retreat, occupied by one solitary hope, and actuated but by one consideration, the preservation of their lives. This hope was realized! and it was a spectacle most exhilarating to the best feelings of our nature, to observe, that the moment these brave but 16 THE COLTON PAPERS. unfortunate men had ceased to be an object of fear, they had also ceased to be an object of vengeance. The valour that had effected their defeat, was a sure and certain guarantee that such courage would be accom- panied with clemency. It would seem that this great and magnanimous people, though left to the sole impulse of their own generous hearts, had already prejudged all the circumstances of their case, and, even in the tumultuous moment of victory, had unanimously decided for mercy. The principal body of that confused mass, which once formed an army, took the direction of the road to St. Cloud, and if the slightest spark of hope still remained in any of the adherents of the Court, it must have been extinguished by the silent tale of total discomfiture, so visible in the forlorn appearance of this shattered band. Their march, or rather their flight, was retarded at times by the feeble resistance of their rear- guard, occasionally facing about, and keeping up a desultory fire, re- turned with vivacity by the people, who harassed their flanks, and con- tinued their pursuit as far as the barrier of the Etoile. Cuirassiers mingled with the gendarmes de chasse, officers grouped with privates, trumpeters and drummers thronged in by dragoons and lancers, some dismounted, others on horses jaded or bleeding, portions of regiments of the line mixed up with the splendid but disordered trappings of the garde royale; some fainting and breathless from exhaustion, others tendering their feeble help to the. wounded; the flashes of musketry piercing, atintervals, through the heavy cloud of dust that envelopedthem ; the triumphant acclamations of the people ; the melancholy and dejected air of the vanquished, formed altogether a moving picture, which the imagination may conceive, but a true idea of which can be formed only by those by whom it was witnessed. By degrees, and in proportion as the knowledge began to diffuse itself, that quarter would be granted to all that surrendered themselves, this multitudinous and motley mass con- tinued to experience, at almost every step, a diminution of its numbers. Already, in various quarters of Paris, whole bodies of troops, of all arms and descriptions, had thrown themselves, with joint acclaim, into the ranks of the people; and it was evident, that the fraternisation of the whole army, and their adoption of the popular cause, was at hand. Already mutual embraces, and tears of joy and rapture, certain omens of the triumph of liberty, were exchanging and exchanged. At this moment of generous enthusiasm, hands were joined in the grasp of friend- ship and love, that had, but a moment before, been engaged in the work of mutual carnage and destruction. Hurried away by the current of events, so animating from the uni- form success that attended them, we have not, hitherto, noticed the proceedings of that infatuated family, whose fatal obstinacy gave rise to these scenes of blood. By the culpable silence of those around him, we must charitably hope, that the monarch, on his tottering throne, was not aware of the dreadful slaughter which rendered Paris, on the Wednes- day, a vast and reeking charnel-house. Those who best knew, in private life, the deposed monarch, testify to the kindness of his natural disposi- tion: but, surrounded by “‘the curst ungodliness of zeal,” his native benevolence was converted into the rigidity of despotism, and, while his subjects were falling in every volley, he was calmly pursuing the plea- sures of the chase, Far different were the sensations of the amiable —oeeere eee — fo So THE COLTON PAPERS, 7 Duchess de Berry on that eventful day. She was universally beloved by the Parisians ; her numerous charities, and the innocent gaiety of her disposition, had endeared her to allclasses. With feelings that amounted to agony, she distinctly heard the volleying musketry, the booming of the artillery, which rung alike the knell of many a brave citizen, and of her maternal hope of seeing her offspring on the most brilliant throne of Europe. Unable any longer to endure the torture of suspense, she mounted one of the towers of St. Cloud, and clearly distinguished, by the aid of a telescope, the tri-coloured flag on the public edifices of the city. Struck with consternation, she descended, embraced her children, bedewed them with a mother’s tears, and vowed never to be separated from them. On the return of the King from the chase, the last that the royal domains of France afforded him, she threw herself at his feet, and implored him, in terms the most energetic, while it was yet time, to change his resolution, if not for the sake of humanity, at least, that he might not, for ever, destroy the splendid destiny that awaited her son. The misguided monarch received her very coldly at first; but, when he had heard her pleadings, told her that she was a fool, bid her busy her- self about her ball-dresses, while he, an indignant monarch, punished an ungrateful people. At this period, not a doubt of the ultimate success of the royal cause could be entertained by the inhabitants of the Court. The very sup- position, that nearly twenty thousand of the finest troops in Europe could be beaten by a mob of citizens, hastily collected, and without arms, was scouted as ridiculous ;—and, although on the very verge of fate, a calm reigned over the palace of St. Cloud: its inhabitants were fully persuaded that the morrow would restore tranquillity to the city, and then for the work of vengeance? The arrest of many eminent men was decreed, and a council of war summoned, to speedily extirpate the political heresy of many of the liberal peers, the editors of the journals, who had so nobly signed their protest against the Ordinances, and those fearless judges, Messrs. De Belleyme and Genneron, who, from the judicial seat of their respective tribunals, had pronounced their illegality. Musketry and the guillotine were to be the instruments of vengeance ; and dreadful would have been the fate of the proscribed, had not the valour of their fellow-citizens rendered the designs of arbitrary power unavailable. Various and conflicting accounts reached the palace on the morning of Thursday. The mingled roar of musketry and artillery was more tremendous than on the preceding day. Nature had not gar- nished the visible horison witha cloud; thesun shone with splendid radiance in the blue serene, but over the city, at a low elevation, hung a sulphureous canopy, which appeared like a funeral pall. To the inhabitants of the surrounding heights, it must have had the appearance of a volcano, sud- denly throwing up its columns of smoke over the edifices it was about to overwhelm. At last arrived the Duke of Ragusa, the master execu tioner, to whom the work of slaughter had been confided, pale and breath less. Reports had preceded him, and he found all in consternation. The Duke of Angouléme, equally weak in adversity as heedless in pros- perity, was reviewing the troops on his arrival ; he had more the air of a suppliant for protection, than the heir apparent to a crown, in the presence of his soldiery. Not a cry of loyalty to his cause was uttered, M.M.—12. Cc 18 THE COLTON PAPERS. to raise his drooping spirits, and the stolidity of consternation pervaded every rank. On his return, he met the Duke of Ragusa, and the follow- ing singular scene took place. The Marshal recounted his discomfiture, but was rudely interrupted by the Dauphin exclaiming, ‘‘ You promised to hold out fifteen days, and here you are; you have betrayed us, as you did the city of Paris before. Do you know to whom you speak?” The dis- concerted Marshal answered, ‘‘ To the Dauphin.” ‘‘ The King has made me Generalissimo of the Army,” was the rejoinder, ‘‘ and in that quality I declare you to be a traitor.” Then turning to a garde du corps, he ordered him to take the Marshal’s sword. However, snatching it him- self, he endeavoured to break it on the pommel of his saddle: the steel resisted, and the Dauphin wounded his hand. He, thereupon, ordered the Marshal into arrest.—When the King was informed of this rude and absurd conduct, he was much annoyed. Marmont was the only man of military talent who remained attached to the Court. However, not to disgrace his son in the eyes of the army, he ordered the Marshal’s arrest to expire at the end of four hours, and invited him to dine at the royal table. His cover was placed, but the indignant and ill-treated officer did not attend. All was now confusion ; a council was hastily called, and the blinded monarch proposed to abdicate in fayour of the Dauphin, who was in vain sought after for some period. He was at last discovered, in the Hall of the Baths, whither he had repaired, in consequence of a letter received from the Duchess, announcing that she should arrive at eight that evening, and ordering a bath to be prepared. It was then resolved by the council to place themselves in communica- tion with M. Chateaubriand, whom they supposed to have some influence with the people. Some letters passed, but nothing arose from this attempt at negotiation. It was then finally resolved to dispatch the Duke of Mortemart with offers to the Provisional Government, announ- cing, that the obnoxious ordinances would be withdrawn, the ministry changed, and every-thing placed upon its ancient footing; also giving him full powers to offer, not only the King’s abdication, but that of the Dauphin, in favour of the Duke of Bordeaux, if found to be requisite. «‘ Let us,” said the fallen sovereign, ‘‘ preserve a remnant of the mon- archy in the family.” Embarrassed by the serious responsibility of this mission, the duke requested a written authorisation, but the King quieted his scruples by assuring him upon the faith of a gentleman and a chris- tian, that he would not, in any manner whatever, break through the en- gagements that might be made in his name. It is difficult to describe the profound stupor and melancholy into which the late events had thrown the King; when told by M. Coetlosquet that he had seen the capture of the Tuileries with his own eyes, he replied, “ It is not true.” The Dauphin still asserted that the royal cause had been betrayed by the Duke of Ragusa. As the reports became more and more unsatisfac- tory, the anger of the King increased to a degree of fury. He seized a pen, issued an order declaring the Duke of Orleans a traitor to his coun- - try, and ordered a party to proceed to his country residence at Neuilly, and to make him a prisoner ; enjoining, at the same time, all his faithful subjects to rally around him. This order, however, it was found impos- sible to obey, the inhabitants of the adjoining villages having already taken up arms in the national cause.