Full text of "All the year round;"

BUCKINGHAM
LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF BUCKINGHAM

8113280

" TJie Story of our Lives from Tear to Year" SHAKESPEARE.

ALL THE TEAR ROUND.

CONDUCTED BY

CHARLES DICKENS.

WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

VOLUME IT.

FROM OCTOBER 13 TO MARCH 23, 1861.
Including No. 77 to No. 100.

LONDON:
PUBLISHED AT N- 26, WELLINGTON STREET;

AND BY MESSRS. CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.

1861.

C. WHITING, BEATJPORT HOUSE. STBAND

, T.-!^.

CONTENTS.

A DAY'S Ride: a Life's Romance.
By Charles Lever . 1

25, 49, 73, 97, 121, 145, 180, 205
228, 254, 278, 808. 332, 356, 380
404, 429, 450, 474, 501, 524, 547, 567
Arinoourt, Henry's Spoous at . 380
A i bulimic- Silk . . . 223,423
Alt nd do Vigny's Publisher . 12
Alligators in America . . 449
Ancient Costumes . . . 125
Ancii nt World, Relics of . . 366
Angelique Tiquet . . 84
America, Charleston City . 462
America, Marriage in . . . 15S
Ami-nca, The Cotton Country . 31S
America, The Mammoth Cave . 343
America, South Carolina . . 438
American Railway Cars . . 328
American Sleeping Cars . . 328
American Snake Stories . . 374
American Steam-boats . . 399
American Volunteer Firemen . 537
Army Purchase System . . 67
Army, Treatment of the Men . 488
Aryan Race, A Legend of tho . 211
Ashley and Cooper Rivers . . 463
Atlantic, Soundings in tho . 205
Australia, On Spec iu . . . 491

BABEI8TBE8' Wigs . 28G

Bears, Stories of . . . . 390
Beautiful Devil, A ... 84
Before Capua . . . 105

Bengal Cotton . . . .470
Bill-Sticking in Rome . . . 58
Bishop of Columbia . . . 470
Black Weather from the South 269
Booking Clerk at Railways . 369
Bouquet from the Baltic . SO

Boxing-Day 258

Briefless Barristers . . .286
British Columbia . . . 470

Building Stone . . . .149

CAPITAL of Italy, The . . 46
Capua, Siege of . . . 101, 198

Cardinal Secretary of State, A 20

Cardinal Wiseman at Rome . 41

Carolina 438

Carolina Rice-Fields . . . 440
Castor Oil Silkworms . 234, 423

Charleston City . . . . 462

ChMMun d'Amquo . . . 511

Chateaubriand's Publisher . . 12

flu-mist Shops .... 70

.' r do la Morliere . . 168
China, Flaws in . . . .414

China, The Man for . . . 221
Chinamen Afloat . . .116

Chinamen's Dinners . . . 355

Chinese Cookery . . . 355

Chinese Rebel Chief, The . . 414

flum-so War Junks . . 120

fimu-s<> Water Thieves . . 118

Christ mas Boxes . . . 258

Christ mas- Kvc in College . . 342

Christmas Table d'Hote . . 420

City Gates, The . . . . 55
City of Flowers, and Flower of

Cities 45

Clergymen, The Ill-paid . . 177

I'oM Weather . . . . 3ih5

Columbia, The Bishop of . . 470

Commissions in tho Army . 67

Concerning Dining
Congress of Pedlars .
Cornish Mine, A .
Cotton Country .
Cotton I'roin India
Cousin Jacques
Crab, The Life of a
Curfew Bell, Tho

DAYBUEAK .
Despised and Forgotten
Dining ....
Dinner Parties .
Dorak, The Poet . .
Drainage of London .
Dress, A History of

rxoc
465

, 449

, 1'Jl
398

, 470

, 167

. 297

. 55

. 534

, 164

. 400

. 466

. 104

, 30

. 125

Dress and Food of Old Lon-
doners 185

Drift 106,380

Duels, The Poet ... 17

EARLIEST Man . . . . 366
Edibles of our Ancestors . . 56
England Painted by a French-
man 142

English Battalion in Italy . 2UO

Englishman in Bengal . . . 4C8

Episcopacy in the Rough . 470

Esthoniau Legends . . . 81
Everett's, Mr., Mount Vernou

Papers 138

FAMILY at Fcnhouse, The . . 260

Fashions 125

Fish in the Sea . . . 294
Five Hundred Years Ago,

Houses and Modes of Living 53

, Dress and Food . . 185

Flaws in China . . . . 414

Fleet Ditcli at King's Cross . 372

Florence, The City of . . . 46

Furls i>! 1'liarlestou . . . 462

Fossil lU-niains . ... 366

Foundling Hospitals in Russia 134

Fountain in the Village . . 115

Four Vatican Pictures . . . Ill

Freebooters at Agincourt . 380

French in Lebanon, The . . 510

French in Rome, The . . 223

French Law of Marriage . . 156
French Looking-glass for Eng-

Imid 142

Frosts 396

Frozen-out Poor Law . . 416

GAOL in Italy, A ... 14

Garibaldi in tlie Field . . . 105

Gauls in Rome .... 223

German Pedlars' Congress . . 44'J

Going to the Front . . . 101

Gold Diggers, Ou Spec . . 491
Great Expectations. By
Charles Dickens . . .169
I'.i;!, HIT. -JU. iv:-, J--9, 313, 337, 31

385, 409, 433, 457, 4M. 505, 529, 653

Great Sower .... 9

Greek Language, The . . . o
Grey Woman, The . 300,321,347

Guano Islands . . . . 296

Gulf Stream, The . . . 497

HAMLET, The French Version

of 18

Happy and Unhappy Couples . 130

not

Hard Frosts . . . 396
Health, A Registration of
Henry tho Fifth's Spoous at

Agincourt ..... 380

Herrings ..... 297

Hill's, Dr., Bishop of Columbia 471

Historical Frosts . . . . 396
Houses Five Hundred Years

Ago ...... 63

Mullah's, Mr.. Classes . . . 306

Human Fossils .... 366>

Hunting the Stag in Germany 213

Hythe, Volunteers at . . . 402.

ICE, Fairs upon tho . . .
In Gaol in Italy . . . .
In Praise of Bears . .

Inconveniences of being a Cor-

nish Man .....
India, Cotton from . . .
India, Englishmen in . . .
Irish Judges at a Bishop's

Dinner .....
Italian Plum-pudding . .
Italian Political Prisoner . .
Italian Sketches of the War,

Going to the Front . . .
- , Waiting for Capua . .
Italy, The Capital for . . .

39*>
14
390

188
470
468

467
176

101

198

JAMAICA Revivals . . . 521

Jelly Fish ..... 298

Jewellers' Shops . . . . 70

KINO Henry the Fifth's Spoons 380

King of Yvetot, The

King's College Evening Classes 44

LADTOCAT, The Publisher
Lady Seamer's Escape . . .

Land and Water . . . 494

Learned Friends . . . . 286

Lebanon, The French in . . 510

Legend of the Aryan Race . . L 1 1

London Drainage ... 30
London, Five Hundred Years

Ago ..... 63,35

London Mysteries ... 69

MAGIC and Science . . . 561

Mammoth, The . . . . 367

Mammoth Cave, The . . . 34$

Man for China, The . . . 221

Managers and. Music-Halls . . 568

Marine Animals . . . 898

Mastodon, The ... 367

Matrimony ..... 156

Merit iu Money . . . . 67
Metropolitan Underground

Railway ..... 878

Michel deCubieres . . . 164

.Mississippi Steamer, A . . 399

Moon, The ..... 845

More about Silkworms . . 423

Mount Vernon Papers . . . 138

Mr. Hullah's Classes. . . 306

Mr. Singleman on Dining . . 466

Mr. Singleuiau onTea . . 442

Much Better than Shakespeare 17

Music-Halls ..... 668

.My Learned Friends. . . SW6

Mysteries of Paris aud London on

NATURE-Plauted

K*vy, Treatment of the Men

486

CONTENTS.

PAGE

New Capital of Italy . . 45
New Chamber of Horrors . . 500

OLD London .... 53,185

Olympe de Gouges . . . 165

On Spec 491

On the Parish .... 278

Opera at Eoine . ... 129

Opium Trade in China . . 119

Our Roman Day . . . . 152

Our Roman Inn ... 76

Oxford, Christmas-Eve at . . 342

Oysters 541

PALAZZO di Venezia ... 39

Paris, Jewellers' Shops in . . 72

Paris Mysteries ... ^ 69

Parish Business . . . 273
Parliament Houses, Stone of

the 150

Parochial Mind . . . . 273

Passports in Prussia . 319

Pay for your Places ... 67

Pedlars' Congress . . . . 449

Penguins ... . 295

Perfumers' Shops . . . . 70

Phrenology at Fault ... 76

Physical Geography of the Sea . 493

Pierre Dupont .... 31

Pine Woods of America . . 441

Planted by Nature ... 9

Plum-pudding in Italy . . . 176
Poets at Fault . . . .534

Poison by Post . . . . 374

Policemen in. Prussia . . 318

Poor Clergy 177

Poor, Homes of the . . .161

Poor Law Chamber of Horrors . 500

Poor Law Doctors . . . . 210

Poor Law System, The . . 446

Poor, Relief of the . . . 446

Pope's Guard . ... 60

Praise of Bears . . . . 390
Pre-Adamite . . . .366

Paint Shops 71

Proscribed Poetry ... 31

Public Reception . . . . 237

Publisher, at the Palais Royal . 11

RAIL-WAT Central Station, The 371

Railway Frauds .... 370

Railway Points . . . . 369

Railway, The Underground . 372

Railway Sleeping Cars . . . 328

Railway Ticket Clerk, The . 369

Railway Traveller Story, A . . 237

Railway Travelling in America 328

Rattlesnake Story . ... 375
Real Mysteries of Paris and

London 09

Rebel Chief of China . ,
Registration of Sickness .
Relief of the Poor . . .
Rice-Fields in America .
Richard the Third . .
Roman Cardinal Secretary, A
Roman Cardinals . . .
Roman Cook's Oracle .
Roman Day
Roman Inn

Roman Reception, A . .
Roman Soldier ...
Rome, Arriving iu . . .
Rome, Bill-Sticking in .
Rome, four Vatican Pictures
Rome in Five Days . .
Rome, The City of . . .
Rome, The French in .
Rome, The Opera in .

Russian Foundling Hospitals

PAGE

. 414

. 227

. 416

. 440

. 106

. 20

. 41

. 174
152
76

. 39

. 58

. 76

. 58

. Ill

. 223

. 45

. 223

. 129

. 134

SALIC Law of Dining . . . 467
Sanitary Science ... 29
Scene in the Cotton Country . 398
Scenery of South Carolina . 438
Schoolmasters iu China . . 415
Science and Magic . . . 561
Sea and Land . . . 205, 493
Sea Anemones ..... 298

Sea Chart, A . . . .496

Sea Fish .... 294, 498

Sea Reptiles ..... 298

Sea, Soundings of the 205, 493

Seals ...... 295

Seeds, Carried by the Wind . 9
Sense of Duty, A . . . . Ill

Severe Winters . . . ' . 390
Shakespeare, Edited by Ducis . 17
Shell Fish ..... 297

Sickness, A Registration of . 227
Silk for the Multitude . . 283,423
Silkworms .... 233, 423

Singleman (Mr.) on Dining. . 465
Singleman (Mr.) on Tea . . 442
Slave Labour in America . . 441
Sleeping Cars in America . . 328
Snake Stories . . . . 374

Snakes in America . . . 374
Snow, Buried in . 61, 90

Soldiers and Sailors . . . 486
Some Railway Points . . . 369
Soundings of the Sea . 205,493
South Carolina . . . . 438

Stag-Hunting in Germany . 213
Starving Clergy . . . 177

Steam-boats in America . . 399
Sticking to the Bottle . . . 16
Stomach for Study . . .42
Stone for Building . . . 149
Syria, The French in. . . . 510

PAGE

TABLE d'H6te .... 420

Tea-Drinking .... 443

Thames frozen over . . . 395

Theatres and Music-Halls . 558

Thoroughly English . . . 108

Tour in the Mammoth Cave . 343

Two Cardinals . . . . 41

UNCOMMERCIAL Traveller,
The : Story about the Italian
Prisoner ..... 13
Uncle's Salvage . . . .36
Under the Sea , ... 493
Under the Snow. . . . 61, 90
Underground Railway . . . 372
Unique Publishing ... 11
United State in America, The . 156
Up a Step-Ladder . . .161

VANCOUVER'S Island . . . 471
Victor Hugo's Publisher . . 12
Volunteers at Hythe . . . 402

WAITING for Capua .
Washington

.103
140

Water Everywhere . . . 202.
Waves ..... 294,494
Whales ..... 295,493
When Greek meets Greek . . 6
Wind, and Current Charts . 493
Winter Weather . . . 396

Wiseman, Cardinal, at Rome . 41
Wolf at the Church Door . . 177
Wonders of the Sea . . . 294

YORKISH Tragedy, A . . 108
Yvetot, The King of . . . 5CG

ZOUAVES, The . ... 512

POETRY.

CHANGES ..... 373

Flight, The ..... 419

Forest Voices . . . .299

Forgiven ...... 251

Guesses ..... 492

Longings ...... 133

Manse, The ..... 108

My Will ...... 11

Northern Lights . . .395
Poor Margaret . ...

Rejoice ...... 228

Sacred City ..... 445

Statues, The . . .541
Snow ...... 276

Transplanted .... 155

Watcher, The ..... 320

World of Love . . . 10S

The Extra Christmas Number, " A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA." will be found at the End of the Volume,
containing PAGE

CHAPTER I. The Village
II. The Money

CHAPTEH V.

The Restitution

CHAPTER III. The Club Night .
IV. The Seafaring Man

page 41

"THE STORY OF OUR LIVES FROM YEAR TO YEAR." SHAKMPEARK.

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

A WEEKLY JOURNAL.
CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

77.]

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1860.

A DAY'S RIDE : A LIFE'S ROMANCE.

CHAPTER XI.

I TAKE it for granted that all special
"charities" have had their origin in some spe-
cific suffering. At least I can aver that my first
thought on landing at Ostend was, Why has
no great philanthropist thought of establishing
such an institution as a Refuge for the Sea-sick?
I declare this publicly, that if I ever become
rich a consummation which, looking to the
general gentleness of my instincts, the wide be-
nevolence of my nature, and the kindliness of
my temperament, mankind might well rejoice at
if, I repeat, I ever become rich, one of the first
uses of my affluence will be to endow such an
establishment. I will place it in some one of
our popular ports, say Southampton. Surrounded
with all the charms of inland scenery, rich in
every rustic association, the patient shall never
be reminded of the scene of his late sufferings.
A velvety -turf to stroll on, with a leafy shade
above his head, the mellow lowing of cattle in
his ears, and the fragrant odours of meadow-
sweet and hawthorn around, I would recal
the sufferer from the dread memories of the
slippery deck, the sea-washed stairs, or the
sleepy state-room. For the rattle of cordage
and the hoarse trumpet of the skipper, I would
substitute the song of the thrush or the black-
bird ; and, instead of the thrice odious steward
and his basin, I would have trim maidens of
pleasing aspect to serve him with syllabubs. I
will not go on to say the hundred devices I
would employ to cheat memory out of a gloomy
record, for I treasure the hope that I may yet
live to carry out my theory and have a copyright
in my invention.

It was with sentiments deeply tinctured by
the above that I tottered, rather than walked,
towards the Hotel Royal. It was a bright
moonlight night, and, as if in mockery of the
weather outside, as still and calm as might be.
Many a picturesque effect of light and shade met
me as I went : quaint old gables flaring in a strong
flood of moonlight showed outlines the strangest
and oddest ; twinkling lamps shone out of tall,
dark-sided old houses, from which strains oi
music came plaintively enough in the night air ;
the sounds of a prolonged revel rose loudly oui
of that deep-pillared chateau-like building in tin
Place, and in the quiet alley adjoining I couk

VOL. IV.