—Still further enraged at the safety THE COLTON PAPERS, 19 of his intended victim, and information reaching him of the heroic part taken by the young gentlemen of the Polytechnic School, he launched forth an Ordinance, ordering its dissolution. This was the last degree of infatuated imbecility; and, like many which preceded it, was more the subject of contempt than obedience. By this time the Duke of Morte- mart had returned from his important mission, with a countenance that announced the worst. It appeared that, on repeating the concessions of which he was the bearer to General Lafayette, that staunch patriot of other times returned for answer, in presence of his assembled staff and officers, that ‘‘ He was only called to head the National Guards, for the preservation of public safety, and had no authority whatever to treat with His Majesty.” How gladly would now the terms, proposed in the morning, by M. Laffitte and the deputation to the Duke of Ragusa during the murderous slaughter, and contemptuously refused by Polignac, have been accepted ! but the hour was past—victory on all sides rested with the people. At the expense of their life-blood they had torn the sceptre from the be- sotted family, who had abused its power, and precautions were now to be taken that a conquest so dearly obtained, should not be rendered futile by the arts of diplomacy. The people generously did not ask indemnity, or vengeance for the past, but they demanded security for the future. Taught by experience, that even the charter might be explained, by artful and designing men, to be hostile to their liberties, that the solemnities of an oath might be broken at pleasure, they determined that sovereign power should no more revert into the hands which had so arrogantly abused it ; and nothing less than a total abdication was the general cry, Hope, however, had not yet abandoned the court : another messenger was dispatched by Charles to the Provisional Government, demanding an explicit reply to the offer of concession he had made. General Lafayette returned the following note :— ‘An explicit answer is requested of me upon the situation of the Royal Family since their last aggression upon the public liberties, and the victory gained by the citizens of Paris. I will give it frankly. My answer is, that reconciliation is impossible, and that the Royal family have ceased to reign. «* LAFAYETTE.” About this period the Duchess of Angouléme arrived at St. Cloud. Her determined and masculine mind is known to have had great influence over the whole of the late royal family. After hearing the particulars, and learning from the state of the troops, and the preparations made for their reception in Paris, that any farther attack on the city was hopeless, she proposed, with what soldiers still remained, and whose ranks were hourly thinned by desertion, to retire behind the Loire, and foment a counter revolution in La Vendée. Their deliberation was, however, cut short by intelligence of the approach of large bodies of the National Guard and the populace of Paris, upon which preparations were made to abandon the palace; and, late in the night, this culpably obstinate family, to whom former exile and adversity had given no lesson, once more left the palace of their’ancestors on their melancholy pilgrimage—‘‘ The world before them where to choose their place of rest, and Providence their guide.” The Dauphin did not leave until the next day at ten o'clock, in a cars C2 20 THE COLTON PAPERS. riage drawn by six horses, and followed by nine pieces of artillery, with their caissons. The Duke of Ragusa, who had been reconciled to the prince, mounted on a spirited bay charger, with a scarlet velvet saddle, and in the splendid uniform of a Marshal of France, rode by the door of the carriage. The Ist regiment of infantry of the Garde Royale, some of the Gendarmerie d’élite, and the scattered remains of the Lancers of the Guard, followed. The regiments under the command of General Bordesoult, stationed at Versailles, refused to march; the general him- self, nevertheless, joined the melancholy cortége. The chateau was in- stantly taken possession of by the popular force. The only ministers who accompanied the royal family were M. Mon- thel and Capelle. The other five had dispersed, each to seek his indivi- dual safety. Previous to the departure of the troops, those who had suffered defeat in Paris, and were encamped in the Bois de Boulogne, had refused to assist in any movement contemplated against the people. A deputation of officers of the line and pupils of the Polytechnic School had waited upon the officers of the Royal Guard, and requested their co-operation. These gallant men answered, that they were decided not to carry arms in the cause of tyranny against their fellow-citizens, but that until they were released from their oaths, they could not unite with their brethren in Paris. Dreadful to relate, the evening previous to the departure from the palace, a number of soldiers of the royal guard who had cried Vive la Charie ! were shot, and buried in the park of St. Cloud. It is said that the number of thes: victims to the frenzy of despotism amounted to twenty-cight. This, if it be true, was an act of cold-blooded assassina- tion, for which the Duke of Angouléme, as Generalissimo of the Army, must be responsible. By easy stages, and at a foot-pace, the lugubrious and silent procession reached Rambouillet, a small town about twenty-eight miles from Paris, where they seemed determined to make a stand, and to obtain, by a show of resistance, the best terms possible. On his first arrival at Rambouillet, the King sent to the Duke of Orleans, who had been called upon unani- mously to assume the office of Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom, an unqualified abdication ; requesting, at the same time, a million of francs in gold, and a safeguard to protect him on his passage to Cherbourg, where he intended to embark for a foreign country. (This important fact will hereafter appear, when I resume my account of the proceed- ings in Paris—I am here compelled a little to anticipate, in order to render the narrative clear.) ‘The abdication was evidently dictated by the fears of the King for his personal safety, as intelligence hourly reached him that, as his ordinances arrived at the most remote towns and vil- lages, no other stimulus was necessary to call into life the national flag, and the tri-coloured cockade, even long before the events of Paris were known. La Vendée, the most unenlightened province of France, and the supposed very focus of loyalty, displayed instantly the ensign of revolt. The citizens of every town which led to the coast were under arms, and the national guards of Rouen, Bolbec, and Elbeuf, were marching upon Paris, and in the rear of his little army, not amounting to 3000 men. With equal alacrity and generosity the provisional government imme- distely depiited, as a safeguard, the five following commissioners, of the THE COLTON PAPERS. 91 highest respectability in their different classes of society, the Duke of Coigny, M. Odillon-Barrot, M. de Schonnen, M. Jacqueminot, and Marshal Maison, sending four millions of francs instead of the one de- manded, but requiring at the same time the surrender of the crown dia- monds, which although an heir-loom of the kingdom, the royal fugitive had thought proper to carry off. As if, however, this vacillating mo- narch was determined to give one more proof to Europe of his want of faith, or pitiable weakness in yielding to the pernicious counsels of those around him, what was the surprise of the commissioners, on arriving at Rambouillet, at being refused admittance to the royal presence, although one million of the gold they had brought, and perhaps with too much confidence sent into the coffers of the ‘king, was retained! Evil coun- sellors, it is to be supposed, had been at work during the few hours that intervened between the abdication of the already deposed monarch and the arrival of the commissioners. It is reported, that the only man in the family, as the late emperor was used to call the Duchess of Angou- léme, had insisted upon the king’s putting a gcod face on the matter, and probably, by this means, gaining better terms, and the assurance of a magnificent pension during his exile. This was eagerly seconded by the numerous courtiers and placemen who formed the court, who spoke of each retaining, by such a stipulation, his rank and salary. Another plan was proposed, which I only mention for its absurdity, and as_in- dicative of the criminal ignorance of the rulers of the nation. The Duchess asserted that twenty thousand troops remained faithful to the royal cause on the frontiers of the kingdom ; that those, united to the little army that followed their fate, might take possession of Montmartre, and establish there a battery of fifty mortars. She assured them that the present insurrection was by no means general, but was only caused by the manufacturers of the Chaussée d’Antin, who had discharged their workmen. Her project was to proclaim the dauphin king, to make all other concessions but the liberty of the press, and then to offer to the provisional government the alternative of submission, or of seeing fifty thousand bombs thrown into the quarters of the Palais Royal, and the Chausée d’Antin, the hot-bed of the revolt. As to the inhabitants of the Faubourgs, they would be friendly to the royal cause, on promising them the pillage of these two rich quarters of the city. M. Despinois, de Guiche, and de Vassy, warmly supported this absurd plan, but a chief was wanting for this enterprise,—where was he to be found? The intended king was in such a state of abasement and confusion, that he could not utter two consecutive ideas. He observed on this proposal, however, with some degree of sagacity, ‘‘ That the population of Paris would roll barrels of powder into the plaster quarries of Montmartre, and blow himself and his camp into the air, which would not be very agreeable to either party.” This resolution therefore was dismissed ; and the only hope that remained to the court was, that, by abdicating in favour of the Duke of Bordeaux, a party might be formed, round which the royalists might rally. It was also known that a few among the peo- ple were for a republic: therefore, if time could be gained, a collision upon the form of government might ensue among the Parisians, and something at last turn up in their favour. That the wild and mischievous designs above described were enters 92 THE COLTON PAPERS. tained, after the desponding monarch had sent in his act of abdication, and the remains of the court were anxiously waiting the expected safe- guard and pecuniary supply, of both of which every passing hour more and more disclosed the necessity,—is said to have been wholly the work of the dauphiness, who had arrived at Rambouillet after her royal rela- tives. On being informed of the steps taken on the preceding evening, her fury knew no bounds. She protested, —nay, even swore, at the imbe- cility of the measures taken, and endeavoured, by every argument in her power, to persuade the king and her husband to make a stand, and at- tempt, at least, the projects above-mentioned, to reduce the Parisians to submission, The king did not dare to raise his eyes from the ground in her presence, and the dauphin was equally intimidated on the occasion. At this period the national commissioners arrived ; the king hesitated as to what steps he should pursue; the duchess ordered that they should not be admitted; the king acquiesced, and they were refused accordingly. After some written negetiation, it was resolved to permit the Duke de Coigny alone to have access to the royal presence. He was assured that many of the troops still remained faithful to the cause ; that some stipu- lations must be entered into for a pension to the retreating party, as many of the courtiers spoke