;atch the low song of a mother as she tried to
sing her baby to sleep. It was all human in
every touch and strain of it. And did I not
drink it in with rapture ? Was it not in a trans-
port of gratitude that I thanked Fortune for
mce again restoring me to land ? "0 Earth,
Earth !" says the Greek poet, " how art thou in-
;erwoven with that nature that first came from
thee !" Thus musing, I reached the inn, where,
although the hour was a late one, the household
was all active and astir.

" Many passengers arrived, waiter ?" said I,
in the easy, careless voice of one who would not
own to sea-sickness.

"Very few, sir; the severe weather has de-
terred several from venturing across."

" Anv ladies ?"

" Only one, sir ; and, poor thing, she seems to
have suffered fearfully. She had to be carried
from the boat, and when she tried to walk up-
stairs, she almost fainted. There might have
been some agitation, however, in that, for she
expected some one to have met her here ; and
when she heard that he had not arrived, she was
completely overcome."

"very sad, indeed," said I, examining the
carte for supper.

" Oh yes, sir ; and being in deep mourning,
too, and a stranger away for the first time from
her country."

I startea, and felt my heart bounding against
my side.

" What was it you s.aid about deep mourning,
and being young and beautiful ?' asked I,
eagerly.

" Only the mourning, sir it was only the
mourning I mentioned ; for she kept her veil
close down, and would not suffer her face to be
seen."

"Bashful as beautiful! modest as she is
fair !" muttered I. " Do you happen to know
whither she is going ?"

" Yes, sir ; her luggage is marked 'Brussels.' "

" It is she! It is herself!" cried I, in rap-
ture, as I turned away, lest the fellow should
notice my emotion. "When does she leave
this ?"

" She seems doubtful, sir; she told the laud-
lady that she is going to reside at Brussels;
but never having been abroad before, she is
naturally timid about travelling even so far
alone.*?

" Gentle creature, why should she be exposed

2 [October 13.1860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

to such hazards ? Bring me some of this frican-
deau with chicory, waiter, and a pint of
Beaune ; fried potatoes, too. Would that I
could tell her to fear nothing," thought I.
"Would that I could just whisper, 'Potts is
here ; Potts watches over you ; Potts will be
that friend, that brother, that should have come
to meet you ! Sleep soundly, and with a head
at ease. You are neither friendless nor for-
saken !' " I feel I must be naturally a creature
of benevolent instincts ; for I am never so truly
happy as when engaged in a work of kindness.
Let me but suggest to myself a labour of charity,
some occasion to sorrow with the afflicted, to
rally the weak-hearted and to succour the
wretched, and I am infinitely more delighted
than by all the blandishments of what is called
"society." Men have their allotted parts in
life, just as certain fruits are meet for certain
climaies. Mine was the grand comforting line.
Nature meant me for a consoler. 1 have none of
those impulsive temperaments which make what
are called jolly fellows. I have no taste for those
excesses which go by the name of conviviality.
I can, it is true, be witty, anecdotic, and agree-
able; I can spice conversation with epigram,
and illustrate argument by apt example; but
my forte is tenderness.

" Is not this veal a little tough, waiter ?" said
I, in gentle remonstrance.

" Monsieur is right," said he, bowing ; " but
if a morsel of cold pheasant would be acceptable
mademoiselle, the lady in mourning, has just
taken a wing of it "

" Bring it directly. Oh, ecstasy of ecstasies !
We are then, as it were, supping together
served from the same dish! May I have the
honour P" said 1, filling out a glass of wine and
bowing respectfully and with an air of deep de-
votion across the table. The pheasant was ex-
quisite, and I ate with an epicurean enjoyment.
1 called for another pint of Beaune, too. It
was an occasion for some indulgence, and I
could not deny myself. No sooner had the
waiter left me alone, than I burst into an ex-
pansive acknowledgment of my happiness, "Yes,
Potts," said I, "you are richer in that tem-
perament of yours than if you owned half Cali-
fornia. That boundless wealth of good inten-
tions is a well no pumping can exhaust. Go on
doing imaginary good for ever. You are never
the poorer for all the orphans you support, all
the distresses you relieve. You rescue the
mariner from shipwreck without wetting your
feet. You charge at the head of a squadron
without the peril of a scratch. All blessed be
the gift which can do these things !"

You call these delusions ; but is it a delusion
to be a king, to deliver a people from slavery,
to carry succour to a drowning crew? I have done
all of these ; that is, I have gone through every
changeful mood of hope and fear that accom-
panies these actions, sipping my glass of Beaune
between whiles.

When I found myself in my bedroom T had no
inclination for sleep ; I was m a mood of enjoy-
ment too elevated for mere repose. It was so

delightful to be no longer at sea, to feel rescued
from the miseries of the rocking ship and the
reeking cabin, that I would not lose the rapture
by forgetfulness. I was in the mood for great
things, too, if 1 only knew what they were to be.
"Ah!" thought I, suddenly, "I will write to
her. She shall know that she is not the friend-
less and forsaken creature that she deems her-
self; she shall hear that, though separated from
home, friends, and country, there is one near to
watch over and protect her, and that Potts de-
votes himself to her service." I opened my
desk, and in all the impatience of my ardour
began :

" ' DEAR MADAM' Quaere : Ought I to say

' dear'? We are not acquainted, and can I pre-
sume upon the formula that implies acquaint-
anceship ? No. I must omit ' dear ;' and then
' Madam' looks fearfully stern and rigid, par-
ticularly when addressed to a young unmarried
lady ; she is certainly not ' Madam' yet, surely.
I can't begin ' Miss.' What a language is ours !
How cruelly fatal to all the tenderer emotions
is a dialect so matter-of-fact and formal. If I
could only start with ' Gentilissima Signora,' how
I could get on ! What an impulse would the
words lend me ! What ' way on me' would they
impart for what was to follow ! In our cast-
metal tongue there is nothing for it but the
third person : ' The undersigned has the honour,'
&c. &c. This is chilling it is positively re-
pulsive. Let me see, will this do ?

" ' The gentleman who was fortunate enough
to render you some trivial service at the Mil-
ford station two days ago, having accidentally
learned that you are here and unprovided with a
protector, in all humility offers himself to afford
you every aid and counsel in his power. No
stranger to the touching interests of your life,
deeply sensible of the delicacy that should sur-
round your steps, if you deign to accept his de-
voted services, he will endeavour to prove
himself, by every sentiment of respect, your
most faithful, most humble, and most grateful
servant.

" ' P.S. His name is Potts.'

" Yes, all will do but the confounded post-
script. What a terrible bathos ' His name is
Potts!' What if I say: 'One line of reply is
requested, addressed to Algernon Sydney Pot-
tinger, at this hotel ' ?"

I made a great many copies of this document,
always changing something as I went. I felt
the importance of every word, and fastidiously
pondered over each expression I employed. The
bright sun of morning broke in at last upon my
labours and found me still at my desk, still com-
posing. All done, I lay down and slept soundly.

" Is she gone, waiter ?" said I, as he entered
my room with hot water. " Is she gone ?"

"Who, sir?" asked he, in some astonish-
ment.

" The lady in black, who came over in the last
mail packet from Dover ; the young lady in deep
mourning, who arrived all alone."

" No, sir. She has sent all round the hotels
this morning to inquire after some one who was

Chirlo. Dlckttw .1

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October 13, ISfiO.} 3

to have met her here, but apparently without
success."

" Give her this ; place it in her own hand,
and, as you are leaving the room, say, in a gentle
voice : ' Is there an answer, mademoiselle ? You
understand P"

" Well, I believe I do," said he, significantly,
as he slyly pocketed the half-Napoleon fee I had
tendered for his acceptance.

Now the fellow had thrown into his counte-
nance a painfully astute and cunning face it was
one of tnose expressive looks which actually
made me shudder. It seemed to say, " This is
a conspiracy, and we are both in it."

" You are not for a moment to suppose," said
I, hurriedly, " that there is one syllable in that
letter whicli could compromise me, or wound the
delicacy of the most susceptible."

" I am convinced that monsieur has written it
with most consummate skill," said he, with a
supercilious grin, and left the room.

How I detest the familiarity of a foreign
waiter ! The fellows cannot respond to the most
ordinary question without an affectation of show-
ing off their immense acuteness and knowledge
of life. It is their eternal boast how they read
people, and with what an instinctive subtlety
they can decipher all the various characters and
temperaments that pass before them. Now this
impertinent lacquey, who is to say what has he
not imputed to me ? Utterly incapable as such a
creature must necessarily Be of the higher and
nobler motives that sway men of my order, he
will doubtless have ascribed to me the most base
and degenerate motives.

I was wrong in speaking one word to the
fellow. I might have said, " Take that note to
Number Fourteen, and ask if there be an an-
swer ;" or better still if I had never written at
all, but merely sent in my card to ask if the
lady would vouchsafe to accord me an audience
of a few minutes. Yes, such would have been
the discreet course ; and then I might have
trusted to my manner, my tact, and a certain
something in my general bearing, to have
brought me matter to a successful issue. While
I thus meditated, the waiter re-entered the room,
and, cautiously closing the door, approached me
witli an ostentatious pretence of secrecy and
mystery.

" I have given her the letter," said he, in a
whisper.

" Speak up !" said I, severely ; " what answer
has the lady given ?"

" I think you'll get the answer presently,"
said he, with a sort of grin that actually thrified
through me.

" You may leave the room," said I, with dig-
nity, for I saw how the fellow was actually
revelling in the enjoyment of my confusion.

" They were reading it over together for the
third time when I came away," said he, with a
most peculiar look.

" Whom, do you mean? who are they that you
speak of?"

" The gentleman that she was expecting. He
came by the 9.40 train from Brussels. Just in

time for your note." As the wretch uttered
these words, a violent ringing of bells resounded
along the corridor, and he rushed out without
waiting for more.

I turned in haste to my note-book ; various
copies of my letter were there, and I was eager
to recal the expressions I had employed in
addressing her. Good Heavens ! what had I
really written? Here were scraps of all sorts of
absurdity; poetry too ! verses to the " Fair Vic-
tim of a recent War," with a number of rhymes
for the last word, such as " low," " snow,"
" mow," &c. all evidences of composition under
difficulty.

While I turned over these rough copies the
door opened, and a large, red-faced, stern-
looking man, in a suit of red-brown tweed and
with a heavy stick in his hand, entered ; he
closed the door leisurely after him, and I half
thought that I saw him also turn the key in the
lock. He advanced towards me with a deliberate
step, and, in a voice measured as his gait, said,

"I am Mr. Jopplyn, sir I am Mr. Christo-
pher Jopplyn."

" I am charmed to hear it, sir," said I, in some
confusion, for, without the vaguest conception of
wherefore, I suspected lowering weather ahead.

" May I offer you a chair, Mr. Jopplyn ? Won't
you be seated ? We are going to have a lovely
day, I fancy a great change after yesterday."

" Your name, sir," said he, in the same solem-
nity as before " your name I apprehend to be
Porringer ?"

" Pottinger, if you permit me ; Pottinger, not
Porringer."

" It shall be as you say, sir : I am indifferent
what you call yourself." He heaved something
that sounded like a hoarse sigh, and proceeded :
" I have come to settle a small account that
stands between us. Is that document your
writing?" As he said this, he drew, rather theatri-
cally, from his breast-pocket the letter I had
just written, and extended it towards me. " I
ask, sir and I mean you to understand that I
will suffer no prevarication is that document
in your writing ?"

I trembled all over as I took it, and for an
instant I determined to disavow it ; but in the
same brief space I bethought me that my denial
would be in vain. I then tried to look boldly,
and brazen it out ; I fancied to laugh it off as a
mere pleasantry, and, failing in courage for each
of these, I essayed, as a last resource, the argu-
mentative and discussional line, and said,

" If you will favour me with an indulgent
hearing for a few minutes, Mr. Jopplyn, I trust
to explain, to your complete satisfaction, the cir-
cumstances of that epistle."

" Take five, sir live," said he, laying a pon-
derous silver watch on the table as lie spoke, and
point ing to the minute hand.

" lleallv, sir," said I, stung by the peremp-
tory and dictatorial tone he assumed, " I have
yet to learn that intercourse between gentlemen
is to be regulated by clockwork, not to say that
1 have to inquire by what right you ask me for
t liis explanation."

[OctoVcrI3,18fiO.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

" One minute gone," said he, solemnly.

" I don't care if there were fifty," said I,
passionately. " I disclaim all pretension of a
perfect stranger to obtrude himself upon me,
and by the mere assumption of a pompous man-
ner and an imposing air, to inquire into my
private affairs."

" There are two !" said he, with the same
solemnity.

" Who is Mr. Jopplyn what is he to me ?"
cried I, in increased excitement, " that he pre-
sents himself in my apartment like a commissary
of police ? Do you imagine, sir, because I am
a young man, that this this impertinence"
Lord what a gulp it cost me " is to pass
unpunished ? Do you fancy that a red beard and
a heavy walking-cane are to strike terror into
me ? You may think, perhaps, that I am un-
armed "

" Three !" said he, with a bang of his stick
on the floor, that made me actually jump with
the stick.

" Leave the room, sir," said I. " It is my
pleasure to be alone the apartment is mine I
am the proprietor here. A very little sense of
delicacy, a very small amount of good breeding,
might show you, that when a gentleman declines
to receive company, when he shows himself in-
disposed to the society of strangers "

" One minute more, now," said he, in a low
growl, while he proceeded to button up his coat
to the neck, and make preparation for some
coming event.

My heart was in my mouth ; I gave a glance
at the window ; it was the third story, and
a leap out would have been fatal. What
would I not have given for one of those
weapons I had so proudly proclaimed myself
possessed. There was not even a poker in the
room. I made a spring at the bell-rope, and
before he could interpose, gave one pull that,
though it brought down the cord, resounded
through the whole house.

" Time is up, Porringer," said he, slowly, as
he replaced the watch in his pocket, and grasped
his murderous-looking cane.

There was a large table in the room, and I
entrenched myself at once behind this, armed
with a light caue chair, while I screamed murder
in every language I could command. Failing to
reach me across the table, my assailant tried to
dodge me by false starts, now at this side, now
at that. Though a large fleshy man, lie was not
inactive, and it required all my quickness to
escape him. These manoeuvres being unsuccess-
ful, he very quickly placed a chair beside the
table and mounted upon it. I now hurled my
chair at him ; he warded off the blow and rushed
on ; with one spring I bounded under the table,
reappearing at the opposite side just as he had
reached mine. This tactic we now pursued for
several minutes, when my enemy suddenly
changed his attack, and descending from the
table he turned it on edge : the effort required
strength. I seized the moment and reached the
door; I tore it open in some fashion, gained
the stairs the court the streets and ran ever

onward with the wildness of one possessed with
no_ time for thought, nor any knowledge to
guide ; I turned left and right, choosing only
the narrowest lanes that presented themselves,
and at last came to a dead halt at an open draw-
bridge, where a crowd stood waiting to pass.

"How is this? What's all the hurry for?
Where are you running this fashion ?" cried a
well-known voice. I turned, and saw the skipper
of the packet.

"Are you armed? Can you defend me?"
cried I, in terror ; " or shall I leap in and swim
for it ?"

" I'll stand by you. Don't be afraid, man,"
said he, drawing my arm within his ; " no one
shall harm you. Were they robbers ?"

" No, worse assassins !" said I, gulping, for
I was heartily ashamed of my terror, and de-
termined to show "cause why" in the plural.

" Come in here, and have a glass of some-
thing," said he, turning into a little cabaret,
with whose penetralia he seemed not unfamiliar.
"You're all safe here," said he, as he closed
the door of a little room. "Let's hear all about
it, though I half guess the story already."

I had no difficulty in perceiving, from my com-
panion's manner, that he believed some sudden
shock had shaken my faculties, and that my
intellects were for the time deranged ; nor was
it very easy for me to assume sufficient calm to
disabuse him of his error, and assert my own
perfect coherency. " You have been out for a
lark," said he, laughingly. " I see it all. You
have been at one of those tea-gardens and got
into a row with some stout .Fleming. All
the young English go through that sort of
thing. Ain't I right ?"

"Nevermore mistaken in your life, captain.
My conduct since I lauded would not discredit
a canon of St. Paul's. In fact, all my habits,
my tastes, my instincts, are averse to every sort
of junketing. I am essentially retiring, sen-
sitive, and, if you will, over fastidious in my
choice of associates. My story is simply this."
My reader will readily excuse my repeating
what is already known to him. It is enough if
I say, that the captain, although anything
rather than mirthful, held his hand several
times over his face, and once laughed out loudly
and boisterously.

"You don't say it was Christy Jopplyn, do
you ?" said he, at last. " You don't tell me it
was Jopplyn ?"

" The fellow called himself Jopplyn, but I
know nothing of him beyond that."

" Why, he's mad jealous about that wife of
his ; that little woman with the corkscrew curls
and the scorbutic face, that came over with us.
Oh ! you did not see her aboard, you went below
at once, I remember; but there was she in her
black ugly, and her old crape shawl "

" In mourning ?"

"Yes. Always in mourning. She never
wears anything else, though Christy goes about
in colours, and not particular as to the tint,
either."

There came a cold perspiration over me as I

CbvlM DiekoniO

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October 13, 1WO.] 5

heard these words, and perceived tliat my proffer
of devotion had been addressed to a married
woman, and the wile of tlio "most jealous man
in Europe."

" A IK! who is thisJopplyn?" asked I,haughtily,
and in all the proud confidence of my present
security.

"lie's a railway contractor a shrewd sort of
fellow, with plenty of money, and a good head
on his shoulders; sensible on every point except
his jealousy."

" The man must be an idiot," said I, indig-
nantly, " to rush indiscriminately about the
world with accusations of this kind. Who wants
to supplant him ? Who seeks to rob him of the
affections of his wife ?"

" That's all very well, and very specious,"
said he, gravely, " but if men will deliberately
set themselves down at a writing-table, hammer-
ing their brains for fine sentiments, and toiling
to liud grand expressions for their passion, it
does not require that a husband should be as
jealous as Christy Jopplyn to take it badly. I
don't think I'm a rasli or a hasty man, but I
know what I'd do in such a circumstance."

" And, pray, what would you do ?" said I,
half impertinently.

"I'd just say, 'Look here, young gent, is
this balderdash here your hand ? Well, now,
eat your words. Yes, eat them. I mean what
I say. Eat up that letter, seal and all, or, by
my oath, I'll break every bone in your skin !"

"It is exactly what I intend," cried a voice,
hoarse with passion ; and Jopplyn himself sprang
into the room, and clashed at me.

The skipper was a most powerful man, but it
required all his strength, and not very gingerly
exercised either, to hold off my enraged adver-
sary. " Will you be quiet, Christy P" cried he,
holding him by the throat. " Will you just be
quiet for one instant, or must I knock you
down ?"

" Do ! do ! by all means," muttered I, for I
thought if he were once on the ground, I could
finish him off with a large pewter measure that
stood on the table.

With a rough shake, the skipper had at last
convinced the other that resistance was useless,
and induced him to consent to a parley.

" Let him only tell you," said he, " what he
lias told me, Christy."

" Don't strike, but hear me," cried I; and
safe in my stockade belund the skipper, I re-
counted my mistake.

" And you believe all this ?" asked Jopplyn of
the skipper, when 1 had finished.

" Believe it I should think I do ! I have
'known him since he was a child that high,
and I'll answer for his good conduct and be-
haviour."

Heaven bless you for that bail bond, though
endorsed in a lie, honest ship captain! and I
only hope I may live to requite you for it.

Jopplyn was appeased ; out it was the sup-
pressed wrath of a brown bear rather than the
vanquished anger of a man. He had booked him
sell' ior something cruel, and he was miserable

to be balked. Nor was I myself I shame to
own it an emblem of perfect forgiveness. I
know nothing harder than for a constitutionally
timid man, of weak proportions, to forgive the
bullying superiority of brute force. It is about
the greatest trial human forgiveness can be sub-
mitted to ; so that when Jopplyn, in a vulgar
spirit of reconciliation, proposed that we should
both go and dine with him that day, I declined
the invitation with a frigid politeness.

" I wish 1 could persuade you to change your
plans," said he, "and let Mrs. J. and myself see
you at six."

" I believe I can answer for him that it is im-
possible," broke in the skipper ; while he added
m a whisper, " They never can afford any delay
they have to put on the steam at high pres-
sure from one end of Europe to t'other."

What could he possibly mean by imputing
such haste to my movements, and who were
"they" with whom he thus associated me? I
would have given worlds to ask, but the pre-
sence of Jopplyn prevented me, and so L could
simply assent with a sort of foolish laugh, and a
muttered "Very true quite correct."

" Indeed, how you manage to be here, now, I
can scarcely imagine," continued the skipper.
" The last of yours that went through this took
a roll of bread, and a cold chicken with him into
the train, rather than halt to eat his supper
but I conclude you know best."

U'hat confounded mystification was passing
through his marine intellects I could not iathom.
To what guild or brotherhood of impetuous tra-
vellers had he ascribed me ? Why should I not
"take mine ease in mine inn?" All this was
very tantalising and very irritating, and pleading
a pressing engagement, I took leave of them
both, and returned to the hotel.

I was in need of rest and a little composure.
The incident of the morning had jarred my
nerves and disconcerted me much. But a few
hours ago, and life had seemed to me like a
flowery meadow, through which, without path
or track, one might ramble at will ; now, it
rather presented the aspect of a vulgar kitchen
garden, fenced in, and divided, and partitioned
off, with only a few very stony alleys to walk in.
" This boasted civilisation of ours," exclaimed
I, " what is it but snobbery ? Our class dis-
tinctions our artificial intercourses our hypo-
critical professions our deference for externals,
are they not the flimsiest pretences that ever
were fashioned ? Why has no man the courage
to make short work of these, and see the world
as it really is ? Why has not some one gone
forth, the apostle of frankness and plain speak-
ing, the same to prince as to peasant ? What I
would like, would be a ramble through the less
visited parts of Europe countries in which
civilisation slants in just as the rays of a setting
sun steal into a forest at evening. 1 would buy
me a horse. Oh, Blondel," thought I, sud-
denly, "am I not in search of you? Is it not
in the hope to recover you that I am here, and,
with you for my companion, am I not content
to roam the world, taking each incident of the

6 [October 13, I860.]

ALL THE YEAK ROUND.

[Conducted by

way with the calm of one who asks little of his
fellow-men save a kind word as he passes, and a
God speed as he goes ?" I knew perfectly that,
with any other beast for my " mount," I could
not view the scene of life with the same bland
composure. A horse that started, that tripped,
that shied, reared, kicked, cromed his neck, or
even shook himself, as certain of these beasts
do, would have kept me in a paroxysm of
anxiety and uneasiness, the least adapted of all
moods for thoughtfulness and reflection. Like
an ill-assorted union, it would have given no
time save for squabble and recrimination. But
Blondel almost seemed to understand my mis-
sion, and lent himself to its accomplishment.
There was none of the obtrusive selfishness of
an ordinary horse in his ways. He neither
asked you to remark the glossiness of his skin,
nor the graceful curve of his neck ; he did not
passage nor curvet. Superior to the petty arts
by which vulgar natures present themselves to
notice, he felt that destiny had given him a duty,
and he did it.

Thus thinking, I returned once more to the
spirit which had first sent me forth to ramble,
to wander through the world, spectator, not
actor ; to be with my fellow-men in sympathy,
but not in action; to sorrow and rejoice as
they did, but, if possible, to understand life as
a drama, in which, so long as I was the mere
audience, I could never be painfully afflicted or
seriously injured by the catastrophe : a wonder-
ful philosophy, but of which, up to the present,
I could not boast any pre-eminent success.

WHEN GREEK MEETS GBEEK.

IT is by no means an uncommon thing, on the
contrary it is so common as to approximate to a
nuisance, to hear people bitterly complaining of
the attention which is paid in this country to
the cultivation of Latin and Greek. They say
if their sons are to be sent to school and loaded
with impositions and progged with a stick, let
it be for something which will profit them, it'
they survive, in after life. Let them be loaded
with impositions for French, and progged with
a stick for German, and murdered for nothing at
all. At any rate, don't make their lives a burden
for Latin, and their souls weary for Greek.
Now with respect to Latin, we have nothing to
say, except that we never heard of its doing any
great harm; and, being the most difficult lan-
guage in point of construction, and the most
like the German so far of any with which we are
acquainted, it might be supposed to be not a
bad starting-point for the acquisition of other
languages ; however, let it go ; our business is
with Greek ; Greek is still a spoken language,
Greek is becoming every day more and more like
the Greek that boys learn at school; and but
lately there was a dinner at the London Tavern
at which all the speeches were made in Greek, and
such Greek as aiiy scholar with one day's study
of a Modern Greek Grammar might read with
considerable ease. It must not be imagined that
the gentlemen who dined at that well-known

tavern had fallen victims to strong wine and
were trying to outvie each other in extravagance
by making speeches in the tongues which they
had learnt at school. No, they were all as
sober as people usually are, after a dinner at the
London Tavern. They were an assemblage of
gentlemen who have increased and multiplied
amongst us, particularly in London, Manchester,
and Liverpool, whose names constantly figure in
the columns of our newspapers as mingling in
our commerce, inhabiting our most fashionable
quarters, frequenting our operas, and adding
lustre to our Bankruptcy Courts ; in fact, they
were Greek merchants. They had met together
to celebrate an auspicious event in their modern
history the establishment of a newspaper in
their own language, which is to be amongst their
people (6/*oyej/etf) what the Times (6 Xpovoi) is
amongst Englishmen. It is called the British
Star (6 EperawiKos 'Aorjjp), for what reason
we cannot say; whether because it is to en-
lighten us, or because its rays will diverge from
Britain and shed light upon Greeks in all parts
of the world, did not transpire.

But, whatever be the origin of its title,
its establishment is a proof that the Greeks
have not yet relinquished their national lan-
guage, and that the teaching of the ancient
tongue at our schools and universities might,
with advantage, be combined with that of the
modern. And what would make this easier,
is the fact that at the court of Athens, and
amongst all educated Greeks witness Tri-
coupi's 'EAA^IVKJ) 'Eiravdo-Tao-is every effort is
made to assimilate the modern to the ancient
Greek. We do not mean in those abstruse
points which require an acquaintance with Par-
son's Preface, and Bos on Ellipses, dissertations
on & v with the optative mood, essays upon the
use of OTTCOJ with the indicative mood and all
sorts of critical jargon, but in the words them-
selves that they may be all formed according to
the rules of Greek analogy, introducing as little
as possible foreign elements. The constructions
have been altered for good and simplified amaz-
ingly, so that there is no language so easy if
you have had a public school education of ac-
quisition as the modern Greek. And this is the
language which our Greek merchants, as we
know personally, make a point of speaking
amongst one another; a proficiency in it is
therefore, with persons engaged in commercial
pursuits, a matter of some moment. It is true
that most Greek merchants speak French, but it
is always worth while to be able to converse with
a man in his mother tongue. In Germany we
believe all Greek scholars are acquainted both
with the modern constructions and the modern
pronunciation, and there is no reason on earth
why not only English scholars but English boys
at school should not be equally well instructed;
nothing would be easier than to combine the
modern pronunciation with the ancient mode of
construction and inflexion. A boy would then
see the use of the accents which now appear to
him invented by the enemy simply to try his
temper. We ourselves recollect the confusion

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October 13, WO.] J

which we caused in the mind of a Greek to
whom we won: pointing out the shape of St.
George's Chapel, Windsor. We wished him to
mulct's land that it was built iu tho form of a
cross, am! wo said, 'll poptyri ti/ui TOV (rruupw.
Our Greek friend's mind evidently failed to
calch any idea of what we meant; but as soou
as we corrected ourselves and said, 2vyyi*>f*T)v,
Kvpi(-<TTiwpov, a gleam of intelligence flashed
across his face, and he crossed his fore lingers as
Le answered, MeiXicrra, /*aXi<rru, *craXa^o/.

But to return to our friends at the London
Tavern. A fanciful captain of Engineers (Xoxnyoy
TOV (jLTjxaviKov) says : "I discover Greece in the
midst of England, Athens in the centre of Lon-
don, and 1 join in your feelings of pride when
I see above my head, with joy upon their faces,
our ancient gods and heroes listening now for
the first time in this famous hall to their own
native tongue." There is not a word of Greek
in his communication which a very indifferent
scholar might not understand ; he would trans-
late (j>ai8pwop,evovs, " cleaned up for the occa-
sion," perhaps ; ami he might be right, for the
word would Dear it, and the circumstance would
be probable. At any rate, it is a proof that
Hellas is reviving, and that the language of
Themistocles and Pericles and the great men of
ancient Greece is reviving : and we repeat, why
should not our youth have the chance of avail-
ing themselves of that fact? Answer may now
be made to the querulous inquiry, what is the
use of Greek ? It may be read and it may be
spoken. Why, the very first time we were ever
in a Greek's house, we took up a book, and what
do you think it was called ? 'O ir(pur\av&fj.ti'os
lovSaios the Wandering Jew ! We had no idea
when we stumbled through rvTrrco, that we
should live to read a novel in the Greek charac-
ter ; but greater surprises than that awaited us :
we have lived to ask a living creature " if we
should ring the bell," " if we should give him
some fish," " if we should cut him some bread,"
" if he would take some meat," &c, all in Greek !
But we never thought we should read a police
case in Greek ; yet we have. The case is headed
Mtdr) Drunkenness. A woman of dissi-
pated appearance (aKoXaVrou 3\^os) is brought
up in the Thames police-court (eV ry Trrato-^a-
ToSiKfitp Tafj.(tTios), charged with stealing an
overcoat (tVti/Surjjr), value twelve shillings
(<rXu/ia). She pawned (f$a\f ivtxypov) the
coat and got drunk with the money ((pe'Ova-t
p.( ra xprjfiara). The magistrate sentenced the
woman to three months' imprisonment and hard
labour (e<y Tpieov nqvow <j)v\aKHTtv KO\ fiapfa
tpya). Moreover, the British Star has fur-
nished us with a Life (in Greek) of sip ''Eppixos
"A/3XwK (Sir Henry Havelock), in which we
are informed that the hero was born at BMTO-OIT-
ovfapudovd (Bishop Wearmouth), and in this
Life we meet with the names of certain other
great men to wit, Ouuriyroi/ (Washington),
NXo-wv (Nelson) and OitXtyrwv (Wellington).

The proper names are of course the great diffi-
culty, and the names of places are sometimes
almost unintelligible; and the unintelligibility is
increased by the uncertainty that appears to exist
as yet with respect to the manner of rendering
certain combinations of letters : for instance,
we find Manchester written in three distinct
fashions, Maj/oxorcp, Mayyforpia, and Marfr-
rtp T( being the orthodox equivalent in mo-
dem Greek for tch or ch. H is usually repre-
sented by X, so that we get the following gro-
tesque-looking words to represent the names of
our principal manufacturing towns : MAN2E2-
TEP, BPAA*OPA, AHHA2, XOAEP2*IAA,
XA AI<f>A3, PO2AEHA, AEI2TEP, NOTIITAMH,
BOYABEPXAMUTQN (MANCHESTER, BRAD-
FORD, LEEDS, HUDDERSFIELD, HALIFAX,
ROCHDALE, LEICESTER, NOTTINGHAM,
WOLVERHAMPTON.

The inhabitants will perhaps think it very
hard to be misrepresented to the world in this
way ; and poor Beta is made to do more work
than ought to be expected of him. He repre-
sents, it will be observed, B and ^"and W t
whereas his only legitimate function is to dis-
charge the simple duties of F ; B we have
hitherto been accustomed to see transmogrified
into Mil ; and W invariably resolved into Ou.
It may be that the British Star, as it gains
in brilliancy (unless it be a meteor, destined
to sudden extinction), will reveal to its writers
some plain way of extricating themselves
from their embarrassing position, and esta-
blishing a method of exchange between the
letters which shall relieve not only the hard-
worked Beta, but his brother in affliction Delta.
For in modern Greek the proper sound of 5
is the th in the ; and the Modern Greeks have
no sound d except under peculiar circumstances,
as when T follows v : thus they pronounce oj/ra,
onda.