of retaining their emoluments and rank ; and if these conditions were not granted, they talked in lofty terms of defending themselves at Rambouillet. The king at last determined to make a final effort, and transmitted the following letter, addressed to the Duke of Orleans, as Lieutenant-General of the kingdom :— * Rambouillet, August 2. * Cousin,-—I am too deeply grieved at the evils which afflict, or which might menace my people, not to have sought for the means of preventing them. Ihave, therefore, formed the resolution of abdicating the crown in favour of my grandson, the Duke of Bordeaux. «©The Dauphin, who shares my sentiments, also renounces his rights in favour of his nephew. “In your capacity of Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom, you will therefore have to proclaim the accession of Henry V. to the crown. You will, moreover, take all the measures which concern you to regulate the forms of government during the minority of the new King. Here I confine myself to make these arrangements known ; it is a means of avoiding many more evils. «You will communicate my intentions to the diplomatic body; and will make known to me as soon as possible the proclamation by which my grandson will be acknowledged King, under the name of Henry V. «T charge Lieutenant-General the Viscount de Froissac Latour to deliver to you this letter. He is directed to confer with you on the arrangements to be made in favour of the persons who have accom- panied me, as likewise on the suitable arrangements with regard to my- self and the rest of my family. «We will hereafter regulate the other measures which are consequent upon the change of reign. «« T renew to you, cousin, the assurance of the sentiments with which I am your affectionate cousin, “« CHARLES, “ Louis ANTOINE.” ,* THE COLTON PAPERS. 23 On the morning (Tuesday) succeeding the return of the National Commissioners to the metropolis with the bearer of the foregoing letter, at eleven o’clock at night, the report of this last breach of faith flew about with astonishing rapidity. The whole city groaned with indigna- tion, and long ere General Lafayette could make application to each of the twelve mayories for five hundred men, each which he did, twenty thousand were under arms, pressing with the utmost rapidity through every barrier which led to Rambouillet. Every vehicle which plies for hire in the city and its environs, was engaged by the government. All felt that a rapid and numerous demonstration of force upon Ram- bouillet was necessary. It was known that in the rear of the royal party the citizens were firm in the cause of their country. Expresses were sent instantaneously to them to march upon Rambouillet, while the Parisian army advanced upon it in front. No words can express the enthusiasm of all ranks ; every horse and carriage was gladly tendered for the conveyance of the national troops; the Citizen Guard of Havre, Bolbec, and Elbeuf, a very fine body of sea-faring men, although fatigued with the march of the day, for they had just arrived at Paris, eagerly joined their brother patriots, and in a few hours from the return of the commissioners, the advanced guard was rapidly proceeding to the intended attack. The national army was placed under the command of General Pajol. Great was the consternation of the fugitive family, when intelligence reached them of the approach in front of this formidable column, which was increased on its march by the armed population of Versailles and Rouen, which they met on the road: the Dauphiness her- self trembled. The commissioners, who had returned with the national forces, preceded them to the chateau. Fear had now rendered this mis- guided family docile, and a fresh negotiation being opened, at the de- mand of M. Schonnen, the crown diamonds were surrendered, without any remark ; and “ boot and saddle” being sounded by the trumpets of the cavalry, at ten on the night of Tuesday, the 3d of August, having accepted the safeguard of the commissioners, they resumed their flight. Such was the hesitation, however, previous to this step, that the commis- sioners were obliged to press upon them the information that another hour might be too late, and at last peremptorily to offer the alternative, either that they should proceed voluntarily to Cherbourg, or be con- ducted to Rochefort. Casting, it cannot be doubted, ‘ a longing, lingering look behind,” as the chateau of their ancestors receded from their view, the cortege, much diminished in number, reached Chartres on the 4th, and after some rest proceeded to Dreux, where they slept. ( 24) JACK IN A CHURCH. —o «Some of you fellows are looking snoozy,” said a ‘ wide awake” member, addressing the watch one night. ‘* What say ye to a yarn?” «That’s right, Bob,” cried two or three, starting up. ‘‘Let’s havefit !”’ «Tt shan’t be a doleful one, because we’ve runned out our grog-—and watery stories, d’ye see! require a dash of the spirits,— ha! ha! that’s good, arnt it?” ‘‘ Humph !—tol’rable Y? «And it shan’t be false, ’cause then, you see again, you can’t place no dependance on it. I likes a story that when you're telling it again, you can say, ‘I’m hanged if it aint as true as the Bible!’ Then people can’t shake no headsat ye, or if they do you may blow ’em up for it with a good conscience. But this, boys, is as true as you're all sitting there, so when you're paying it out again, you may all say that you've seen it yourselves; and I'll be bail for your ’debility.” «« Well, you’ve heard what things the Killease,* 40, did in the West Ingy seas, and whata set o’ stiff fellers she had aboard her. Iknow’da few on’em in diff’rent places, and was once half inclined to sarve aboard her myself; only at the time I wanted, I was sarving in the Andrewf Maakie, one of the crack thirty-sixes, and had a skipper what I didn’t want to part company with,—’tall events, as I said afore, I know’d a few on her men, and jolly fellers they were too—capital hands at the grog, and as glib at a yarn, long or short, taught or brightish, sad or merry, true or ‘pocryphal, as ever you’d wish to see. I'll tell you how I got *quainted with Joe Fisher, who was one of the best among ‘em. -It was at Falmouth, and I was in a public-house, with a pipe in my bow port, and a pot o’ beer afore me, sittivated in one of the inshore reaches. There was a good many coasting crafts, and unregular navigators, brought to an anchor about, and amongst ’em was Joe: he and I, you must know, was the only thorough-breds in the place. Well! I didn’t know nothing of Joe then, in course, and though I could see he was a true un’ — and he must have made me out to be the same—we hadn’t as yet hailed each other. Well! I, and some of the long-shore coveys, got into con- wersation, and starting some perfessional subjects, at last, into summat like alittle breeze. The fellers hadn’t no right to dispute the ’pinion, certainly, of a man of wars’ man; but, howsomever, they did, and afore I know’d where I was, or into what latitude I'd got, I found myself carry- ing on like the devil, in a stiffish running fight, with a couple of blazers ahead, and some small craft in each bow. They jawed, and J jawed, till their woise nearly runned me down; for four at one, you know, wasn’t fair play; and I was just thinking of hauling off out of the smoke, when up shot Joe Fisher on my starboard quarter, and beginned thundering away on my side. I directly gathered fresh heart, and remanning my guns, peppered away on two of the coveys on my starboard beam, while * Achilles, + Andromache, JACK IN A CHURCH. 95 Joe, already loaded ard primed, sent a whole broadside slap aboard the others. Even now there was four to two—but, Lord! Joe’s metal was fifty times as heavy as his ’tagonists; and his guns was so well sarved, that their fire gradually fell off to nothing. By and by, they all begin- ned to sheer off, wonderfully disabled in their upper rigging ; and when the smoke had a little cleared away, I hailed Joe, and Joe hailed me, and we beginned to grow wondrous thick. He singed out for biscuit and cheese, and I for porter, and we soon got as comfortable as a couple o’ kings,and know’d each other’s history, from the time we shoved off our keels into the ocean of sarvice, to the moment he steered down to my assist- ance. A generous feller was Joe indeed! for when ‘to pay’ was the word, and the landlord shoved in his warrant, while I was rummaging for small shot, he tossed a handful o’ coppers into his starboard fin, and told him to bear off, and say nothing to nobody. But, howsomever, I was even with Master Joe another time,—but never mind about that. Well, you must know, my lads, that Joe wasn’t going to stay at Falmouth only a very little time, for his skipper had only put in there for a day or two, and was bound for Portsmouth harbour. ‘The day a’ter this, Joe and I shaked hands, and steered different courses—he went aboard his _eraft, and I cut off for Sheerness ; and I didn’t hear on him for some time a’ter. But blow me!-—if I havn’t forgotton to tell ye that he had been married for a couple o’ years, and his partner—a well-rigged young ’oman, so he said, fond of new clothes in her mainsail, and of mighty gen- teel behaviour,—he had her from a ’spectable stock : for her father kept a wholesale crockery shop, and her mother had been cook-maid to an admiral’s lady :—none o’ yer flaunty, fly-away, bunting-decked, ginger- bread, tittering young lasses, but an orderly tort sailing-craft, that never ruaned with loose rigging, but had al’ays her spars scrup lously squared, and her cordage neatly rattled down; al’ays answering her helm, and turning lightly to wind’ard, and never missing her stays. She lived in Portsmouth, and, in course, Joe was in a main hurry to join company whilst he stayed in port. « Well, what’s to come, I had from a very ‘edible witness, and when I sawed Joe a’terwarns, and axed him about it, he fully bored out the other’s testy money, and confessed that no long bow had been drawed in the bus’ness. The next day a’ter Joe got ashore happened to be Sun- day, and as his consart was very ’ligious, nothing would do, but he and she should go to church. Joe hadn’t been to no church for a num- ber o’years, and strived hard to be excused the sarvice. But this only made the young ’oman ten times more dissolute; an, at last, Joe was reasoned down into the voyage, and made to ship his holiday toggery. Afore they got aboard the praying-place, his missus thinked fit to give him a little destruction in the way he should behave himself, and amongst the rest, says she to him, says she, ‘ Joe’ says she, ‘ mind you musn’t say nothing to nobody, till the business is all over, and then only ina whisper.’ ‘ Very well,’ says Joe, ‘I won't.’ * You musn’t,’ says she, ‘ keep rolling your eyes about the deck ; and when the people gets up, and sits down, mind you gets up, and sits down too.’ ‘Ay, ay,’ says Joe; ‘I won’t sit down at all, and then I can’t fail o’ being right.’ ‘ Well,’ says she, ‘ that’ll be better than keeping your seat all the time,’ says she, ‘ and with a little reg’lation from me, you'll do in that respect tol’rable well, 26 JACK IN A CHURCH. Now, the next thing,’ says she, ‘ what I’d have you mind of all things, is that you must remember, no one upon no account whatsomdever must say nothing, except the parson. ‘Aye, aye,’ says Joe, ‘ I’ll be blowed if I won’t mind that, ’specially as I know nobody has no right to give no orders, except the captain. Well, that’s all, I ’spose,’ says he? ‘ Yes,’ says she, ‘that’s all, only be sure to remember that nobody’s to speak neyer a word, except the parson.’ And with that, they cried hands to the lee braces, and stood in. ‘Well, my lads, having slackened sail, they brought their helm to port, and espying a sunny anchorage, with only asingle craft moored in it, stood across to’ards its nearest end. Then they clued up their courses, and backing their maintopsail, got starn way, and let fall their kedgers. But they'd got so far abaft, that they could see little or nothing of what was a going on; and, as Joe kept every now and then poking up his starboard eye, over the hammock rail, and seemed mighty restless, his missus thought they might get a better berth. So she got under weigh, and with her consart in her wake, doubled a cape, and stood on, under an easy sail, through the whole fleet, till at last- she brought to, under the bows of the Admiral’s ship, and throwed out a signal for Joe to do the like. This was a much better sittivation, for they could hear beauti- ful, and faced the whole congregation. All went on very well, for some time; the parson was a getting through his log, like an East Indiaman in a stage’rer, and Joe seemed very ’tentive. Well, my hearties ! as bad luck would have it, just as the old gentleman, who was a reading, had cut through a tarnation long thingum-bob, a strange voice from above singed out—drawing it out as long as the maintop bowline—A—men ! My eyes ! you should ha’ seen Joe ; he pricked up his ears directly, and as he didn’t know well what to make on it, at first, he said nothing to nobody, but looked very queer, and beginned to grumble to himself. His missus, who had all along been very fearful of his behaviour, heered him saying summat just above his breath, and, ‘ What’s the matter, Joe?’ says she, ‘Matter !’ says he, ‘ blow me! nothing’s the matter, only this here feller in the fore-top has been asaying what he should’nt ha’said.’ Well,the people about beginned to look rather funny, and Joe’s partner told him to let down his bowsprit, and not say no more. The parson, you know, had it all to himself now for some time, and Joe knowed all that was right enough, and so kept wonderful quiet. “ But by and bye, you know, the fore-top feller striked up again, and beginned to sing out summat considerable longer than the first. Joe bobbed up his truck again, and looked rather flustered. ‘ Poll,’ says he, ‘didn’t you tell me afore we comed in, that nobody was to say nothing, except the parson.’ ‘Hush! for goodness sake, be quiet, Joe,’ says she. ‘ Quiet,’ says he, ‘ when I sees no discipline aboard the Admiral’s ship, d—d if I will!’ Joe started up, throwed down his log-book, and primed for action. ‘I say, you mister!’ he sings out, ‘you mister in the fore- top, ahoy! What ’thority have you to cry out when the captain’s a speaking, and you've orders to run in your piece, and lash down the port? Pretty regg’lations aboard here, indeed! Don’t you see, his honour looks quite dumbfoundered with your impudence ? What bus’- ness have you to keep there mocking the skipper, in this here insiniva- ting way, ch—you long-shore toddler? I wish I'd got you aboard the —————— a JACK IN-A CHURCH. 27 Kill-ease, that’s all; I'd see if you’d play such pranks again. Blow me! if you should’nt have a lash from ev ery man in the fleet. I heered you the time afore, you lubber, I did, only I thought I'd give you an offing for consideration, and fancied what you singed out slipped “from you con- voluntary. Shiver my timbers! here’sa pretty go! mutiny, by George! ad ndable, sculking mutiny! And you, too, old gentleman, why don’t you unship your barnacles, and sing out for the master-at-arms? If you won’t make your men pay you proper respect, why that’s your fault, that’s all. Blow me! if he won’t get under hatches in a minute. Hail for a guard, and clap him in the bilboes. Here’sa jolly revolution ! men turned skippers, warrant coveys, flag officers! Blow me! if you arn’t all a disgrace to His } Majesty's Sarvice ; one and all, one and all, from skipper to landsman.’ «By Jove! but you should ha’ seen the church. Allin as much con- fasion, as the cock-pit after a thundering action. The lighter craft screamed, and beginned to scud from their moorings. The men o’ war beared up, and wanted to see what was the matter. The parson dipped down the hatchway, and swinged down to the lower deck; while the charity boys, and the chap what keeps order, comed running through the reaches, to get hold o’ Joe. Joe got on the seat, and was singing out like a thirty-two pounder. ‘I say! you sir!’ says he, ‘ you chap with the cocked hat, three-penny cane, and laced toggery, capital order you keeps ‘tween decks, when the captain can’t say his say, without being put out every minute. I'll warrant you was ogling the young woman alongside, instead of attending to your duty. Clap on more sail, old bottle-nose, and bowl down as you ought todo. Clear away your grappling-irons, and run aboard your chase, or the clipper ‘ll slip through your fingers. I’ve a good mind, only it ’ud be interfering with rege ‘lations, to bring you down myself, you lantern-nosed, gooseberry- eyed, bason- headed, limber-finned, bell- pulling, spade-driving, psaim- singing, son of a poor-box and parish book. You'll soon heave to in limbo, that’s one comfort ; so come down, and victual for the cruise, and be d—d to you!’ “‘Howsomdever, Joe was stopped short in his ‘dress to the ship’s company, and hauled out by a half-dozen of the hands, into the stern galleries. A few o’ those on board, ’specially the parson, and his first and second mate, wanted to march him off for a court-martial, under the charge, as they said, of disturbing the congregation at their ’votions ; but one or two of the most ’spectable passengers offered to become bail for his’pearance, and so they taked off his /umbargo, and let him warp away. The damage a'ter all was wasn’t of no great importance; but often as he’s been since in Portsmouth, blow me if you could ever get him into any thing what mounted a steeple, or had a warrant officer forreds with a cocked-hat, cane, and laced jacket.” Bitt Rogers, LATE H, M, §, *‘ FIRE-FLY.” ( 28 ) WHAT DO FOLKS LAUGH AT? DEMOCRITUS. “‘T’ll dwell in cities, (as my genius guides,) To laugh my fill, for smiling PEACE provides Such plenteous store of laughing stuff to fill me, That still Vil laugh, unless that laughing kill me.’ Dialogue upon the Troubles past, between the Weeping and ee Philoso- phers, by Josiah Sylvester, 1633. Ay! what do folks laugh at? Is it not an awfvl question? Dear reader, you must now confess, that it is of paramount moment to ascer- tain what is the cause that equally disfigures, with contortions, (horrible if minutely inspected,) the fairy cheek of girlhood, curtained with love and innocence, the enchanting languor of the leader of ton, the ruddy face of the ploughman, the funereal visage of the chimney-sweep, the lofty features of majesty, the member’s brow of care, the card-playing cat- loving old maid of fifty-eight, the baby in the cradle, the man of ’change and checks, ditto of no change and drafts, the exquisite of Belgrave Square and the omnibus box, or the box of the omnibus; in fact, every breathing being, from Mr. Green the aeronaut to Mr. Blue the miner. I say again, is it not of equal importance, as the mighty mysteries of the philosopher’s stone ; preventive checks ; checks to prevent pickpockets ; or the query of how many of Dan O’Connell’s tails will reach to the moon ? —Alas! is it not doubtful if any will pierce the clouds at all, at all, un- less it be those of their own pigtail and potatoes ?—But to return to my text.—I was walking—no, not walking, sauntering down Regent Street the other mor ning, about 4 o’clock Pp. M., leisurely drawing on to my left hand a kid glove of the purest white, Parisian make, eadhe in- wardly anathematizing the man, who, having taken the length, breadth, and depth of my manners, and afterwards counted its solid contents, could be so insufferably donkeyish, as to make the receptacle for my little finger so clumsily as not to show the figure of the brilliant turquoise that embraced it, when, who should I perceive advancing on the same side of the way but my very amiable friend Emma Stanley, leaning upon thearmof atallyoung man, whose dark mustacheactually twined from the exterior of his features around his nasal organ, from which issued sounds not at all in accordance with the inspired notes so often heard in War- wick Street ; and whose finely-formed waist seemed trying, with won- derous plunges, to escape the thraldom both of stays and buttons. My eyes involuntarily glanced from the youth to his fair companion: (it’s a strange thing, they generally do) alas! to my astonishment, her beau- tiful lineaments were actually disfigured as horribly as those of her fellow promenader. She, who was looked up to as the beauty of beauties, was actually more like the beast.—Her once smooth cheek, of the most deli- cate hue of the sweetest flower coyly blushing at its sister bud, was no longer to be discefned ; but, in its place, a surface of the texture and dye of a red pickled-cabbage leaf; the mouth, made for the home of kisses WHAT DO FOLKS LAUGH AT? 99 had “vanished into thin air,” and a feature occupied its site like a squashed orange. As I came up to them, I unconsciously, so great was my alarm, exclaimed, ‘‘ What, in the name of heaven, can have hap- pened, tohave thussuddenly disfiguredthelovely Miss Stanley.” —‘* What do you mean, Sir Charles, I do not comprehend you,—allow me to in- troduce the Count D’Or— Sir Charles Markland, Count D’Or— Count D’Or— Sir Charles Markland.” Of course, the usual happiness was ex- pressedonmypart. ‘‘ Andnow, MissStanley, pray pardonme, and appease my curiosity—tell me what you were laughing at?” ‘‘Oh! a mere trifle, nothing at all, Sir Charles,” replied the beauty. ‘‘ Nothing,” nothing !” echoed the Count. ‘Good God !’’ I mentally ejaculated, as parting from the elegant pair I continued my saunter down the street ; ‘‘ how can people be such unmitigated asses, as to riggle their faces into such shapes, that even ‘‘ the attractive monkeys” of the Zoolo- gical Gardens would blush blue to own. Surely, they cannot have the minutest idea how execrably ugly they looked !” Now, peruser, duck! you must be aware that I am a bit of a met-a- physician, an ontologist ; a bit of a poet; a bit of a mis-an-thrope; a bit of an exquisite ; and a complete—nonentity. Dreaming, I like to walk about, a sonnambula in fancy, not in reality. Hating the world, I once thought of exploring the untrodden wilds of Africa; in hopes of finding a Utopia in the bosom of the vast Continent; some faery glen ’mid the cloud-capped hills, and gardens of flowers; whose inhabitants were as unstained as the mountain dews which fed their streams, rippling through the wilderness. I delighted, too, in German literature ; it was my joy to clothe things in robes of mystery; to believe men were but shades stalking o’er the world; their actions springing from no cause, or if any, unknown, but to the initiated: this I longed to be. «© What do folks laugh at?’ The gong was struck—it vibrated in my ears, like a rusty voice of an old harpsichord, doomed to be thumped by the bread-and-butter fingers of some blue-sash-white-frocked school- girl, for three hours per diem; unhappy instrument, what are the mise- ries of the ‘‘ interesting niggers” compared with thine! It haunted me —what do folks laugh at? I entered the Athenzeum; the first person I saw was one of the footmen, with his hands rubbing to and fro be- tween his legs, convulsed with laughter ; which, vainly endeavouring to repress, spluttered out on either side of his mouth, like—I have, at a dis- tance, heard—sausages squabbling in a frying-pan. Now, thought I, here is a fit subject to be anatomized; and touching the fellow on the shoulder with my cane, I vociferated, ‘‘ How now, sirrah, what are you laughing at?” The man became calm in an instant, and turning round with an awkward bow, replied: ‘‘ Nothing, sir—I beg your honour’s pardon—Sir Charles.” “ Nothing again,’ I muttered, as I walked away, ‘‘ confound the rascal; what do folks laugh at?” How fearful was the thought that stuck to me by day and by night. I had mooted a problem, which like perpetual motion could not be solved, for what was nothing! Could I grasp it, gaze upon it, hear it, taste it, smell it ? —no! Isought my chambers with a fevered brain. All round the room the things were grinning at me—the chairs uplifted their scats, resembling mouths stretching with merriment; the open piano uttered fierce yells; Hood’s Annual and the Pilgrims of the Rhine lay upon the 80 WHAT DO FOLKS LAUGH AT? table,—all were in hysterics, even “ The World*”; I looked into the glass, my own face laughed at me. ‘‘ Bah !” T sighed, ‘ this will never do.” I went to bed, and although the pillow, as I lay my weary head, enveloped in five silk night-caps, upon it, exuded a giggling growl, which penetrated through their downy folds ; I at length got to sleep, how I cannot tell. This state of passive happiness was not long to last ; I awoke and looked at my time-piece, it was just four.—I had forgotten the fever of yesterday, and was quietly again courting the dews of sleep to fall upon my eye-lids; when, horror of horrors, I was aroused by a he, he, he! issuing from the next room ;—like lightning the frightful sound scathed my heart—I trembled for a moment in the bed; when again, he, he, he! ha, ha, ha! came in smothered accents up the stone stairs, from the apartment below. ‘‘ Fire and furies,’’ I exclaimed, as I jumped from the couch, ‘‘ I will catch the demon now!” I threw on my dressing gown, and rushed down stairs. The perspiration hung in great drops upon my night-capped brow, I quivered in all my joints, so great was my anxiety to fathom the mystery, which not content with taking possession of my mind by day, must, like some gloomy spectre, yawn its death-laugh even o’er my pillow. ‘‘ Infernal demon,” I ejaculated, as I pushed against the parlour door, ‘‘I have you now;” it flew open with a terrible crash—a sound like that which we are told shall be heard when the sky will crackle together as a lawyer’s scroll, or mortgage deed—but, above it all, I could distinguish the everlasting grinning. My taper was out, I stumbled into the room spluttering forth in my rage, “Fiends! what do you laugh at?” the fresh morning breeze played across my cheek, the window was wide open, and by. the grey dawning light I could discern—-nothing—nothing but my table in a recumbent position upon the carpet, minus two legs, a loss indeed, although they were but wooden ones; and around it slept, in elegant confusion, the empty bottles of my best champagne; and my Dresden china in rather more pieces than even a dealer would recommend. The noise and cries of my poor shepherds and shepherdesses, broken thus rudely from their cups, and the hollow sound of the fallen marines, soon brought the in- mates of the house to my assistance. It was unanimously agreed, that there had been thieves—midnight robbers! think of that ; for, of my plate, excepting a few broken ones, could be found—nothing! Per- ceiving the means of making a rich repast, these ‘‘ nice,” hopeful young gentlemen had set down in my room to enjoy themselves, and tickled by some strange fancy, had burst out into the merriment that aroused me from my dreams ;—hearing me astir above them, they had placed the table loaded with bottles, &c. against the door to retard my progress until they could effect an escape. Alas! why they laughed could be told—nothing ! In a few days, I left town on a trip round the coast, in order to loosen from my mind its shackling thoughts; or, by picking the apple from the tree of knowledge, to give judgment in the yet untold cause—Laughter y. Sir Charles Markland. As I love now and then to see a little unso- phisticated vulgarity, by way of procuring fresh food for my philosophy (philosophy can’t stomach salt junk), my intention was to commence my * «The World,” a Poem in 6 Books, lately published, WHAT DO FOLKS LAUGH AT? 31 cockney tour by proceeding to Herne Bay, per steam. I was put in re- collection of this mode of travelling, and the place, by watching the steam slowly curling from the urn at breakfast-time. It was one of those delicious mornings termed ‘‘a doctor’s real friend,” when the streets at the east end of London are found ankle deep ina kind of pea-soup, tick- ets for which may be had gratis: the rain came misseling down, and the east wind, in slight puffs, just kindly wafted it into my cabriolet as I drove from Cornhill to the place of embarkation. However, I had “made up my mind” to go, (a kind of bolstering up) let the weather be what it would. I soon arrived at the steam-packet wharf, and stepped aboard the ««Red Rover,’ which seemed, from the colour of its breath, to be rather a black one. We cut the waters of old father Thames, and dashed through England’s hoard of riches :—‘‘ Ships, Colonies, and Commerce,” muttered Ito myself, used to be great Buonaparte’s toast; but now, in these milk- sop reforming times, they oppress our shipping, throw away our colonies, and damn our commerce !—A truce to politics, I did not leave Jermyn Street, to hinder my digestion by studying political economy. Hearing from the cabin (whither the rain had forced me) ‘‘ the band”’ attempting to play ‘‘ Rule Britannia,” I immediately guessed that we must be off Greenwich, so I sallied forth to gaze upon that fine monument of British glory and philanthropy. The rain had nearly ceased: but I had scarcely placed my foot on the last stair ere I heard a sound which made me stare ; guess of my infinite joy, to find ‘‘ softly o’er my senses stealing,” a me- lodious ‘“‘ ho-ho-ho-ho-hooy.” I hastily turned round ; there, under the lee of the paddle box, sat a mountain of fat, labouring in its laughter as much as the paddle beneath it—actually, the flakes of gross substance on either side of its pug nose, quivered like a jelly. I am certain it was im- possible for this animal’s eyes to have doubled its promontory sufficiently to discern the top-boots which decorated its handsome legs. ‘‘He,he,he— la, Pa, is that here Green-vicht,” shouted a little fellow by his side, who might very properly have been called mole-hill. ‘‘Yes, dear, that’s the Horsepittle, and them men in blue coats and three-cornered hats, like raspberry-tarts, turned up at the hedges, are the practitioners,” replied a raw-boned, tight-skinned woman, who was dealing out porter and polo- nies to her comfortable coterie. I fell into one of my reveries (compan- ions of my genius, or disease) upon the enjoyments of my near neigh- bours, who, I am glad to say, whilst plunging into their capacious maws _great lumps of grease, and draughts of muddy water, were wise enough to hold their tongues, lest they should bite them. However, I was not long left to my musings, for no sooner were the porter and polonies re- duced into something like their original state, than my longing and elon- gating ears were again saluted with the man mountain’s ‘‘ ho-ho-ho-ho,” followed by the ‘‘ he-he-he-he,”’ and ‘‘ ha-ha-ha-ha—haa”’ of the old woman (‘‘ lady”—so the steward called her), and a stranger nightingale, who had joined the group with a ‘‘ hi-hi-ho-hoop—buzs-buzs—hi-hi-ho- hoop—buss-buss.” I could stand this no longer: so going up to the mortal, I accosted him with, ‘‘I hope you will excuse me, Sir, but you seem very merry; perhaps you will allow me to partake in the joke— what might you be laughing at?” ‘‘Oh! nothing, Sir, nothing!” replied the monster, in a growling tone. ‘‘The devil you wern’t!” ejaculated If. “ No, Sir, nothing,—TI likes to laugh at nothing, sometimes, it makes a 33 WHAT DO FOLKS LAUGH AT? body grow fat.” Good gracious, thought I, asI turned away, your crops must have been very successful lately, if we may judge by your granary. But, however, the old gentleman’s wit was not to pass with only my soli- tary reflection ; for from the wheel I could hear it followed up by the enchanting “ hi-hi-ho-hoop—he-he-he—ha-ha-haa,” and then came the thunderinng bass, ‘‘ ho-ho-ho-ho ”—bringing up the rear, like a body of heavy artillery. I shuddered as I said aloud ‘‘ what do folks laugh at ?” I reached Canterbury—Canterbury Cathedral is a beautiful building — I was always particularly fond of old churches and castles: there is a gloomy grandeur hanging about them which I love; they have existed when mortals, vainly famed for their learning or their greatness, trod their stone aisles, or knelt before their holy altars: they still exist when those heads are laid low in the dust—when even their memories are almost forgotten. When we gaze upon this time-seared fane, how natu- ral is it forthe spirit to fly back to the days of Henry the Second and Thomas a Becket; the past is once more embodied, it lives again in the imagination of the beholder, But such was not to be my lot; for I had no sooner cast eyes upon the crumbling pile than my meditations were interrupted by the cachinations of some impertinent jackass at my elbow: I turned abruptly upon the inquisitive animal, with, ‘“‘and pray, Sir, what do you laugh at?” ‘‘ Nothing, Sir, nothing,” replied the in- truding ape, ina sharp wiry tone, like the grating of a weather-cock. L710) n, do all folks laugh at nothing?” bellowed I. ‘‘ May be,” con- tinued the inquisitor, who was a little—very little creature, ‘arrayed in dirty black, with’a nose that resembled the shape of a gun made to shoot round corners, and a pair of bullet eyes, ‘‘ may be you’ve never seen our cat before, Sir? ”—casting his lively orbs from his spindle knee, breeched legs, to the gorgeous mass—the house of prayer! ‘‘ No, Sir,” I replied, ««T have never seen your cat before, or behind, Sir—do you take me for a cat-skinner,or what do you mean by asking such impertinent questions?” ‘‘Pertinent, yes, very pertinent to the time—cat means Cathedral here, Sir; it’sa way I’ve got of my own,—!I am the sexton, Sir—shall be happy to show you all over the Cathedral, Sir—for half a crown, Sir: if you go into the vaults, six-pence more, Sir.—He-hi-he-hi-ho-ho-hum !” «“ What the devil do you laugh at now, my good fellow, eh?” ‘Oh, nothing Sir,” again squeaked the weather-cock, more shrilly than before. Escaping the temptations of a trip to Calais, and the perils of Romney Marsh, [arrived at Hastings. Beautiful country round about. Put up at the ‘‘ Albion,” fine sea view from Dungeness to Beachy. ‘* Boots,” said I, the first morning, as he brought up the hot water; ‘* what kind of bathing have you here?’ ‘“ De bathing, Sir, is dewine generally.” ‘«* Bathe in wine! what do you mean!” “No, Sir, bathe in de sea, but there be’s a monstracious big swell on, dis morning, Sir.” ‘* Well, never mind, I shall try it,” said 1; ‘‘ and then there’ll be two swells together.” I strolled down to the beach, and found myself safely ensconced in ‘‘a machine.” I now discovered why bathing is recom- mended by the Faculty, (who certainly have the faculty of taking people in, as much as they do their physic) in order to remove pimples, or bumps, from the skin; for just as I started, forgetting it was a shingly beach, I was standing upright, when away I went from my pins, and my hands being engaged, my face must inevitably have come in rude WHAT DO FOLKS LAUGH AT? 83 contact with the wooden side, and have removed my Roman nose from its seat, placing in its room a broken Bridge of Sighs, had not it gone forth on its travels, through the little hole left to admit light, which luckily was ‘open. At last I stopped in my rapid flight. I opened the door to spring out, when I was assailed with a ‘‘ hoa-hoa-hoa-hoop.” “ How!” said I, ‘‘ does the devil live in the sea, as well as on land! What’s the matter?” putting.my head round the machine, and covering my nakedness as well as I could, ‘‘Oh, Sir! I just fell in—with, but I believe it’s nothing, Sir—Nothing,” retorted the merman, looking up at me with wonder, and wiping the water from his eyes andhair. ‘‘ Do please tell me, Sir, what it was?” exclaimed I eagerly, and with a disap- pointed air (nearly resembling the way in which his hair was appointed), at having so nearly solved my problem, but to feel my hopes not only damped, but actually drowned by his crying, ‘‘ Oh, no, no,’ as he jumped into his Domicile ; ‘it was, I assure you—nothing !” The next day I received a letter, which required my immediate atten- dance in town. Accordingly, at 10 o’clock, I mounted the box of ‘‘ the Paragon,” and crawled along at the rate of about seven miles an hour; but the tediousness of the journey was made up for by the splendour of the country through which we passed. I was en- chanted! MHill and valley came in succession, and displayed some of the most luxuriant views that could be desired. We stopped at Ton- bridge-wells to dine. Every traveller knows that not much time is allowed for this operation: accordingly, I made the best use of it, by putting a piece of potatoe into my mouth, which was so exceedingly hot, I was obliged, after burning my tongue ito blisters, and trying in vain to bolt the dainty morsel down, to dislodge it precipitately from its hiding-place, into the lap of the lady who sat next to me, much to the amusement of my felow passengers—miserable sinner that I was! «‘ What the deuce are you laughing at?” vociferated I, in torture from my dozen wounds, to a slender dapper draper’s-boy-looking youth, who ever and anon burst forth like a volcano, with ‘‘ buz-buz, splutter- splutter !” ‘Oh! Sir, nothing, Sir,” replied he, half frightened, and turning quite white in the face. ‘‘ By G—, Sir!” retorted I, ‘‘ what do you mean by nothing ? It is the most detestable word on earth !” ** Coach is ready, Sir, London coach,” shouted different voices from without ; and again we rolled off towards the metropolis. We had just passed through Farnborough, when a most violent giggle broke from the inside of the coach; startled by the sound, splash went the near leader, a little blood mare with elegant action; and away we went into a full gallop—whizzing along at double our former speed. I stretched over so as to be able to parley with the causers of the fright ; ‘‘ For heaven's sake, my dear young ladies, hold your tonges,” I exclaimed, “‘ or we shall be all upset. But tell me first, what have you found to laugh at?” “We don’t know,” weezed the cracked voice of an antiquated dame. ‘I believe it’s nothing,” said a round-faced country girl, putting her bonnet out of the window to shew it; “I believe it’s nothing, Sir.” ‘‘ Sacre!” muttered I, “nothing again.” ‘‘ Hough-hough-hough!” pealed from the dickey, at this exclamation, ‘‘ Hough-hough-hough!” ‘ Good heavens! who ever heard such a horse-laugh ?” greaned [ to the coach- man. “ They're all four off,” replied he, alluding to his sattle, ' Saints M.Me1, D 34 WHAT DO FOLKS LAUGH AT? above defend me, four horse-laughs !—this is more than I can bear! Coachman, coachman, stop, for the love of mercy, stop;” gasped I, - “let me down.” “Oh, you're afeard, Sir, are you, it’s only nothing” — «Only nothing ! how cool the fellow talks 1” The next day I arrived at my old apartments in Jermyn Street. My little Tiger opened the door with a smiling face. “You young vaga- bond,” said I, ‘‘ what do you smile at?” The boy said nothing, but smiled again. Reader, I dare say now, that whilst you have skimmed these pages, you may perhaps have grinned a ghastly grin; and yet, if I asked you what you laughed at, and you were to speak the truth, you would reply nothing ! Every body laughs at nothing, and nobody laughs at nothing. I determined to live solus no longer, to be haunted by horse-laughs, cat-grins, and donkey-smiles. So, thinking the case carefully over, I made up my mind (a kind of bolstering up, as I before said) to get married forthwith, which is no laughing matter, I assure you; only consider coolly asI did, over a bottle of iced claret and cayenned biscuits, and you too, I guess, will grow rather timorous. A wife’s like a cut at cards—both may either turn up an ace, a trump, or the deuce ; and oftentimes they cut a heart, which cannot cut from them—and then the squalling brats; slobbering and greasing you, from top to toe, worse than any brick-bats; curtain lectures, hair combing, long faces, longer tongues, tears, cucumbers and onions, cum multis aliis—never, I hope fo come, for a poor weak-minded wretch that Iam. I hummed the popular song of ‘“‘ Why don’t the men propose ?” andit hummed me, for I obeyed its injunctions the next morning; how? but I shall tell you no- thing about that, excepting that I went on my marrow-bones, and the lady laughed in my face. I asked her what about, and she replied “nothing,” yet I verily believe it was from joy; for Ellen and I were soon made one, (as it is called) and ever since that blessed day, we have both been so happy, (which I hope may be the case with you all) that even I, the ontologist, the poet, misanthrope, exquisite, nonentity, no longer ask folks what they grin at, but laugh myself at everything, anything, or nothing ! UMBRA, October, 1835. EPIGRAM. Tuy heaving bosom is the couch of Love, He kindles passion at thy flashing eye. Anon—among thy brown tresses will he rove ; Anon—to thy sweet lips for kisses fly ! So charm’d is he with his enchanted bed, So loth from such delicious lips to part, So amply at thine eye his torch is fed, He never yet has rack’d thy icy heart! = JT; (85) A FEW WORDS ON THE DRAMA. Ir has of late been so general for managers of theatres to accuse the public of withholding from them a due share of encouragement, that it would seem, at first, there was some truth in the often-repeated asser- tion. How frequently do we find them asserting, ‘‘ it is not my fault that I play everything but the legitimate drama, for were I to do so, the consequence would be, an audience scant in the extreme. People will not patronize it; at the present day, the taste has altogether changed, ‘‘ and I must follow the stream.” Upon this false foundation they base all their arguments, and the result proves their sophistry ; season after season comes to an end, and we find the managers con- gratulating themselves upon every thing but their profits. This ought to _ show them their errors—but, no! they seem determined to commence the next year with even increased vigour in every department, save always that which tends to uphold the dramatic literature of the country. We can remember how we winced some year or two since, when ac- companying a foreigner to one of our national theatres, at his remark- ing, that the three pieces were translations from the minor theatres of Paris, and any thing but improved by the adaptation. It would have been of little use reminding him, that there were more eminent men engaged in literature in England than in any other country in the world; but the national theatre was not their arena. One of the greatest drawbacks to the success of the theatres, are the galleries; not that we would be supposed for a moment to object to them, for we should indeed be sorry to see them closed; but every fre- quenter of places of amusement must admit that the galleries always rule the house: it is their tastes the managers and actors seek to please, because they are loudest in their applause, and the most villanous trash in the shape of maudling sentiment and vulgar songs is intro- duced, for the purpose of what is called, in theatrical parlance, ‘‘ bringing down the galleries.” What is the style of music selected by the galle- ries for an encore ? some comic song, or sentimental air overladen with meretricious ornament, and which every person of taste or judgment in the house feels ought to have been left out; and yet they are obliged to suffer the infliction of its repetition, and endure the double annoyance of listening to such trash, and having it asserted that “it was stamped by the approbation of the whole house.” The managers, instead of striving to do away with the much-abused system of an encore, do all in their power to encourage it. They seem not to be aware that those morceaua which are really deserving of encou- ragement will find their way quietly and surely, without any of those up- roarious bursts which they so much delight in hearing, and which are more generally the harbingers of bad success than otherwise. D2 86 A PEW WORDS ON THE DRAMA. There are many persons of taste and education who would go to the theatres for a refined and intellectual amusement, that are now driven away by the managers so continually playing up to the galleries; they are disgusted with the nonsense and trash put forth on the stage, and prefer remaining at home and perusing quietly a favourite author to the trashy medley of our national theatres. That pieces devoid of real merit, spiritless in dialogue, and whose strength lies alone in the disgusting horrors of their situations, may for a time please the ‘‘ multitude,” we will not deny; but they soon surfeit, and even the very persons for whom they were designed feel no pleasure in their repetition, or if they do look on them a second time, it is languidly and without interest, and with feelings more, perhaps, of disgust than pleasure, and they are glad when the performance is finished. They miss the rich racy dialogue of the old comedies; when they laughed they scarce knew why, or felt themselves excited by the beautiful sentiments and imagery of the sterling tragedies of the old English writers, and the repetition of which they could bear without experiencing the same lan- guor or ennui so generally caused by witnessing a second time the dramas of the school of horrors. The managers never seem to lose an opportunity of courting their friends the galleries, for even in the production of an opera, which has been frequently played abroad and the success of which is almost certain, they are not content until some fiddler in the orchestra whom nobody scarce knows has thrust in a villanous composition of his own, calculated for the galleries, and which perhaps are the only encores of the evening, and therefore considered by the manager as suiting his purpose much better than the works of Mozart, Beethoven, Meyerbeer, &c., whose music is listened to quietly, and without that noisy approbation bestowed