It is not our intention to write an Essay upon
the modern Greek language, we wish simply
to point out to all whom it may concern, that
an effort is now being made to reintroduce into
Europe, in the purest slate compatible witli in-
evitable changes in the world, a language which
is not only in general use in the East as the
medium of commercial intercourse, but the
daily language of society amongst a colony of
people established in the heart of our own
country ; that this language, so far as its gene-
ral structure and actual words go, is taught in
all our public schools and universities, and yet
is seldom pursued in after life by any English
scholar; and that this language must possess
to a great extent the elements of vitality, when
it can express in words formed after the analogy
of the ancient Greek nearly everything con-
nected with the social life, arts, science, and
commerce of the nineteenth century. We can-
not quite agree with one of the enthusiastic
speakers at the London Tavern, who was of
opinion that had the Greeks been represented
hy their own or^an, had the British Star, in fact,
existed at the time of those disturbances which

8 [October 13, I860.]

ALL THE YEAE ROUND.

[Conducted by

preceded the Crimean war, ovros 6 Kpi/miVcds
iro\ep.os otv fj6f\fi> aKo\ov6rja-(i (this Crimean
war would not have followed). The British
Star would have convinced the Greek Christians,
both in Greece and in Turkey, that there was no
trusting the hollow promises of Russia, and
would have convinced the British people, and
the world in general, that the best policy of the
Greeks as a people was anti-Russian.

However, our view of the British Star is not
so much political as educational ; it furnishes
us with an answer to parents who ask : " But
will Greek be any use to my boy in life ?"
" Yes, sir," or " madam, he may converse in
it at the Baltic and elsewhere, if he pleases,
and he may read a newspaper printed in that
language in the heart of London." But
surely, some one will say, you can't talk about
" the markets" in Greek ! Read this, then :
AAEYPA. "EveKa TIJS dftf^aioTijros TOV Kaipov f
TOCTOV ol KO.TO\OI ooov KOI ol dyopaffTai edfi^av
[jLfyicrrrjv f7n<pv\aii> KOTO. TTJV 7rape\0ov<rav
e/38opi'Sa, at Tifj.a.1 op.a>s v^u>6r)(rav Kara ras
xdfa-ivas Tr\r)po(popias dno (ftp. 60 p-e'xpt 65
KOTO. sax. (Flours. In consequence of the un-
settled state of the weather, holders as well as
buyers have displayed very great reserve during
the past week ; prices had risen, however, ac-
cording to yesterday's accounts, from 60 to 65fr.
per sack.) Isn't that the true business smack ?
Of course if you will be schoolboyish and trans-
late " so much the holders as much as also the
purchasers," &c., you may make it sound absurd ;
but there is nothing intrinsically queer in the
Greek. Then we have 2ITOI (wheats), BAM-
BAKIA (cottons), KASEAE2 (coffees), ZAXA-
PEI2 (sugars), AAEIMMATA (tallows), IINEY-
MATA (spirits), AEPMATA (hides), MAAAIA
(wools), NHMATA (yarns). Then we read that
rot xetjuepiw vcpatrpara e 97-77 $77 <rai> TrXetorepoi/
(winter stuffs were more asked after), or that
f] dyopd flvai ordo-i/Ltoj (the market is firm), or
the old sad tale TroXXol ru>v epyaruv ndBv^ai
dpyol (many of the hands are out of work
there's no difficulty about translating that, it
means that many men are starving) ; or we are
a little cheered to find that TO p-avponinepov
eaKo\ovdei<rTa6fp6v fls rr/v 7rpoTfpavvnepTiiJ:T](Tiv
(black pepper like a good boy continues
steady at its former high price), together with
useful information upon the subject of 'povp-ta
(rum), KaKctov (cocoa), rf]iov (tea), Ka<j>es (coffee),
opvtoj/ (rice), apo>p,ara (spices), virpnv (salt-
petre), a-dyos (sago), KOKKWI\T] (cochineal), 6V-
TpaKopaQrj (indigo), Kdwaftis (hemp), e'Xaia
(oils). And to those who are not commercially
disposed, we would submit for their considera-
tion and amusement the question how they
would translate into Greek " the Prince of
Wales's visit to Canada ?" And then, when
they had puzzled sufficiently over it, we would
ask them whether they had any idea it would
result in anything so curious (to look at) as
'H EI2 KANAAAN 'Eni2KEi'l2 TOY IlPir-

FHnO2 TQN OYEA2 ! Could they, moreover,
fancy a descendant in a direct line from Plato,
writing : Aia T^Xeypa^/xaTor OTTO " "Ayiov
Ididwrfv e'ju.a$o/xei/ on 6 np'iyyjj^ rS>i> OieXy
f(j>dao-ev vyias els Niov(povv8\av8iav rrjv 23 rb
'eoirfpas, Kal on p-eyaXat irpofTip.a<riai eyfvovTo
npos vnoooxyv TOV (By telegram from St. John,
we learnt that the Prince of Wales arrived
safely at Newfoundland on the 23rd, in the
evening, and that great preparations were made
to receive him) ? At any rate the descendant
of Plato follows the correct rule of composition
enunciated by Mr. Shilleto, and gives us TTJXe-
ypd$r)na like a Greek and not rrfkeypafnia. like
a scholar of Balliol. Nor let it be for one in-
stant supposed that crinoline is unrepresented
in the new-old language ; but as the Grecian
ladies of the olden time were sung of by the
poets rather as fiaOvKoXnoi than (3a6vnvyoi, a
word was to be invented. That was not diffi-
cult : Kptj/oXiVa does well enough. Let us see
how the Greek renders "the wadding struck
the young woman and broke the steel hoops of
her crinoline." Nothing can be simpler : TO
(TTVTTelov (KTVTrrja'f TTjv vfaviftd KOI edpavcre rovs
^aXv/3Stj/ovs crrfCpdvovs rrjs KpivdXivas.

Advertisements in Greek are particularly
refreshing : we meet Benson's watches, or
'QpoXo'yia : we are notified that Xpvcrd TrcoXowrat
OTTO 4 ews 100 yxivfas, and 'Apyvpd dno 2 teas
50 yKivfas, and that TO wpoXo-yia crreXXovTat
iravraxov ol doW TOV &po\oyonoiov (the
watches are sent to all parts at the expense of
the maker). There is here a slight departure
(unless there be a misprint) from Greek accu-
racy, which would require Traj/Ta^otor iravraxoo-f.
The 'Pe/So'X/Sta TOU KdATo- (Colt's revolvers) also
greet us, and appropriately near to them the
IlfvOifia (popp.ara (or mourning garments) of
Jay and Co. es p,fTpiaTdTr]v n/j.fjv (at a very
moderate price). The KoXXa roil Gleufield, or
Glenfield starch, is also before our eyes, and
Kvptos Tewpyios 2/cwr (Mr. George Scot) recom-
mends his "A/caS^/xt'a els Alderley Edge TrKrjaiov
TTJS Mayyecrrplas.

We hope we have now made it sufficiently ap-
parent that the simple reading of modern Greek,
particularly in the improved and purified form
which is now gaining ground amongst the Hel-
lenes, is a matter of tolerable ease to any one
who is acquainted even with only the English
system of teaching ancient Greek. The scholar
will occasionally be shocked at the cases which
certain prepositions are made to govern; but
let him only make up his mind to bear it like a
man, and he will soon become accustomed to
it. Conversation will be a little more difficult,
but pronunciation might be learnt in half an
hour. The chief stumbling-block would be the
fusions and clippings in which the modem
Greeks indulge ; for instance they say, KaX^ejoa
eras, good day to you ; Tinas or TtVare (for n
firms or ri eiVaTe), what did you say ? Then.
they use \tfj.p.(v for Xe'yo^ev, Trdyw tor v

Cbarlf.Dlckoiu.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October U.IMO.] 9

for o^u'/noi/, vtpo for vtpbv, ^<u/;l for
/, K.T.X., though there appears to be an in-
clination no\v-a-days to use the old word ap^os
instead of ^w/xt. Bearing tlii-s in mind, we ven-
lu;v to say that any Englishman with a good
knowledge of ancient Greek might, in three
months, not only make himself understood by a
modern Hellene, but (which is not so easy) also
understand him, supposing him to belong to the
educated class.

THE GREAT SOWER.

LINNAEUS, investigating the causes of the dis-
seminat ion of the plants of one locality over the
whole inhabitable earth, says " the first cause is
the force or power of the air." " We must ad-
mire," he continues, " the providence of the
Creator who sends his winds, especially in the
autuMin, to shake the trees and make their
leaves and seeds fly like flakes of snow ; these
winds sweep also the surface of the earth, lift
again and again the fallen seeds, and disperse
them on every side until at last they may have
been sent even to remote regions propitious to
germination. It is scarcely a hundred years ago
that a plant, indigenous to America, was brought
to the Garden of Plants in Paris, from which its
seeds have been dispersed by the winds over
France, Italy, Sicily, Belgium, and Germany.
The snapdragon (Antirrhinum) has been widely
disseminated in the neighbourhood of Upsal,
from a few plants sent to the Botanic Garden.
It is to facilitate this dissemination by the air,
that when the fruit has become ripe it is elevated
on stalks or stems. For the same purpose most
seed-vessels are open only at the top. The seeds
do not fall on the ground at the foot of the mo-
ther plant ; they can get out only when the
seed-vessel, beaten by a very strong wind, is
turned upside down, and they are dispersed on
every side. The seed-vessel of henbane (Hyos-
cyamus) has a horizontal opening when the
seeds become ripe, but this opening does not
permit their egress unless the seed-vessel is
violently shaken by the wind."

Other seeds when ripe are provided with hooks
made to catch hold of passing animals, which,
after a time, get rid of them by rolling on the
ground. Those seeds which are surrounded by
a succulent pulp, and are swallowed by birds and
quadrupeds, are generally favourably consigned
to the earth. Most seeds pass uninjured through
the stomach and intestines of all animals, with
the exception of gallinaceous fowls. Currant
seeds, after having been eaten by man, can ger-
minate. Foxes sow the seeds of the cranberry
(Vaccinum) after eating its red berries. Apple
and pear trees are often found in ditches and
under hedges, proceeding, it is said, from fruit
which has been devoured by peasants. Farmers
are often astonished when, after having, as they
think, perfectly prepared their fields, and sown
excellent corn, on reaping they find some places
covered only with useless oats.

In other cases, mammiferes and birds devour

only a portion of seeds, while the rest fall
and become productive. When the squirrel
shakes the cones of the pine-tree to obtain the
seeds, a great number fall to the ground and are
lost to him. The inhabitants of Iceland call a
particular sort of nut "rats' nut," from the cir-
cumstance that the rats gather them in great
numbers, and hide them in the ground. But as
the rats are very often killed by one or other
of their numerous enemies, the nuts are left to
germinate. Seeds falling into worm-holes are
sure to germinate, as well as seeds which drop
into the subterraneous passages made by the
moles to ensnare worms and insects. The hog,
by tearing up the earth as with a ploughshare,
prepares it for the reception of seeds; the
hedgehog passes his life in doing the same ser-
vice.

Linnseus says that in Lapony the power of
rivers in dispersing seeds is seen very plainly.
"I have found," he says, "on the banks of the
rivers of that country, alpine plants, often at
the distance of thirty leagues from their native
soil. The ripe seeds ot these alpine plants,
swept away by the waters, after being carried
longer or shorter distances along the course of
these rivers, are at last thrown upon their
banks, where they strike root."

Seas, also, have a great share in the trans-
mission of seeds. It is generally believed that
seeds, when steeped in water, become corrupt
and unfruitful, but this is a mistake. The water
of the sea has seldom sufficient heat to destroy
seeds. For the same reason, fields are some-
times covered with water during a whole winter,
and yet the seeds with which they were sown
remain in good condition.

Linnaeus thus describes the dissemination of
the rose of Jericho. " Nature has wonderfully
endowed the anastatica : while its seeds are
being ripened, the branches which surround the
fruit contract and seize it as in a fist, so putting
the seeds beyond the reach of birds. This plant
growing upon the sandy shores of the Red Sea,
is exposed to the fury of the autumnal storms,
when the sea beating violently upon the plant,
seizes its fruit and hurls it into the deep ; but
the following tides throw it back upon the
sandy beach. Now, this fruit has the property
of remaining uninjured by cold sea water, but
when this last has become lukewarm (which
takes place when the fruit is left on the sand),
the fruit swells, the branches which unfold it
relax, the seeds are poured out, and, finding all
that is necessary for germination, send forth
their roots, and soon cover the whole coast with
their verdure."

Some seeds when put into the earth germinate
quickly, others more slowly ; some even stay
there a long and very variable time before they
appear on the surface.

Linnaeus says: "When but a boy, my father
had given me a little garden within his own,
where I reared all sorts of plants in great num-
bers. Among others, I remember very well a
particular thistle, which for many years my
lather had in vain made every effort to destroy

10 [October 13, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

completely : the same ground bringing forth
every succeeding year new individuals of this
detested species, although their predecessors
had invariably been pulled up and burnt. I
have now learned the cause of what appeared
unaccountable to us then. It must have been
the presence of latent seeds coming to light
from time to time, as I know that these seeds,
when consigned to the earth, may remain there
during two, three, and even ten or twenty
years without losing their power of germina-
tion."

A plant which had not been seen for forty
years in the Botanical Garden of Upsal, reap-
peared there spontaneously in the year 1731
after the ground had been dug up. Another
plant, a lobelia, reappeared and flourished in
the Botanical Garden of Amsterdam, after lying
buried in the earth twenty years. Cucumber
seeds have been kept forty years, and even fifty
years, without losing their germinative power.
The railway excavations every where havebrought
to light, plants long supposed to be extinct.

Corn found in the ruins after the fire of Lon-
don has been raised; wheat which has been
enclosed in the wrappings of an Egyptian
mummy has been reared, and has reproduced
fruit in Germany ; Indian corn taken from the
tombs of the Incas has done the same thing
in America. It has been observed that when
the virgin forests of America have been burnt
down, and the land ploughed up, an entirely
new flora has appeared : a fact which has been
accounted for, by the supposition that the seeds
had been buried forages, in depths beyond the
reach of vegetation.

The ground or earth nut (Arachis) is the
fruit of a plant growing in South America, not
unlike our bean. After the flowers fall off, the
young pods bend until they reach the ground,
where they bury their seeds three or four inches
under the soil. These nuts contain an extremely
sweet fixed oil, like that of almonds, which, if
they were allowed to ripen above ground, would
become rancid and useless, and the seeds would
not germinate when planted. The negroes of
South Carolina make these earth nuts their prin-
cipal food.

The seeds of the pine and fir trees are pro-
tected in a somewhat similar manner. On
account of their oily nature, too much heat
would be apt to make them rancid and sterile ;
therefore the scales of the cone, which, while the
tree is in flower are spread out when the seed is
ripe, close one over the other like the tiles of a
roof, effectually shutting out the rain ; and in
proportion as winter approaches and the cold
increases, the scales tighten more and more
round the seeds they defend. About the be-
ginning of April, when the returning sun
sends forth his first warm rays, the scales of the
cone open, and let the seeds fall to be received
into the bosom of the tepid earth, where vernal
showers soon draw out their roots.

The subterraneous pea (Latliyrus subterra-
neum) bears very few blossoms upon its
flower-stalk, and still fewer fruits; but there

spring from the plant, white flower-stalks,
having no leaves, and bearing not variegated
coloured flowers like the others, but white
ones. These white flowers produce fruit which
is immediately consigned to the earth, and thus
screened from devastation by birds. It would
appear that the coloured flowers are for show,
and the white flowers for use. The seeds of one
of the clovers are protected in the same way.

Certain seeds, owing to a curious arrangement
of their various parts, have a tendency to move
about. If a seed of the plant called crupina (a
kind of centaury) is placed in the palm of the
hand, it will be sure to move off; and if put
between the stocking and the back part of the
foot, it will work its way over the whole body,
and at last get out, either at the collar or at the
sleeve. These movements are made by the
erect and projecting bristles with which the
seeds are armed, moving always in one direc-
tion, like feet. The seeds of the sterile oat
(Avena nuda), after it has been gathered into
the barn, will wander out of their seed-cups, and,
if the weather is damp, march off in a body, like
a regiment of flies to the nearest wall, where
they will fix and take root. The explanation
of this apparently marvellous phenomenon is
extremely simple. Each grain is surmounted
by a long spiral bristle or awn, which is very
sensitive to every change of weather, and which
lengthens or contracts according as the air is
moist or dry. Thus, a forward motion is pro-
duced like a snail putting out its body and then
pulling its shell after it. The seed is prevented
from going backwards, by the small spines placed
backwards covering the awn. If the seeds or
spores of any of the ferns are dropped on a piece
of paper and examined with a microscope, they
are seen to jump about and disperse themselves
like mites or small insects.

Some plants propagate by means of their roots
and sprouts. The mangrove fig-tree (Rhizo-
phora mangle) is found growing on the low
marshy parts of all tropical sea-shores. The
fruit germinates in the seed-cup while hanging
on the tree, and grows downwards until it
reaches the ground, where it takes root in the
mud. Each plant in its turn multiplies and
spreads in the same way ; and Linnaeus asserts
that a single plant, if preserved from destruc-
tion, would, in course of time, multiply so as to
cover the entire inhabitable surface of our
globe.

Linnaeus, keeping within reasonable limits,
and calculating what would be the effect of a
single plant producing constantly only two suc-
cessful bearing seeds each season, (inds that in
twenty years there would be one hundred and
ninety-one thousand two hundred individuals.
"What then," he exclaims, "would be the as-
tonishing effect of such a multiplication con-
tinued over more than six thousand years !"

About the year 1GGO, the Christian Fathers
at Paris possessed a root of barley, bearing forty-
nine stalks and more than eighteen thousand
seeds. Ray counted thirty-two thousand seeds
in a poppy-head, and three hundred and sixty

Chr!ei Dlckent.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Oetobr IS, 1800.1 11

thousand on a tobacco-plant. Dodart is said
to have counted five hundred and twenty-
nine thousand seeds on a single elm-tree, and
yet these plants are far from beinp' the most
fecund. The number of spores produced by a
fern is almost incalculable.

A Monsieur Pouchet, Professor of Natural
History at Rouen, and a zealous defender of
the spontaneous generation theory (or, as it is
now called, " heterogenia"), was annoyed by
continually hearing statements and specula-
tions about what the air might carry ; and
he resolved to find out what it did really
carry. Having procured with the greatest care
some dust from nooks and crannies on the
tops of the towers and steeples of ancient
Rouen, which, in all probability, no hand had
touched since the mason placed the stones,
M. Pouchet examined it with most scrupulous
attention. He found, amidst much inorganic
matter, more or less organic substances, and
among these were always found minute seeds
easily distinguishable by their microscopical cha-
racteristics. Respecting the power of the air and
winds in transporting small bodies to enormous
distances, it is unquestionably proved that in a
great irruption of Vesuvius its ashes were
carried into Bohemia, and the great Pacific
Ocean ; of course, then, the spores of fungi
might be carried all round the world.

MY WILL.

I have no lands or houses,

And no hoarded golden store,
What cnn I leave those who love me

When they see my face no more?
Do not smile; I am not jesting,

Though my words sound gay and light,
Listen to me, dearest Alice,

I will make my will to-night.

First for Mabel, who will never

Let the dust of future years
Dim the thought of me, but keep it

Brighter still perhaps with tears ;
In whose eyes whate'er I glance at,

Touch, or praise, will always shine,
Through a strange and sacred radiance,

l>y Love's charter, wholly mine;
She will never lend another

Slenderest link of thought I claim,
I will therefore to her keeping,

Leave my memory and my name.

do truer service

To her kind than I have done,
So I leave to her young spirit

The lung work I have began.
Wi'll! the threads are tangled, broken,

And the colours do not blend,
She will lend her earnest striving,

Both to finish and amend:
Aiul, when ii is all completed,

Strong with care and rich with skill,
Just because my hands began it,

She will love it better still.

Ruth shall have my dearest token,
The one link I dread to break,

The one duty that I live for,
She, when I am gone, will take.

Sacred is the trust I leave her,

Needing patience, prayer, and tears,
I have striven to fulfil it,

As she knows, these many years.
Sometimes hopeless, faint, and weary,

Yet a blessing shall remain
With the task, and Ruth will prize it

For my many hours of pain.

What must I leave for my Alice ?

Nothing, love, to do or bear,
Nothing that can dim your blue eyes

With the slightest cloud of care ;
I will leave my heart to love you

With the tender faith of old,
Slill to comfort, warm, and light you,

Should your life grow dark or cold :
No one else, my child, can claim it;

If you find old scars of pain,
They were only wounds, my darling,

There is not, I trust, one stain.

Are my gifts indeed so worthless

Now the slender sum is told ?
Well ! I know not ; years may bless them

With a nobler price than gold.
Am I poor ? Ah, no, most wealthy !

Not in these poor gifts you take,
But in the true hearts that tell me

You will keep them for my sake.

UNIQUE PUBLISHING.

IN a shady corner of that incomprehensible
Palais Royal miscellany, where magazines of
sham jewellery are set out to view, and a
thriving business is done in that way, and where
Monsieur Lucullus is walking down eternally to
dine with Monsieur Lucullus at the sign of the
Three Pro veupal Brothers where a many-headed
Heliogabalus rides rampant, and where bonnes,
or nursery-maids, do mostly congregate, lies the
modest tabernacle of M. Dentu, the famous
pamphlet publisher, whence flutters forth, daily,
clouds of Sybilline leaves, which shadow out
obscurely the changes political of the awful
Memnon of the Tuileries. Under strange titles
they fall rustling at the feet of astonished Pa-
risians, who picK them up, and try to spell out
what the oracle means to say. There is nothing
that outrages the fitness of things in this func-
tion of M. Dentu's; and though one may whis-
per, lightly, " What on earth does he in this
galley ?" being thus awkwardly hedged in with
incompatible kitchen batteries and aluminium
ornaments, the locality is about the best in the
whole great Pandemonium on the Seine.

But some thirty or forty years back this Ar-
cadia, whose sylvan deities are the faun Soyer
and the satyr Careme, could scarcely boast so
innocent a worship. There was then sempi-
ternal bal masque", day and night; there was
then saturnalia iu permanence ; and those pretty
gardens, round which run the shopkeeping ar-
cades, were but the happy hunting-grounds of
vice and flaunting abomination. Overhead, at
those bright windows, au premier, where smug
restaurant sets you out the little table for the
dejeuner at " fixed price," where, too, mounts
soothingly the afternoon's music, discoursed by

]2 [October 13, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

Garde Imperiale,were set out other tables, fatally
green and dangerously smooth. And the bright
windows being flung open to let in air to gasp-
ing fevered gamblers, sent down in exchange
the rattle of "the wheel and click of the rake.
From the bright windows, too, have come down,
in despair, lost men, impaled upon those gilded
railings. The air was filled, not with the fra-
grance of flowers, but with reeking perfumes,
as Lais and her sisterhood swept by, in unholy
bands. It was a horrid medley of fluttering
plumes, flaunting gauds, painted cheeks, wine,
smoke, blood at times, brawls, misery, luxuri-
ance, brazen impudence, and cringing servitude,
this pastoral " royal palace," now almost rural
in its innocence : a hideous sloughing sore, an
open sewer in the heart of the city.

Now it came to pass that a young man, of
ardent hopes and prodigious enthusiasm, and of
some capital besides, was just then hesitating by
which of the many professional gates he should
enter into active life, and at last discovered in
himself an irresistible vocation to become a
publisher. A publisher, of all professions ! just
as we read the traditional stories of notable men
fighting in early stages with poverty, and such
cruel impediments, and finally struggling into
artists, poets, and philosophers. So our Ladvo-
cat for this was the name of the unique pub-
lisher had some such elastic spirit in him. " It
was there," as the late Mr. Sheridan once re-
marked of himself, needlessly strengthening his
assertion with an adjuration; "and by (adjura-
tion), it should come out !" Tin's was the way it
came out in M. Ladvocat's case. With a daring
originality, the unique publisher determined to
select for his place of business the most irregular
of localities, and in this very hot-bed of Bohemia,
the company of wantons and masquers was one
morning surprised to find among them a curious
intruder, who dealt in books. What scoffing
must it have furnished to the two millinery
ladies between whom he had pitched his tent,
and who dealt in laces and general frippery, and
did a little business of another character besides.
It would be hard to count the number of times
the well-worn saying of " How, in the Evil One's
name, had he gotten into that galley ?" passed
from light to lighter lips. Yet there was the
modest little tabernacle, and inside the young
and aspiring knight a very publishing Gideon.
No doubt it fell out, as it had been prophesied
to him by wise and dismally shaking heads, that
the light masquers came to him, asking for
1'aublas and the Liaisons Dangereuses, and such
indecorous literature. No doubt the Bohemians
stopped before his windows, and had much mer-
riment out of the serious matter exposed there.
But the unique publisher inside, thrilling with
a new faith, could bide his time, which he knew
was at hand, and presently began to preach.

The old Grub-street tradition as to the rela-
tions between authors and publishers has pre-
vailed to much the same degree in most capitals.
These poor scribbling parents who have children
to be brought into the world have had to sue
humbly for the common accoucheur's offices.

The practitioners have driven cruel bargains;
but in most cases the inky progeny have never
seen the light, and die an undeveloped foetus.
But the creed of our publisher was of another
order. He chose to sue, not to be sued ; he
sought and was not sought. And going out into
the highways and by-ways, ranging the slums,
and scaling the loftiest garrets, where writing
men did mostly congregate, and chanting as he
went a genuine Excelsior ! and calling on the
brave, the beautiful, and, above all, the young,
the chivalrous publisher seized the first bundle of
MSS., placed in his hands with timorous hesita-
tion, and courageously performed his first clinical
operation. Within a few days, there was in his
window the famous Messeniennes, of an obscure
youth called ALFRED DE VIGNY, and in a few days
all Paris was rushing frantically to buy. In this
blindfold lottery he had drawn a prize, and gold
poured into his coffers. The poet was devoured,
and the unique publisher began to be talked of.

Radiant with success, he stands at his door,
and watches the people going by. Presently
there passes a young man of good address, very
handsome, with genius written upon his brow,
but with the ugly characters of reduced cir-
cumstances also written upon his person. The
unique publisher marks him at once. " Young
man," he says, " it strikes me that I see in your
pocket that sort of swelling which a bundle of
manuscript is likely to produce. Permit me.
Ha ! so it is ! tied up with a bit of blue ribbon,
too ! Courage, friend ; let us look it over to-
gether. ODES AND BALLADS ! H'm ! The
Loves of the Angels by Jove ! Excellent !
the very thing ! Step inside, my friend quick !
You must give me this rather, let me buy it of
you."

The bargain was made. Again had the unique
publisher drawn a prize. The reduced young
poet's name happened to be a certain VICTOR
HUGO ; and again the public came, gathering up
its skirts as it passed through the unclean
throng, to buy frantically.

When it became known that there was a
chevaleresque publisher in the city inclined to do
business on such unheard-of principles, there
must have set in such a rush of youths freighted
with manuscripts tied up in blue ribbon, as
would have reduced any less elastic spirit to
despair. But the unique publisher held on to
the unique track he had chosen. He was suc-
cessful, too, because he had succeeded ; for no-
thing, according to the well-worn canon, suc-
ceeds like success. All his proceeding's, too,
were of the same liberal character. Five or
six copies of his favourite poets always lay cut
upon the counter, with chairs set ready, for the
public to enter and read, not buy, unless they
fancied it specially. He almost preferred to
give a volume away, rather than sell it ; and
set curiously high prices upon his works.
Naturally, the unique publisher became the
talk of Paris, and presently became the rage,
lie grew rich ; and the Boulevards were soon
astonished by the unusual spectacle of a pub-
lisher flying 'by in a superb cabriolet, with his

Chsriei Dlckem.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October 1,1W0.1 13

arms (a publisher's arms !) emblazoned on the
panels. People looked up from their little
tables outside the cafe's, and said to each other
with wonder, "It is the unique publisher."

a \vcre the stories that went round of
his revolutionary principles. How widows came
to him in deep mourning, to tell with tears how
they had been refused a miserable forty pounds
for their husbands' poems. "Astonishing,
madam !" exclaims the sympathising and unique
publisher. " A shame ! a disgrace I Do me the
honour to accept this trifle of, say, three hundred.
I am exceedingly indebted Jo you for this prefer-
enceI am indeed !" For the copyright of Cha-
teaubriand's works, he gave five and twenty
thousand pounds, and celebrated the contract
by a superb entertainment to that viscount and
his friends, in a superb hotel, such as publisher,
unique or other, had never dwelt in before now.
He revelled in what are called in France " luxu-
rious editions," in the dissipation of costly
papers and the most exquisite type. He gloried
in monster undertakings, what are called
"heavy" in the trade, series of sixteen and
twenty tomes. They were his Austerlitz and
Marengo, to which he would point with pride.

But one day when he was advanced in life,
there came his Waterloo, and he sank crushed by
his own speculations. Perhaps, the hotel, the
cabriolet, and the entertainments to noble vis-
counts had something to do with the cata-
strophe ; more likely it was the unwieldy pro-
portions of his enterprises. The little shop in
the Palais Royal, fondly looked back to, did not
witness this decadence. It had long been ex-
changed for the stately hotel, where the ban-
quets had been given to distinguished guests.
But, with the banquets it had now faded away,
like a tinsel pantomimic structure ; and it ac-
tually came to this sad end, that the poor
unique, beaten at last by fortune, was glad to
yield up his spirit upon a settle-bed in the
dismal ward of a public hospital.

THE UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER.

THE rising of the Italian people from
under their unutterable wrongs, and the tardy
burst of day upon them after the long long
night of oppression that has darkened their
beautiful country, has naturally caused my mind
to dwell often of late on my own small wander-
ings in Italy. Connected with them, is a curious
little drama, in which the character I myself
sustained was so very subordinate, that I may
relate its story without any fear of being sus-
pected of self-display. It is strictly a true
story.

I am newly arrived one summer evening, in a
certain small town on the Mediterranean. 1
have had my dinner at the inn, and I and the
mosquitoes are coming out into the streets to-
gether. It is far from Naples ; but a bright
brown plump little woman-servant at the inn,
is a Neapolitan, and is so vivaciously ex-
pert in pantomimic action, that in the single
moment of answering my request to have a

pair of shoes cleaned which I left up-stairs,
she plies imaginary brushes, and goes com-
pletely through the motions of polishing the
shoes up, and laying them at my feet. I
smile at the brisk little woman in perfect satis,
faction with her briskness ; and the brisk little
woman, amiably pleased with me because I am
pleased with her, claps her hands and laughs de-
lightfully. We are in the inn yard. As the
little woman's bright eyes sparkle on the
cigarette I am smoking, I make bold to offer
her one ; she accepts it none the less merrily,
because I touch a most charming little dimple
in her fat cheek, with its light paper end.
Glancing up at the many green lattices to assure
herself that the mistress is not looking on, the
little woman then puts her two little dimpled
arms a-kimbo, and stands on tiptoe to light her
cigarette at mine. " And now, dear little sir,"
says she, puffing out smoke in a most innocent
and Cherubic manner, " keep quite straight on,
take the first to the right, and probably you will
see him standing at his door."

I have a commission to " him," and I have
been inquiring about him. I have carried the
commission about Italy, several months. Before
I left England, there came to me one night a cer-
tain generous and gentle English nobleman (he
is dead in these days when I relate the story,
and exiles have lost their best British friend),
with this request : " Whenever you come to such
a town, will you seek out one Giovanni Carla-
vero, who keeps a little wine-shop there, mention
my name to him suddenly, and observe how it
affects him ?" I accepted the trust, and am on
my way to discharge it.