upon the interpolaters. It will be in vain for managers to attempt, with any degree of success, the performance of the legitimate drama for a few evenings with a badly assorted company :—persons wholly incompetent are thrust into parts they are incapable of understanding, or even properly reading, and it is but little amusement to a discriminating audience, to listen to the beau- tiful passages of our old English Poets delivered by an actor who consi- ders himself engaged in the operatic department ; and to whom, acting and elocution area very second-rate concern. In one company we must have members for Tragedy, Comedy, Opera, Farce, Ballet, and Panto- mime; none complete in themselves; each lending to the others, and forming a discordant whole, that rarely insures success :—there is a want of harmony consequent upon thus getting up performances that makes them any thing but the source of amusement they ought to be. Managers may well say ‘‘ the public will not patronize the drama in its highest range,” for they will not listen with pleasure to the murdering of their most cherished authors, delivered in a sing-song style, by an actor who considers, either that it ought to be turned into music to suit him, or into a ballet, in which he might attitudinize the principal character, and who, perhaps, has grace enough to feel that he understands about as much of his author’ as he does about Greek Apophthegms. Were a cotiipany to be formed solely for the representation of tragedy, comedy, and fare®; Jea¥ing to the other house the getting up of operte TO A BISAPPOINTED WASP, 8&7 ballets, &c., there might be a chance of sucess to all; the public "might have the drama again raising its head as proudly as ever, and opéefas and ballets well sustained, and the managers find, by their replenished ex- chequers, that the English will still patronize their native talent. At the present day we have no national theatre, for those so miscalled are the least of all to be considered as such: the English drama has latterly taken up its resting-place in the neighbourhood of Whitechapel, the denizens of which still relish the literature of their native country, and care little for the incongruous translation of the theatres of the Parisian Boulevards. B. TO A DISAPPOINTED WASP. FOUND ON MY BREAKFAST-TABLE IN NOVEMBER, ON WHICH THE TIMES NEWSPAPER WAS LYING, Say, aged thing, What chance till now has kept thee on the wing ; Say, sober veteran, Ere Death e’en thee within his clutches clasps, Why art thou here, Long after each compeer, Thou obsolete, old-fashion’d man, Methusaleh of wasps? _ Methought that thou wert dead, entomb’d and rotten, With all thy beautiful array Of pleasures in a happier day, Quite, quite forgotten !— Dost come once more, ere slumb’ring in thy grave, December’s storms to brave, Prowling about in speculative mood, Despite thy grey decrepitude, For ancient food ? Dost come with tott’ring limb, Once more to climb The sugar-bason’s parapet, And make thereon thy wonted revolution ? Although the time when you shone Is at a distance I would fain forget, But for thy impotent endeavour, To be so frolicsome and clever, And frisky yet !— Oh! for the days when thou wert young ! A rival of the Gossamer, As on the Zephyr’s breast it hung, Which of the two were happier !— 38 TO A DISAPPOINTED WASP. Claiming thy tithe of all In fashion clerical, Tho’ at the best thine was but cant Itinerant !— Thou hadst a goblet in the full round grape, And on the sweetest things that be, Didst most flagitiously Commit a rape !— Perhaps thou wert the very fellow, Who, like a man of gallantry, Didst sit thee where the roses lie, Upon my lov’d one’s cheek—and made her bellow ! If so—I’ll kill thee with an endless death, With a stout breath T’ll whiff a hurricane around thy pate, Or set thee here, To wither in a tropic atmosphere, On my hot plate ; V1] poison thee with horrible device, Of melted butter ; Or drown in a trice, Beneath the waves of that continuous gutter, By heedless tea-cup in its saucer spilt, All for thy guilt !— Yet no!—Thou seem’st unconscious quite, Tho’ quite unhappy—come, then, lonely wight, And with a kindlier thought, I’ll haste thine end ; Nay ! wherefore for our mercy blame us, Poor ignoramus! No dainty breeze nor warm sun can befriend Thine agueish old bones, and hungry snout ; The half extinguished taper of thy life I’d better much put out— No doubt. Come, come then—here’s relief; Beneath my pocket handkerchief Down falling Upon the ground you’re sprawling Now with my merciful great-toe Ill stamp—Ah! no, Tis horrid !—Yet it must be so, And in an instant thus your writhing trunk Is trodden into atoms—Crunk ! crunk! crunk! ce ( 39 ) SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES.—No. 4. Tue pilot having lost all hope, gathered his crewaround him. ‘ The anger of the Gods,” said he with a faltering accent, ‘is full upon us; our ruin is inevitable ; Jupiter arms against us all the elements ; nothing can keep us from his vengeful hand; let us forbear tiring him with vows he rejects; Neptune is less unmerciful; let us renew a custom that has always proved successful ; let us offer up a human victim that shall save the rest, and see whom chance will appoint. His discourse met with general approbation. Every one was eager to throw his name into the funeral urn. Every one made towards death in order to avoid it. The first signature that came out from the deadly vase, (can I say it without expiring?) was that of Sophene! Mad with the most exorbi- tant grief, I carried her into the hold of the ship, with a fixed determina- tion rather to be torn into a thousand pieces than to surrender her. Fear rendered me cruel. Those who the very evening before would have laid down their lives to please her, are the first to sue for her death. They cried aloud that Religion had been violated, and they fancy that the sus- pense of a moment increases the violence of the storm. Imlacca attempted to plead for her; but instead of being listened to, and obeyed, they threatened to make away with him also. They then rushed upon me, and, in spite of my utmost struggles, tore her from my arms. I sank down in a deep swoon. She made her way through the crowd, towards the pilot. ‘‘New minister of the Gods,” said she, ‘‘their rights shall not be transgressed—fear no opposition from me. The life of Sophocles depends upon my death—perform thy office— Neptune calls for his victim—she is ready: why dost thou defer sacri- ficing her?’ These were her last words! two seamen took hold of her— “what are you going to do, ye cruel men?” but already the sea had received and swallowed up its prey. Jupiter! do you countenance such horrible sacrifices? Or if you execrate them, why does not your thunberbolt blast the impious men that dishonour you by offering them. The storm abates. But, Gods! ought a crime to be the purchase of man’s deliverance? and you, monsters, that hold me down, you did well ta chain my fury—it would have rendered this horrible device abortive.” The pilot enjoined me silence : I strove to rush upon him. ‘Load him with chains,” cried he aloud. Then every thing near me became a weapon for me—the Furies inspired me—horror and dismay attended them; the crew looked upon this new danger as more imminent than the first. But my strength was soon spent—they overpowered me. Revenge rendered me thirsty of her blood—I panted for it; but my rage was re- duced to impotent cries. In order to get free of me, they steered to the shore and cast me upon the land, Imlacca! you were not permitted to attend me, You would 49 SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES. have been a comfort for me: had I been susceptible of any, sorrow, when it rises to an excess, makes one sensible. JT remained in sullen silence— I lay motionless—a fatal state; and more horrible than the most violent azitation. It was not long before my despair gathered new strength: the rocks resounded with my screams—the lions and wild boars echoed them from their dens—the Gods heard them, unmoved! The tortures of those famous criminals which their unrelentless justice pursues, are milder than mine: all hell was in my heart—and what was I guilty of? I loved, and I lovestill. Are these my crimes, O Jupiter? How long has the thunder-hearted man been the object of thy cruel vengeance? Is it an offence to imitate thee? And you, Goddess of the sea, do you suf- fer Neptune to give vou a rival? Our interests are united: give me So- phene again. Love! what art thoudoing? Jealous of Sophene’s beauty, thy mother detains thee at Paphos. Sophene was thy votary; thou hadst promised her to my ardent wishes—dost not thou know that she is ravish- ed from me? But what amI doing; and why do I address myself to cruel and deaf gods? Sophene, you are no more—I have caused your death ; mine alone can atone for my crime. If I delay it, it is to prolong my misery : but now you inhabit either heaven or the Elysian fields; and I am not worthy of those delicious abodes. The only god whose kindness I did not implore, pitied me. A friend to mankind, he often anticipates their desires, in order to give himself upto them; his power is boundless; he triumphs over such as even Love could not tame. He reigns amidst the frightful din of arms ;—the dreadful noise of raging storms cannot trouble him whom Jupiter him- self respects, and it is through his favours that the most unhappy mor- tals, in spite of fortune and fate, become gods themselves. In a word, sleep shed his soft dews on my eyes, when, on a sudden, I was dazzled by a glaring light that surrounded me ; Cupid broke through the air, and showed me Sophene. ‘‘ Forbear thy complaints,” said he, «‘T restore her to thee;”’ he said, and flew away. I fixed my eyes upon her, and enjoyed the pleasure of seeing her, though under the abso- lute impossibility of expressing it. Itseemedas if she herself tried in vain to speak. Nevertheless, we lost nothing in that involuntary silence: our looks, our sighs, our raptures, were but more eager, more inflamed, more ravishing for it. At length Sophene said to me, ‘I live,—I love vou !’