The sirocco has been blowing all day, and it
is a hot unwholesome evening with no cool sea-
breeze. Mosquitoes and fire-flies are lively
enough, but most other creatures are faint. The
coquettish airs of pretty young women in the
tiniest and wickedest of dolls' straw hats,
who lean out at opened kttice blinds, are
almost the only airs stirring. Very ugly and
haggard old women with distaffs, and with
a grey tow upon them that looks as if they
were spinning out their own hair (I suppose
they were once pretty, too, but it is very dif-
ficult to believe so), sit on the footway leaning
against house walls. Everybody who has come
for water to the fountain, stays there, and seems
incapable of any such energetic idea as going
home. Vespers are over, though not so long
but that I can smell the heavy resinous in-
cense as I pass the church. No man seems to
be at work, save the coppersmith. In an Italian
town he is always at work, and always thumping
in the deadliest manner.

I keep straight on, and come in due time to
the first on the right : a narrow dull street,
where I see a well-favoured man of good stature
and military bearing, in a great cloak, standing
at a door. Drawing nearer to this threshold, i
see it is the threshold of a small wine-shop;
and I can just make out, in the dim light, the in-
scription that it is kept by Giovanni Carlavero.

1 touch my hat to the figure in the cloak, and

14 [October 13,1860.3

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

pass in, and draw a stool to a little table. The
lamp (just such another as they dig out of Pom-
peii) is lighted, but the place is empty. The
figure in" the cloak has followed me in, and
stands before me.

"The master?"

"At your service, sir."

" Please to give me a glass of the wine of the
country."

He turns to a little counter, to get it. As
his striking face is pale, and his action is evi-
dently that of an enfeebled man, I remark that
I fear he has been ill. It is not much, he cour-
teously and gravely answers, though bad while
it lasts : the fever.

As he sets the wine on the little table, to his
manifest surprise I lay my hand on the back of
his, look him. in the face, and say in a low
voice : "I am an Englishman, and you are ac-
quainted with a friend of mine. Do you

recollect ?" and I mention the name of my

generous countryman.

Instantly, he utters a loud cry, bursts into
tears, and falls on his knees at my feet, clasping
my legs in both his arms and bowing his head to
the ground.

Some years ago, this man at my feet, whose
overfraught heart is heaving as if it would
burst from his breast, and whose tears are wet
pou the dress I wear, was a galley-slave in the
North of Italy. He was a political offender,
having been concerned in the then last rising,
and was sentenced to imprisonment for life.
That he would have died in his chains, is cer-
tain, but for the circumstance that the English-
man happened to visit his prison.

It was one of the vile old prisons of Italy, and
a part of it was below the waters of the harbour.
The place of his confinement was an arched
underground and uuder-water gallery, with a
grill-gate at the entrance, through which it re-
ceived- such light and air as it got. Its condition
was insufferably foul, and a stranger could hardly
breathe in it, or see in it with the aid of a torch.
At the upper end of this dungeon, and con-
sequently in the worst position, as being the
furthest removed from light and air, the Eng-
lishman first beheld him, sitting on an iron bed-
stead to which he was chained by a heavy chain.
His countenance impressed the Englishman as
having nothing in common with the faces of
the malefactors with whom he was associated,
and he talked with him, and learnt how he came
to be there.

"When the Englishman emerged from the
dreadful den into the light of day, he asked his
conductor, the governor of the gaol, why Gio-
vanni Carlavcro was put into the worst place ?

" Because he is particularly recommended,"
was the stringent answer.

" Recommended, that is to say, for death?"

" Excuse me ; particularly recommended," was
again the answer.

" He has a bad tumour in his neck, no doubt
occasioned by the hardship of his miserable life.
If it continues to be neglected, and he remains
where he is, it will kill him."

" Excuse me, I can do nothing. He is par-
ticularly recommended."

The Englishman was staying in that town, and
he went to his home there ; but the figure of this
man chained to^the bedstead made it no home,
and destroyed his rest and peace. He was an Eng-
lishman of an extraordinarily tender heart, and he
could not bear the picture. He went back to the
prisongrate: went backagain and again, andtalked
to the man and cheered him. He used his ut-
most influence to get the man unchained from
the bedstead, were it only for ever so short a time
in the day, and permitted to come to the grate.
It took along time, but the Englishman's station,
personal character, and steadiness of purpose,
wore out opposition so far, and that grace was
at last accorded. Through the bars, when lie
could thus get light upon the tumour, the Eng-
lishman lanced it, and it did well, and healed.
His strong interest in the prisoner had greatly
increased by this time, and he formed the
desperate resolution that he would exert his
utmost self-devotion and use his utmost efforts,
to get Carlavero pardoned.

If the prisoner had been a brigand and a mur-
derer, if he had committed every non-political
crime in the Newgate Calendar and out of it,
nothing would have been easier than for a man
of any court or priestly influence to obtain his
release. As it was, nothing could have been
more difficult. Italian authorities, and English
authorities who had interest with them, alike
assured the Englishman that his object was
hopeless. He met with nothing but eva-
sion, refusal, and ridicule. His political pri-
soner became a joke in the place. It was es-
pecially observable that English Circumlocu-
tion, and English Society on its travels, were as
humorous on the subject as Circumlocution
and Society may be on any subject without loss
of caste. But, the Englishman possessed (and
proved it well in his life) a courage very un-
common among us : he had not the least fear
of being considered a bore, in a good humane
cause. So he went on persistently trying, and
trying, and trying, to get Giovanni Carlavero
out. That prisoner had been rigorously re-
chained, after the tumour operation, and it was
not likely that his miserable life could last very
long.

One day, when all the town knew about the
Englishman and his political prisoner, there
came to the Englishman, a certain sprightly
Italian Advocate of whom he had some know-
ledge ; and he made this strange proposal.
" Give me a hundred pounds to obtain Carla-
vero's release. I think I can get him a pardon,
with that money. But I cannot tell you what
I am going to do with the money, nor must you
ever ask me the question if I succeed, nor must
you ever ask me for an account of the money
if I fail." The Englishman decided to hazard
the hundred pounds. He did so, and heard not
another word of the matter. P-or half a year
and more, the Advocate made no sign, and never
once " took on" in any way, to have the subject
on his mind. The Englishman was then obliged

Clurtei Dlckeni.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

COctobtr U, IMO.} 15

to change his residence to another and more
famous town in the North of Italy. He parted
from the poor prisoner with a sorrowful heart,
as from a doomed man for whom, there was no
release but Death.

The Englishman lived in his new place of
abode another half-year and more, and had no
tidings of the wretched prisoner. At length,
one day, he received from the Advocate a cool
concise mysterious note, to this effect. " If you
still wish to bestow that benefit upon the man
in whom you were once interested, send me fifty
pounds more, and I think it can be ensured."
Now, the Englishman had long settled in his
mind that the Advocate was a heartless sharper,
who had preyed upon his credulity and his in-
terest in nu unfortunate sufferer. So, he sat
down and wrote a dry answer, giving the Advo-
cate to understand that he was wiser now than
he had been formerly, and that no more money
was extractable from his pocket.

He lived outside the city gates, some mile or
two from the post-office, and was accustomed to
walk into the city with his letters and post them
himself. On a lovely spring day, when the sky
was exquisitely blue, and the sea Divinely beau-
tiful, he took his usual walk, carrying this letter
to the Advocate in his pocket. As he went
along, his gentle heart was much moved by the
loveliness of the prospect, and by the thought
of the slowly-dying prisoner chained to the bed-
stead, for whom the universe had no delights.
As he drew nearer and nearer to the city where
he was to post the letter, he became very un-
easy in his mind. He debated with himself,
was it remotely possible, after all, that this sum
of fifty pounds could restore the fellow-creature
whom he pitied so much, and for whom he had
striven so hard, to liberty? He was not a cou-
ventially rich Englishman very far from that
but he had a spare fifty pounds at the banker's.
. He resolved to risk it. Without doubt, GOD has
recompensed him for the resolution.

He went to the banker's, and got a bill for the
amount, and enclosed it in a letter to the Advo-
cate that I wish I could have seen. He simply
told the Advocate that he was quite a poor man,
and that he was sensible it might be a great
weakness in him to part with so much money on
the faith of so vague a communication; but that
there it was, and that he prayed the Advocate
to make a good use of it. If he did otherwise
no good could ever come of it, and it would lie
heavy on his soul one day.

Within a week, the Englishman was sitting
at his breakfast, when he heard some suppressed
sounds of agitation on the staircase, and Gio-
vanni Carlavero leaped into his room and fell
upon his breast, a free man !

Conscious of having wronged the Advocate
in his owu thoughts, the Englishman wrote him
an earnest and grateful letter, avowing the fact,
and entreating him to coulide by what nu-aiis
and through what agency he had succeeded so
well. The Advocate returned for answer through
the post. " There are many things, as you
know, in this Italy of ours, that are safest and

best not even spoken of far less written of.
We may meet some day, and then I may tell
you what you want to know ; not here, and
now." But, the two never did meet again. The
Advocate was dead when the Englishman gave
me my trust ; and how the man had been set
free, remained as great a mystery to the Eng-
lishman, and to the man himself, as it was to
me.

But, I knew this: here was the mnn, Uiis
sultry night, on his knees at my feet, because I
was the Englishman's friend; here were his
tears upon my dress ; here were his sobs
choking his utterance; here were his kisses
on my hands, because they had touched the
hands that had worked out his release. He had
no need to tell me it would be happiness to iiiiu
to die for his benefactor ; I doubt if I ever saw
real, sterling, fervent gratitude of soul, before
or since.

He was much watched and suspected, he saiil,
and had had enough to do to keep himself out of
trouble. This, and his not having prospered in
his worldly affairs, had led to his having failed
in his usual communications to the Englishman
for as I now remember the period some two
or three years. But, his prospects were brighter,
and his wife who had been very ill had recovered,
and his fever had left him, and he had bought a
little vineyard, and would I carry to his bene-
factor the first of its wiue? Ay, that I would
(I told him with enthusiasm), and not a drop
of it should be spilled or lost!

He had cautiously closed the door before
speaking of himself, and had talked with such
excess of emotion, and in a provincial Italian
so difficult to understand, that I had more than
once been obliged to stop him, aud beg him to
have compassion on me and be slower and
calmer. By degrees he became so, and tran-
quilly walked back with me to the hoteL There,
I sat down before I went to bed and wrote a
faithful account of him to the Englishman :
which I concluded by saying that I would bring
the wine home, against any difficulties, every
drop.

Early next morning when I came out at the
hotel door to pursue my journey, I found my
friend waiting with one of those immense bottles
in which the Italian peasants store their wine
a bottle holding some half-dozen gallons
bound round with basket-work for greater
safety on the journey. I see him now, in the
bright sunlight, tears of gratitude in hia eyes,
proudly inviting my attention to this corpulent
bottle. (At the street corner hard by, two high-
flavoured able-bodied monks pretending to talk
together, but keeping their four evil eyes upon
us.)

How the bottle had been got there, did not
appear ; but the difficulty of getting it into the
ramshackle vetturiuo carriage in which I was de-
parting, was so great, and it took up so much room
when it was got in, that I elected to sit outside.
The last I saw of Giovanni Carlavero was his
running through the town by the side of the
jingiuig wheels, clasping my hand as I stretched

16 [October 13, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

it down from the box, charging me with a thou-
sand last loving and dutiful messages to his dear
patron, and finally looking in at the bottle as it
reposed inside, with an admiration of its ho-
nourable way of travelling that was beyond
measure delightful.

And now, what disquiet of mind this dearly-
beloved and highly-treasured Bottle began to
cost me, no man knows. It was my precious
charge through a long tour, and, for hundreds
of miles, I never had it off my mind by day or
by night. Over bad roads and they were
many I clung to it with affectionate despera-
tion. Up mountains, I looked in at it and saw
it helplessly tilting over on its back, with terror.
At innumerable inn doors when the weather was
bad, 1 was obliged to be put into my vehicle
before the Bottle could be got in, and was obliged
to have the Bottle lifted out before human aid
could come near me. The Imp of the same
name, except that his associations were all evil
and these associations were all good, would have
been a less troublesome travelling companion.
I might have served Mr. Cruikshank as a sub-
ject for a new illustration of the miseries of the
Bottle. The National Temperance Society might
have made a powerful Tract of me.

The suspicions that attached to this innocent
Bottle, greatly aggravated my difficulties. It
was like the apple-pie in the child's book. Parma
pouted at it, Modena mocked it, Tuscany tackled
it, Naples nibbled it, Rome refused it, Austria
accused it, Soldiers suspected it, Jesuits jobbed
it. 1 composed a neat Oration, developing my in-
offensive intentions in connexion with this Bottle,
and delivered it in an infinity of guard-houses, at a
multitude of town gates, and on every draw-
bridge, angle, and rampart, of a complete system
of fortifications. Fifty times a day, I got down
to harangue an infuriated soldiery about the
Bottle. Through the filthy degradation of the ab-
ject and vile Roman States, I had as much diffi-
culty in working my way with the Bottle, as if
it had bottled up a complete system of heretical
theology. In the Neapolitan country, where
everybody was a spy, a soldier, a priest, or a
lazzarone, the shameless beggars of all four de-
nominations incessantly pounced on the Bottle
and made it a pretext for extorting money from
me. Quires quires do I say ? Reams of forms
illegibly printed on whity-brown paper were
filled up about the Bottle, and it was the subject
of more stamping and sanding than I had ever
seen before. In consequence of which haze of
sand, perhaps, it was always irregular, and
always latent with dismal penalties of going
back, or not going forward, which were only to
be abated by the silver crossing of a base hand,
poked shirtless out of a ragged uniform sleeve.
Under all discouragements, however, I stuck to
my Bottle, and held firm to my resolution that
every drop of its contents should reach the
Bottle's destination.

The latter refinement cost me a separate heap
of troubles on its own separate account. What
corkscrews did I see the military power bring
out against that Bottle : what gimlets, spikes,

divining rods, gauges, and unknown tests and
instruments ! At some places, they persisted in
declaring that the wine must not be passed,
without being opened and tasted; I, pleading
to the contrary, used then to argue the question
seated on the Bottle lest they should open it in
spite of me. In the southern parts of Italy,
more violent shrieking, face-making, and gesticu-
lating, greater vehemence of speech and coun-
tenance and action, went on about that Bottle
than would attend fifty murders in a northern
latitude. It raised important functionaries out
of their beds, in the dead of night. I have
known half a dozen military lanterns to disperse
themselves at all points of a great sleeping
Piazza, each lantern summoning some official
creature to get up, put on his cocked-hat in-
stantly, and come and stop the Bottle. It was
characteristic that while this innocent Bottle
had such immense difficulty in getting from
little town to town, Signor Mazziui and the
fiery cross were traversing Italy from end to
end.

Still, I stuck to my Bottle, like any fine old
English gentleman all of the olden time. The
more the Bottle was interfered with, the
stauncher I became (if possible) in my first de-
termination that my countryman should have it
delivered to him intact, as the man whom he had
so nobly restored to life and liberty had delivered
it to me. If ever I have been obstinate in my
days and I may have been, say, once or twice
I was obstinate about the Bottle. But, I made
it a rule always to keep a pocket full of small
coin at its service, and never to be out of temper
in its cause. Thus I and the Bottle made our
way. Once, we had a break-down ; rather a bad
break-down, on a steep high place with the sea
below us, on a tempestuous evening when it
blew great guns. We were driving four wild
horses abreast, Southern fashion, and there was
some little difficulty in stopping them. I was
outside, and not thrown off ; but no words can
describe my feelings when I saw the Bottle
travelling inside, as usual burst the door open,
and roll obesely out into the road. A blessed
Bottle with a charmed existence, he took no
hurt, and we repaired damage, and went on
triumphant.

A thousand representations were made to
me that the Bottle must be left at this
place, or that, and called for again. I never
yielded to one of them, and never parted from
the Bottle, on any pretence, consideration,
threat, or entreaty. I had no faith in any
official receipt for the Bottle, and nothing would
induce me to accept one. These unmanageable
politics at last brought me and the Bottle, still
triumphant, to Genoa. There, I took a tender
and reluctant leave of him for a few weeks, and
consigned him to a trusty English captain, to be
conveyed to the Port of London by sea.

While the Bottle was on his voyage to Eng-
land, I read the Shipping Intelligence as anxi-
ously as if I had been an underwriter. There
was some stormy weather after I myself had got
to England by way of Switzerland and Erance,

CbtrlM Uiokcni.]

ALL THE YEAK ROUND.

[Ootobor IJ, B*>.] I/

and my mind greatly misgave me that the Bottle
might be wrecked. At last to my great joy, I re-
ceived notice of his safe arrival, and Immediately
went down to Saint Katharine's Docks, and
found him in a slate of honourable captivity in
the Custom House.

The wine was mere vinegar when I set it
down before the generous English man pro-
bably it had been something like vinegar when I
took it up from Giovanni Carlavero but not a
drop of it was spilled or gone. And the Eng-
lishman told me, with much emotion in his face
and voice, that he had never tasted wine that
seemed to him so sweet and sound. And long
afterwards, the Bottle graced his table. And
the last time I saw him in this world that misses
him, he took me aside in a crowd, to say, with
his amiable smile: "We were talking of you
only to-day at dinner, and I wished you had been
there, for" I had some claret up in Carlavero's
Bottle."

MUCH BETTER THAN SHAKESPEARE.

AN ignorant British publ : c has long taken it
for granted that Shakespeare wrote the play of
Hamlet. It is time the confiding public should be
undeceived, and forced by direct evidence to ac-
knowledge that, although Shakespeare did indeed
supply certain crude materials for a play of that
name materials incongruous, wild, and full of
anachronisms the real play, shaped, squared,
and harmoniously arranged according to the
Unities, was written by Ducis, and first played
at the Theatre-Franpais in Paris, in seventeen
hundred and sixty-nine.

It is to be hoped that an obstinate British
public will not pretend ignorance of the name
of Ducis ; this would exhibit the national pre-
judice against foreigners in a deplorable light,
and, moreover, would show an ingratitude and
u want of appreciation of a great literary service,
unworthy of a generous people. Our own duty,
however, as faithful exponents of a fact not
universally acknowledged, obliges us as a matter
of routine to state that Jean Francois Ducis was
born at Versailles in seventeen hundred and
thirty-three; that he was the associate and friend
of Thomas and of Florian ; that he succeeded
Voltaire in the fauteuilof the Academic Franpaise
in seventeen hundred and seventy-nine ; that
besides writing an infinite number of epistles
and minor poems, he performed the kind office
of reconstructing iu Ireuch, and in accordance
with the Unities, the mass of incongruities col-
lected by Shakespeare as plays, and called
.let, Romeo and Juliet, King Lear, Mac-
beth, King John, Othello. He did some-
thing of the same kind for Sophocles with his
play of (Edipus, although Sophocles ought cer-
tainly to have known all about the Unities him-
self.

The complete works of Ducis were collected
for the lirst, time in eighteen hundred and
eighteen, two years after his death ; and the
enthusiastic editor of au edition published at

Brussels by Wahlen and Company, imperial
publishers, explains the whole state of the
case, as between Shakespeare and Ducis so
clearly, and to an unprejudiced British mind
with such ingenuous fairness, that I cannot do
better than lay his exposition at the outset
before the reader :

" Shakespeare, almost entirely debarred of educa-
tion, writing in the midst of a still barbarous people,
in a language scarcely formed, and for a stage
utterly without order, was either ignorant of, or
disdained those rules, and that dramatic affinity,
the observance of which distinguishes our theatre ;
and what is perhaps more grievous, he often allied
with the truest and most exalted beauties, now the
fault of obscenity, and now the vice of affectation.
Ducis, with an art which would have been more
appreciated if the difficulties of the enterprise had
been better understood, reduced to proportion, and
subdued to the established laws of our dramatic
system, the gigantic and monstrous works of the
English dramatist. He knew how to separate the
pure and sublime traits from the impure alloy which
dishonoured them, and to render them with that
force, that warmth, that truth of expression, which
associates nay, which almost places on an equality
the rights of imitative talent with those of original
genius. Indeed, how much of bold and profound
thought, of touching and elevated sentiment, has he
added to that furnished to him by his model !"

Fortunately, no dead poet is responsible for
the enthusiasm of his live editor, and in spite
of the above trumpet-blast of panegyric, we
firmly believe that Ducis was a modest and
amiable poet. That he possessed some of the
best qualities of a man, is shown by the fact that
after having been attached to the service of
Monsieur, afterwards Louis the Eighteenth, as
Secretaire des Commandements (whatever that
may have been), he refused, although then re-
duced to poverty, the position and emolument of
senator, offered to him by Napoleon. When
pressed by a friend to accept the lucrative sine-
cure, he replied : " I have always consulted my
interests but little, and my distastes a great deal.
Besides, when I come to look upon the gold lace
with which the Solliciteur-Gen6ral is adorned,
I am quite sure I could never bring myself to
wear that coat."

There must be a subtle refinement necessary
for the thorough enjoyment of the Unities, to
which we Englishmen cannot lay much claim.
We must either be very dull, or diseasedly
imaginative, when our play-going nature does
not insist upon the reproduction of an event on
the stage m precisely the same number of
minutes which its action would occupy in reality;
and when we are indifferent to the apparent an-
nihilation of both time and space, m order to
work out a good story. It is doubtful, indeed,
whether the best of us would not prefer the
Life of a Gamester, with a lapse of five years
between each act, to the classical severity of
Cato. Only this much may be said in our favour :
that Corneille, in The Cid, one of his best plays,
broke through the Unities more than once
perhaps it was on that account the Academic
rejected the piece and that the classical model

18 [October 13, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

upon which the old French dramatists built
their epics lias but few modern disciples.

For our own part, we confess to the vulgar
want of capacity for the thorough appreciation
of the Unities. We have a lugubrious recol-
lection of the performance of Hamlet at the
Theatre-Fran9ais : the Hamlet of Shakespeare,
by Ducis. We came away from that elevated
representation full of Ducis and dreariness.

But let us take the play as it is writ, and
see what the Unities have done for it. In order
to do justice to Ducis we must first forget
Shakespeare. The simplicity of the play, ac-
cording to the Unities, is astonishing. There is
but one scene in the whole tragedy, and that is
at "Elsinore, in the palace of the kings of Den-
mark." The first act sets us right with regard to
some of our old friends. Hamlet is king, not
prince, of Denmark, consequent upon the sudden
death of his father. Claudius, " first prince of
the blood," is conspiring the king's overthrow,
assisted by that pleasant old gentleman whom
we delight to hear called a " fishmonger," Polo-
nius, now active as a cool, villanous conspirator,
of middle age, and without a spark of eccen-
tricity about him. This precious pah- are quite
agreed that Hamlet, the king, from some cause
unexplained, is " silent, sad, morose," half dead,
and more than half insane ; and this view of his
case they have impressed upon their co-con-
spirators as a sufficient reason for his overthrow.
Claudius has, besides, some special grievances
against the old king, inasmuch as his late ma-
jesty had never properly appreciated his military
services, and had even disgraced him at court.
Worse than this, he had decreed that the beau-
tiful Ophelia,

The sole and feeble scion of my race,

exclaims Claudius, " should never marry." Here
is a correction! Ophelia is the daughter of
Claudius, not of Polonius, "0 Jephtha, judge
of Israel !" This determination on the part of
the late king, that Ophelia

The light of hymen's torch should ne'er behold,

creates an agreeable complication which the
readers of Shakespeare will be quite unprepared
for, and as it can scarcely be called justifiable,
excites a sort of sympathy in the audience for
Claudius which assists in the general bewilder-
ment.

Polonius, in his heavy villany, suggests to
Claudius that, as the queen-mother, Gertrude,
doubtless intends that he should take the place
oi her dead husband, a refusal might jeopardise
the whole plot; upon which Claudius explains
that he is about to make an offer of himself at
once to the queen, not in earnest, but as a blind
till the conspiracy shall be ripe for execution.
Gertrude opportunely enters ; Polonius discreetly
retires ; and Claudius makes his proposal, with
considerable formality, however, seeing that his
offer is set in Alexandrine v^rse, and m rhyme.
Th:; queen is in no humour for love ; seized with
remorse for the murder of her husband, in which
she had assisted, she reproves Claudius for this

expression of his passion so soon after the death
of the king :

Upon whose dust, within an urn enclosed,
The darkness of the tomb has scarcely closed.

Here we have the first intimation of the jar
business, which afterwards assumes such formi-
dable proportions.

The queen, in her repentance, has become so
thoroughly virtuous, that she repudiates all
thought of marriage ; declares herself resolved
to devote her life in future to the welfare of her
son, King Hamlet, and directs Polonius, who is
called upon the stage for the purpose, to give
immediate orders for his coronation. This dis-
posed of, there enters Elvire, who is the confi-
dante of Gertrude somehow they never can
get on without a confidante in the Unities and
who comes to announce the arrival of Norceste :
Norceste, the dread of the conspirators, the hope
of the queen-mother, and the dear friend of
Hamlet. Norceste, indeed, is no other than
our old crony Horatio, with new powers, who
has just hastened from England to comfort and
assist Hamlet on the death of his father.

An episode is now introduced in the shape of
a revelation on the part of the queen-mother of
her share in the murder of the late king. This
is partly extorted from her by Elvire, who had
beheld Gertrude in her throes of anguish, and
being in her innocent stupidity unable to define
the cause, presses the queen for an explanation.
Gertrude confesses that Claudius had been her
first love, but that, for state reasons, she had
married the king. Upon the return of the vic-
torious Claudius from the wars, her first passion
had been reawakened, and the slights cast upon
him by her husband had increased her love for
the one while they had excited an aversion for
the other. At a time when the king was sick,
and craved refreshing drinks, Claudius prepared
a "perfidious cup" of poison for his especial
solacement, and committed it to the hands of
the too willing Gertrude, his wife, to be given
to him. She, poor, weak woman, at the sight
of the haggard face of her sick husband, re-
pented of her purpose :

My blood froze up ; of reason's power denied,
I fled but left the chalice by his side.

As a natural consequence of which oversight,
the fevered thirsty king, on waking, drank up
the poison and died.

Norceste (Horatio) now arrives upon 'the
scene to find the king dead and buried that is
to say inurned ; confusion and gloom in the
court; and his old companion, Hamlet, af-
flicted with all the signs of incipient madness.
Upon this state of matters he makes the bold
reflection :

In court suspicion only waits its time;

A mighty secret there is oft a mighty crime.

The interview between Hamlet and Norceste
brings Shakespeare faintly before our eyes.
Hamlet has only seen the spirit of his father in
imagination. Twice he has dreamed of him,
and on the latter occasion the angry apparition

Cbrlei Dlckeni.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October 13, 1800.] 19

had accused him of neglecting to avenge his
murder, and thus censured and instructed him :
Is it fimu^'li thy tears should wet my dust?
Go ! take the urn wherein my bones are throat,
Then seize thy poniard, strike ! thy steps retrace,
And, smoking still, my ashes then replace.
To digress a moment on this matter of the
urn. Is it not a question whether the Unities,
in correcting the anachronisms of Shakespeare,
Lave not themselves committed a greater one,
seeing it is not historically proven that the
Danes were in the habit of burning their dead
relatives, and of potting them in this way ? The
idea is so classical that I suppose it must be
accepted without a murmur ; or perhaps it was
an exceptional proceeding adopted by the cun-
ning Claudius to efface the traces of poison ;
in which supposition, what a pity it is the case
never came to be tried at the Old Bailey, that
the analytical chemists might have come out in
full feather ! What uninteresting chapter in
the Causes Ce'lebres of the Newgate Calendar
would it have afforded !

Norceste, like a sensible man, pooh-poohs the
notion of the spiritual visitation of the feu roi,
which he imputes to the heated imagination of
Hamlet, acted upon by the story of the death
of the King of England, who had just then, con-
veniently enough, been found stabbed in his bed.
The ghost, in the dream of Hamlet, had accused
his "perfidious mother" and the "infamous
Claudius" of being the joint murderers of his
body ; and the idea now occurs to Hamlet that
the recital of the murder of the King of Eng-
land to the guilty pair, by Norceste, may
awaken such remorse in their consciences as to
betray them by some visible emotion. And this
is how the Unities dispose of the grand episode
of the play ! To them the play is not " the
thing," as being out of time, and the players out
of place as a troublesome mob. Hamlet imposes
another task upon Norceste. He is aaxious for
the possession of the um :

I would that here before the poisoners' eyes
My father's ashes should accusing rise ;
And of thy faithful love the kindness bless
That to my heart his sacred urn I press.

In the meantime the two vulgar conspirators,
Claudius and Polonius, are becoming seriously
alarmed lest their plots should, by the inoppor-
tune arrival of Norceste, and the e'clat of the
coronation, become impossible of execution.
They resolve, therefore, to watch the one and
interrupt the other. Polonius is for action.
The attempt to surprise Claudius and the queen
into an implied confession of their guilt by the
narration of the murder of the King of England,
turns out a complete failure, so far as Claudius
is concerned, who keeps his countenance like a
consummate hypocrite as he is, and has only a
partial success with the qxieen. This troubles
Hamlet, and we then have a speech in which,
after some difficulty, we discover a faint trace of
the soliloquy on death, but oh, how taint !
Ophelia here appears for the first time on tho
stage. As she is the daughter of Claudius, and

not of Polonius, the garrulous old chamberlain
of Shakespeare; as she never goes mad; never
sings sweet melancholy songs ; is never drowned,
ana, consequently, never buried, all resemblance
between her and the original is entirely lost ;
and the Unities, by this means, dispose at once
of Laertes, of the grave, the skulls, and the
gravediggers ; and the heavy drama groans on
its dreary methodical course to the end.

In the fifth act Norceste appears with the
urn. It is blue, and of a dropsical shape. He
commends it to the tears and embraces of
Hamlet. The latter thus addresses it :

Thou pledge of all my vows, urn terrible, yet dear,
Thee, weeping, I invoke, and yet embrace with fear.

Ophelia, in this scene, endeavours to soften
the heart of Hamlet by appealing to his love for
her, but failing in the attempt, she assumes the
tragedy-queen tone, and exclaim? :

My duty from this hour is parallel to thine,
Thou wouldst avenge thy father I must succour
mine.

Hamlet, still doubtful of the queen's guilt,
and of the credibility of the spectre's story, is
resolved to "swear" his mother on the urn.
This scene is very impressive, and the best in
the play. Gertrude is unequal to the ordeal,
and faints at the foot of the urn when about
falsely to attest her innocence. In this scene,
and in one other, Hamlet is supposed to see the
ghost of his father, and even speaks to it, but
the spectre forms no part of the dramatis per-
son, and is no more than an " air-drawn
dagger," invisible to the audience. The climax
approaches. Claudius attacks the palace with
his conspirators, and forces his way upon the
scene, restrained only by Norceste and his
faithful followers. Norceste plants himself,
sword in hand, before Hamlet :

Norceste. Save Hamlet, people !

Claudius. Soldiers, seize your prize !

Hamlet. Thou comest, monster, here thyself to

sacrifice !
Behold this urn !

Claudius. What then ?

Hamlet. "Within there lie

The ashes of thy king. Thou, his assassin!

Claudius. I '

Hamlet. Yes, thou, barbarian ! Prepare thy
thoughts to die.

The Unities arc too proper in behaviour to
state distinctly that Hamlet stabs Claudius, but
" he draws a cfagger," and we arc left to imagine
the use he makes of it when we read imme-
diately afterwards, " Exit Voltimand with the
body of Claudius ; surrounded by Polonius and
some others of the conspirators." Gertrude,
the queen-mother, unable to support the sense
of her crime, and the degradation of its dis-
covery, kills herself; and Hamlet, after a suit-
able expression of grief at her loss, concludes
the play with the following tag :
Within this fatal hall deprived of all my line,
My cup of grief is tiiH ; irv virtue still is mine.
I still am mun an:' King, rosr.tved by Him on high,
I'll live to suffer dlill, aud so u;> more than die.