—‘* How so,” cried I, ‘‘is it you?” The vision flits away, and when I awake, I find myself in a ship among a crowd of Atthiopian pirates, whose slave I am. ’Tis thus, ye cruel gods, that ye abuse us weak sons of men! However, I was astonished at the calmness of my heart ;—I was sorrowful, but my sorrow was tranquil, and when I had no room for hope left, I gave myself wholly up to fluttering expectations. An oar in my hand, I looked wishfully at the companions of my misfor- tunes. Too much weakened to share in their labours, I remained only a spectator of them: ‘‘ And how,” said a barbarian, smiting me, “‘ dost thou think that thou art here to beidle?” J found in my courage means to curb his brutality. ‘‘O, Sosthenes! the gods fully retaliate the wrongs you received at my hands. O, my father! let the shameful condition I am reduced to never reach your ear.” The vessel in which I sailed— Eurycone haying put into harbour, to make up the damages it had suf- fered from the tempest—was pursuing its voyage, when we descried it ROPAANE AND BOPHOCLEA, 4l gave it chace, overtcok, bourded it, and after two hours of hard fighting, becamé masters of it. I know that vengeance is the portion of the gods, and that they have kept it to themselves; but I was so much exasperated with the pilot, the cruel author of all my afflictions, that I could not but see him with pleasure a captive. That pleasure soon gave way to new sorrows. Im- lacca, wounded and dying, appeared before me ; upon examination, his wounds were declared mortal. The crew would have thrown him into the deep, but I prevented it by crying out that he was a noble Greek ; the hopes of a ransom withheld them—the gods and my care restored him to life. The next day the pirates held a council ;—a little city they descried lying on the coast was the victim of their fury and avarice. They took it by surprise in the night. Men, women, and children, all were reduced to slavery. They pillaged and burnt that unhappy city, which is now a heap of stones—a sad and mournful scene of desolation and ruin, upon which the spirit of time seems to fling the unutterable gloom of eternal woe and endless lamentation. Returned to the vessel, they divided the booty among them. The women and girls were placed by themselves,—some to be sold, others to serve the pleasures of their masters—the old men, or such as their wounds rendered useless, were unmercifully murdered, and thrown into the sea. My woes had not dried up the source of my tears; that scene of cruelty made me shed many— it was a crime, and I suffered for my pity. Their riots knew no bounds ; yet even now I cannot remember with- out horror either their discourses or their deeds. The impious punish themselves for their impiety—drunkenness and sleep betrayed our tyrants into our hands. “‘ Let us,” thought I, “‘ be bold enough to attempt re- covering our liberty, and we shall succeed ;” this was my resolution, Imlacca approved of it, so did some of our companions to whom we im- parted it; though they were but very few, they agreed with us. The others, or, at least, most part of them, preferred their slavery to so easy and so glorious an undertaking. Who could believe it? some of them were base enough to entertain the idea of arousing and informing the barbarians of the conspiracy we had formed against them. It failed of success ; but happily the barbarians did not know the danger which had been impending over them. Being recovered from their brutal intoxication, they thought of selling their prize, and accordingly hung out a flag of peace; they then entered the haven of Artycome, delivered, and received hostages. Soon, in a spacious market, they exposed, and offefed to sell, rich furniture, gold and silver vases, and all that could minister either to the wants or the luxury of men. The inhabitants contended for, and snatched them from each other. Cupidity found nothing too dear. As for us slaves, we were cooped up in the vessel; this voluptuous and unfeeling people regarded us but little. Imlacca was the handsomest man breath- ing; they bought him alone: nobody manifested a disposition top ogtess me; I was destined to new adventures. Artycome is famous for a temple consecrated to Minerva. At the entrance of it is a golden statue that represents the goddess to the life, She has a helmet on her head; with one hand she holds a shield, and a 42 SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES. Spear in the other; at her feet a porphyry bason receives a stream, the waves whereof are in perpetual motion. It was there that the pirates resorted, in order to try the young captive girls they wanted to sell—a dangerous ordeal, indeed, from which they came off with infinite honour to themselves and their tender and beloved sex. What a magnificent sight does an innocent and lovely woman present to the admiring eye of a devoted and benevolent man! Search throughout the wide and wonder- ful domain of variegated nature, and you shall find nothing to be com- pared to her peerless beauty, which is the very acme of human dignity. Protectress of chastity, you declared them virgins, and yet they were recklessly and wantonly devoted to ignominy ! Some time after I was witness to that ceremony—here is the relation of it: such as durst hazard the experiment, crowned with laurel, and dressed in a white garment, stepped into the fountain. Their innocence is their glory and safety. Minerva smiles on them, and holds out her hand to them: they retire with universal applause. But the goddess casts a severe look upon the guilty ones. Frightened at the sight of her dread- ful spear, that threatens them, they plunge into the water that flows from under their staggering steps, their chaplet falls off, and they be- come the object of scorn and derision. Sometimes, for want of help, they unhappilly perish there. This is a severe, but merited punishment, for an improper intercourse with men who are base enough to take every possible advantage of their “weakness,” and glory in their loss of virtue, personal dignity, and peace of mind. The hostages being restored on each part, the pirates embarked again, with their treasures. Proud of their late success, they meditated new enterprises, They had soon wasted their ‘‘ detestable riches” with the campanions of their debaucheries. Tremble, unhappy Greek! You think yourselves secure in the bosoms of your families: your pirates cannot protect you. Chains or death must be your lot. The storm fell upon the deplorable and wasted city of Silena. Thy precious wines made thee renowned: they caused thy ruin! Thou couldst redeem thyself by giving them up; thy inhabitants relied too much upon their courage ; they were all of them put to the sword. Soon shalt thou be revenged. We saw those villains sitting down upon the shore, scoffingly celebrating their too criminal revels. Bacchus could not allow those wretches to~ profane his worship and mysteries, with impunity. He deprived them of their reason, Tran- sported with rage, they forgot they were brethren—they took to arms— they attacked and tore each other in pieces! The fight of the Centaurs was less bloody. A troop of Greeks (for Greeks are addicted to piracy, too) came falling upon them unawares, and put the finishing hand to their entire overthrow, and final anihilation. At the sight of this, we burst into shouts: we shook off our chains, and thinking we found deliverers, in the murderers of our tyrants, we came up to them, and threw ourselves into their arms. Yet we had only changed our servitude! It was in vain for us to plead the rights of our birth, and of our common country: they did not hear us, and foreing us into their ship, conveyed us across the blue and open sea, to Daphnipolis, SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES. 43 This town is consecrated to Apollo. His love for that nymph is too well known for me to give a recital of it : it was in the inner part of his temple, that we were exposed for sale. I fell upon my knees, and addressed a prayer to Apollo :—* Son of Jupiter! be sensible of my affliction. Twice a slave, already I am threatened a third time with the loss of my liberty. Do not permit an envoy of thy father, to linger in disgraceful bondage. Soften the hearts of my new masters; let them remember they are Greeks, and that I am equally so. Powerful god, from whose all-beholding eyes, nothing can escape ! what has become of Sophene? If the fatal sisters have cut off her days, it was not a god who condemned her to death. Thou canst repair the crimes of men, and restore Sophene to me. The pains that love made thee suffer, must render thee compassionate to mine.” The moment of being heard was not yet come. I was torn from the altar to be delivered to a citizen who had bought me; Dymas was his name, and Chriseis that of his wife. Curiosity, it has been frequently asseverated, is the predominant characteristic of her sex; scarce had she seen me ere she inquired who I was, whence I came, and by what charm I was their slave. With downcast eye I modestly entreated her to spare me a woful relation, that could not be of any great concern for her ; Dymas, (I can- not call him master,) Dymas listened to us, and was displeased at my refusal. He darted upon me a threatening look, and being told that dinner was brought in, he bade me wait upon him; I obeyed, and thus Sophocles, who some months before was minister of Jupiter, and loaded with glory, sat the first at Sophenes’ table, served and loved by Sophene, found himself confounded among vile slaves in his own country, and put to the drudgery of the house he was in.—O fortune! such are thy|sports ! Towards theendof the entertainment, Dymas orderedhis slayes toretire; Iremainedalonewith him: ‘Iwill have thee,” said he, ‘tell me thy adven- tures; thou shalt entertain me till I fall asleep, and then beware of in- terrupting my rest.” This order, delivered in so imperious and abrupt a manner, made me more sensible than ever of the rigour of my lot. My eyes were ready to overfiow ; my heart was oppressed; I could not complain. ‘‘ Know,” added he, ‘‘thou art my slave and must perform my commands: speak, or fear, if thou provest obstinate, to be chastised into the knowledge of thy duty.—An angry master is a severe preceptor.” «OQ Dymas!” cried I, “‘letthe Gods judge between us. I ama Greek : you have no authority over me, but that which you derive from my mies fortunes and your injustice ; will you, more cruel than the barbarians themselves, who sold me, take away my life, which they have spared in spite of me ?—Strike !—born a freeman, I fear death less than slavery.” Chriseis was pleased with my courage ; she pleaded for me; Dymas fell asleep, and I came off with threats only, The youthful days of Chriscis were past ; but it was not difficult to per- suade myself she had been handsome, if not lovely. She thought she was so still. Inreality she was benevolent, mildly disposed, and, anore all sweetly compassionate. I received at her hands many tokens of kindness, that deeply engaged my gratitude; and if I failed to disclose to her every thing that concerned me, what I said was sufficient to please her, by the confidence I reposed in her, 44 SOPRENE AND SOPHOCLES, Dymas, who did not like re, had laid upon me the most painful tasks, Inceasantly busy, I could not venture to steal a moment’s time to muse on, and bemoan my ill fortune. Covered with rags, lying upon the ground, reduced to the most common and most insipid food, T marvel I did not sink under my misfortunes. The Gods would not have it to be so. Nay —I experienced that, if bitternes springs from the bosom of pleasures, contentment and comfort also arise from afflictions. I had been thirty days in that condition when the feast of Jupiter drew near. What a “ re- collection”? for me! It is not solemnized at Daphnipolis—they celebrate that of Daphne. The rites of it are almost the same. The difference lies only in the choice of the messengers. They are allowed to be mar- ried at Daphnipolis. Dymas was named for Artycome. While every thing was preparing for his journey, Chriseis said to him (fixing her magnificent eyes upon me), ‘ That slave looks sensible—he is wise—he speaks little. But it is plainly to be perceived how much he labours un- der sorrow—I advise you to leave him here. A melancholy slave is lways ominous to his master; at least, it is an unpleasant object which you would have before your eyes. However, as he boasts of being an envoy of Jupiter, he may prove useful to you—think of it yourself.” Dymas replied, ‘‘ It is the common custom with slaves to be proud and liars; that man has a mind to put himself forward. ‘‘Is it true,” con- tinued he, turning to me, “that thou hast been honoured with the min- istry I am now invested with? Take care not to add an untruth to thy jother defects!” ‘