20 [October 13, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUXD.

[Conducted by

Whether this is the Hamlet intended by
Shakespeare is not the question ; it is doubtless
the Hamlet of the Unities, executed by a very
respectable hand. Our lively Brussels editor
cannot constrain his rapture :

Who can speak of the beautiful productions with
which Ducis has enriched our stage, without the
names of Sophocles and Shakespeare being brought
"back to his memory I had almost said, to his grati-
tude?

How strange, then, that any reference to the
works of Sophocles and Shakespeare should fail
to bring betore the " mind's eye" the name of
Duels !

A CARDINAL SECRETARY OP STATE.

IT is the morning of that notable Sunday,
waiting on the threshold of the week called
Holy, when the sun is glinting through the
dome windows of the grand mosque, and the
children of Rome are gathered within the walls.
The music is swelling high, and the white
waves ecclesiastical have been frothing and
eddying backwards r and forwards light as spray.
TTigures drift by mistily for hours, and the chief
priest sits and distributes whole fields of the
wheat-coloured branches. There was a world
of poesy abroad that day, and I could almost,
have wished that sweet vision to repeat itself
over and over again, were it not that I am being
drawn aside, and almost troubled uneasily by the
disturbing of a Face !

I have been conscious of it from the very
beginning. Travelling lightly down those
ranks of features ecclesiastic ranged in lines
about that amphitheatre physiognomies old and
worn, and stern and soft, mundane and de-
votional, listless and absorbed I am stopped
irresistibly at that one Face, and pass it by
doubtfully. By-and-by my eye has wandered
back, searching for the Face restlessly, and so I
return again and again, drawn by some curious
unaccountable fascination. A face not to be
passed by one not bold or obtrusive, rather
shrinking and retiring, and yet standing out
from its face-company, which become only so
many poor subservient foils a face of potential
mark, that lives, that thinks, that works, that
can play at human chess, dulling the others
into pure bucolical expression. Such a face, if
met m the street, you must go back, and by
some artifice meet again, or dog home. And
this is the manner of it, for it is close by me,
and I can almost lay my hand upon its ermined
shoulder : a leaf from an old vellum missal, a
fine ivory yellow, firm features, all marked and
massive, yet not large; hair richly black, and
strong, and wavy, yet not long, brought out
with superb effect by that dash of bright scarlet
skull-cap ! Rembrandt would have rubbed
that " accident" in frantically, with great flakes
and welts with his thumb, perhaps. It would
have been his darling effect. Forehead in
smooth knolls ; nose firm and substantial, yet
clearly cut. From two dark caves shoot and

glance Spanish eyes, fierce, full of flashing
light. How many women have envied them to
the Face ! how many hearts have they made to
shrink and tremble ! And the mouth

Now does that coarse and terrible portrait
of Voltaire the younger's ferocious handling
intrude itself ! And, without such hint, had I
not presentiment of this from the beginning ?
has it not been hanging over me with a dim
foreshadowing that mind and power were within
that small circle that the Anax king, the
Can-ning man of Prophet Carlyle, was at hand
that with all the fantoccini round, playing out
their parts, here was the figure, so still and im-
passive, that could move the wires and work the
machinery ? But the mouth

Not quite that " bouche de brigand," M. Ed-
mond; give me leave, in this humble way of
mine, to interpret that feature. A long bar
drawn down, but tortured with an eternal bitter-
ness in the palate. Rue-leaves are being always
on his tongue ; sour lozenges are being
moistened there perpetually ; and so it now
takes a shape of sad contempt, almost disgust.
That sour smile lets me see his teeth, superb,
white as a negro's ! A mouth of infinite play
and power, that can smile sweetly and contract,
and look cold, and kill. How the face shifts
and plays ! A stooped Brother of the Seventy
is beside him, shrunken and bent, and to him
he whispers. Brightly flash the famous jet
eyes, and the sweetest, softest smile, break-
ing through rue-leaves and ipecacuanha, has
warmed the stooped brother's heart. No bri-
gand's mouth, I say again, M. Edmond. Yet
it is gone, faster than a cloud reflected in a
field of corn, and here are rue-leaves again.
As the glitter and colour of the pageant pro-
ceeds, the vellum face now moves to the right
or to the left, following the stages with a sort of
tranquil interest. Now are the overhanging
crags of eyebrows lifted, wrinkling the smooth
forehead, and the thick lip corners drawn down
with a spasm of repugnance some rue-leaf
memory has occurred to him ; now are the eyes
cast down demurely, and he looks a simple
priest, a modest village curate.

And presently, when that twisting of the
cord of the gold and purple strands sets in, and
the vellum cheeks, being of such consideration,
must go up second in order to receive its wheat-
coloured palm, and I look with an absorbing in-
terest to see it in this new function, there rises a
general flutter and light buzzing of well-known
name, with a ring of silver in it, as the small figure,
modest, unobtrusive as a monk, almost shrink-
ing, but with the jet eyes glistening and roving
like a snake's, moves forward witli a stiff, quiet
walk, and hands in prayerful attitude peeping
from under the ermine cape. Does that modest
monk from the country sucli he must be sus-
pect that every eye follows his steps ? Now he
has knelt at his prince's knees, and turns round
freighted with his tall palm-staff, all curled, and
flowered, and taller than he is. He is overcome
by the honour, and helpless and irresolute, and
with the rue-leaf flavour distilling with extra

ChrlDlcken.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October 13, !0.] 21

bitterness, picks his way slowly down the steps,
holding that, yellow wand of liis away from him
with two fingers. Long shall I recollect the
helpless, timid look with which, as he sits
down, he tries to adjust tlie long and incon-
venient emblem he has brought back with him ;
and I translate that sour pout upon the sour
mouth into " What do I with this unmanage-
able toy P" " Que diable fais-je dans cctte
galere !" And so he presently fades out, being
drifted awav in the ranks of the snowy figures.
But I take nome with me the impassive vellum
cheeks, the close-grained face cut out of solid
ivory. It walks with me all day long. It
tempts me back to it with overpowering in-
terest. I feel that there is a world of mystery
working ever so deep beneath those cheeks.

Rolls away now the dark cloud that overhangs
that week the sad and lugubrious succession of
commemorative offices ; the dismal wailing, most
musical but most bald and austere ; the flaring
of yellow torches, and flitting of indistinct
figures in the half-darkness, and the glorious
Easter Day has flashed out, triumphant and
jubilant, with ringing of bells, and fuming in-
cense, and riotous organ music, and figures in
sparkling silver and scarlet, and other cheerful
tones, bathed in a dazzling sunlight.

As humanity, crowded very densely be-
fore me, is rent asunder periodically, I catch
glimpses of that picturesque function in all
its stages, of the silver-white figures, seen
mistily through incense clouds, now clustered on
the steps, now scattered, now flitting past like
spirits to be suddenly shut out by a heave of the
dense humanity. Ihen do I hear the gospel
chanted in Greek, according to the quaint tra-
dition, and then, humanity parting suddenly, I
see through the cloud a small train glide
by a figure, snow white and sparkling in
sheen, whom I sem to know, and start as I re-
cognise

The vellum cheeks, the ivory yellow face
a?ain, floating through this day's solemnity as
Deacon. Deacon in the high high mass ! De-
sperately do I struggle with perverse humanity
before me, who let me have but short-lived
glimpses of that small glittering figure, gliding,
not walking, through its function with a match-
K-NS i, r race. But with the day has come a change.
The vellum face is glorified, is lit up with a soft
1 1 nmiuiUity. There is the sweetest smile in the
world on the bar mouth, with not a trace of rue-
leaves. There is even a soft melancholy, which
draws you with an irresistible fascination. It
looks holy, it looks resigned, and even perse-
cuted. No one, Romans will tell you, takes his
part in this function so magnificently. Hush !
irreverent humanity in front there ! 'And from
out of a dazzling mystery of lights, priests,
acolytes, and fuming incense, rises a soft, sweet
voice, very clear aud melodious, the cardinal
Deacon chanting the gospel. And by this dutv.
being brought to face stiffened ana bedizened
diplomacy, those functionaries garotted in their
gold lace, look askant at each oilier with a smile
and almost sneer; and then I see rue-leaves

back again, with a flash of menace and contempt;
but all passed away in a second, even as he open*
the great missal. And so through all the rest
of the ways and windings of the ceremonial,
tortuous certainly, I see him glide and flit by
with the same soft tranquillity and matchless
dignity. I feel that I must know this mysterious
man.

The lights are gone, the figures have all
faded away, and the sun has gone down. The
pageant is over for this year. Only one day
later, a retiring priest, who would not harm a
fly, tells how he has that morning, wandering
among the galleries in the "Vatican, lost his
way ; and how, of a sudden, fierce sbirri came
sweeping along, precursors as it were, clearing
from the road all dangerous things all men or
women in fact. For he is coming, the vellum-
cheeked, passing from the Pope's chambers to
his own. Back, intruders ! disguised assassins,
as ye may prove to be. So priest is hustled
away to a corner anywhere, with much suspicion
and violence, while presently passes by swiftly
the black short figure, dark and terrible, and is
gone in an instant. Is not here a new element,
a new part in the piece ? Vellum-cheeked, with
Damocles's sword shining over his head. It adds
a deeper fascination to that picture. Again t
whisper to myself, " I must see, and know, and
speak with him."

One night, passing late under our modest
archway, I find a state of general illumination
and festivity, wholly abnormal and foreign to
the known habits of the host. There is a flush
and hum of expectation, and men look round
corners and convenient places with a sense as
of some awful event now at hand and about to
burst. Grand-Ducal Calmuck disguised, now
in resplendent livery, is seen afar off at the top
of the marble flight, waiting tranquilly. Host
now surely demented, and with a wild look in
his eyes I had not noticed before, brushes by me
without speech, still holding his head between his
hands. I can see before many hours he will be
ripe for the waistcoat that is not crooked. 'In-
formation being hopeless from such a quarter, an
intelligent menial lets me know that " II Car-
dinale" is expected to visit the grand-ducal im-
mensities now residing at the hotel ; and know-
ing that to all intents and purposes there is
but one definite practical cardinal spoken of in
the city, I can guess to whom this points.

The vellum-cheeked again ! Thus brought on
the stage with this mysterious designation
the cardinal, the man, the can-rung man. All
things fit harmoniously with his popular attri-
butes. I have heard him talked of with 'bated
breath as plain HE ! " What will HE say ? what
will HE do ?" falls on my ear at street-corners,
as two purple raonsignori glide past. Bogueyism
still in the ascendant ! and in excellent keeping
is this nightly flight through the shadows trom
the three little windows high in the Vatican.
Who rides by night? the great mystery -man
and vampire cardinal, as he is known in popular

22 [October 13, 160.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

Roman Volks'-lore. It is but rational to hope
that he will come in preternatural plumage, and
flit by me, as I stand on the bottom step of my
marble flight of stairs (mine by temporary use),
and wait for him anxiously.

Clatter of carriages and hoofs growing more
and more obstreperous as they draw near but
merely passing on with a flash of lamps into the
night excite only empty alarms and a justifi-
able resentment. For one poor sufferer, the
suspense must be horrible. How many times
that night did the brain of demented host topple
on the verge of lunacy ? But hark ! Clatter
again of carnage and hoofs, but this time of a
stately solemn order : hoofs tramping it solemnly,
as is only befitting the Barclay and Perkins ani-
mals that draw princes of the Church. As the
great flaming red berline comes reeling and
heaving up, and its one eye pours a flood
of light into the arch, the three pantomimic
footmen in the comic cocked-hats and flowing
beadles' cloaks, are on the ground in an instant,
discharging the door and steps with a succession
of bangs : instantly opens little folding-door at
the top of marble flight, disclosing illuminated
chambers with disguised Calmucks, artfully made
up in florid livery, seen flitting in the light.
Descends now a dark-robed Maggiordomo (he
might have been a notary lent from the Opera)
with a pair of wax candles ready lighted, and
lurks round the corner until the fitting moment.
Hush ! he comes descending lightly from his
great flame - coloured berline. Emerge now
from ambush, notary from L'Elisir d'Amore,
with thy candles, and make as though you would
kiss the dust.

The light being suspended overhead and cast-
ing spasmodic shadows, it is a positive Rem-
brandt figure that walks by me so swiftly, as
though it were trampling roughshod over ob-
stacles. The ivory face shining out yellowly,
the eyes, the famous eyes like coals, at the bot-
tom of their caverns, the mouth compressed and
almost insolent. He is dark, all dark to-night ;
a carravaggio figure rubbed in with chalk and
charcoal. Black-robed, save as to the neat little
scarlet buttons and scarlet stockings peeping
out. I think with wonder of the soft, gentle,
white-robed ascetic, seen but yesterday amid
floating clouds of incense, and crucifixes, and
lighted tapers, attended with dreamy notions of
a day not far distant when I shall sing, " Sancte
Autonelli, ora pronobis !" and, presto ! he walks
by, roughly tramping on imaginary rebellious
necks, and with a scornful face still not ap-

Soachiug to that "bouche de brigand" of yours,
. Edmond : to-night it is II Cardinale Segre-
tario, H.E. the Cardinal Secretary of State!
yesterday we were but a poor holy man anc
simple deacon.

As I go out again into the night and see
the suspicious errandless figures hovering about
the flame-coloured coach, who have the look
indefinable of disguised police, and the lounging
gendarmes hanging about, striving to appeal
purposeless too, and then look up to the brightly
illuminated window where there are Grand-

Ducal shadows flitting past, and where "He"
s sitting next her highness, rippling off most
sweet and silvery Irench, I think what a
wretched sinking heart must shrink and wither
away behind those cardinal's robes ! What sort
of a grisly private skeleton has he to come home
o and find sitting in those Vatican chambers ?
or who indeed may travel abroad with him on
state occasions and triumphs, standing by his
ear on the wheel of the flame-coloured coach, to
whisper, not "Remember that thou art but
nan !" but this, "Remember thou aii the most
lated man in Rome! Remember that tliia
iate is savage, furious, and to be sated with
?lood only : at the first sign of revolution, wild,
Dlear-eyed sans-culottes will make straight for
hat chamber of the three windows, frantic wo-
men rending thee limb from limb, men bearing
hy head upon a pole !" That is something to
hink on at the dead hours of the night.

I go out into thoroughfares and by-ways, pur-
;ued by the strangest craving to hunt to earth
;his mysterious character ; I gather opinions from
various ranks, and find a curious unanimity at
oest a certain doubtfulness. There is no quarter.
Every man's hand is armed with a rough stone,
flung on the first invitation. It is Aunt Sally in
purple ; and the sticks come flying fast and thick.

Arid yet this curious fact remains. Bogie is
impalpable ! Gentle and simple join in the hue
and cry, but are unable to account for this sin-
gular antipathy. I grow weary of putting to
them the question, " What wrong hath this man
done that you must so persecute him ?" Stimu-
lated by opposition, I determine to do battle
with the spectre. I actually feel it incumbent
to issue a sort of " royal commission" directed
to myself, to collect evidence and report upon
the facts. And your special commissioner does
hereby respectfully submit the following report,
which is in a manner no report :

There was the special cabman, with a great
brushy beard, and a gruff voice, and a cap that
swelled and overflowed after the manner of a
turban, with a general Turkish flavour about
him, to whom I was at first attracted by the
royal Ottoman fashion in which he was having
his boots cleaned as he sat upon his box. The
special Turco-cabmau being skilfully quickened
by artful allusion to the unprecedentedly high
quotation of oats, and the general indisposition
to enjoy carriage exercise, lashes his horses
vindictively. His horses start away with a
bound. " He has done it," special cabman re-
marks, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.
" 'Tis all his work. See you this, signer P Last
year, did not every gentle stranger, if lie only
wished to cross the street, send for a vettura and
do the thing in a princely manner? Whose
work, I say, is this ?" (emphasised by a ferocious
crack of his whip). " A-r-r-r ! An-to-NEL-li's !"
(with a savage stress on the third syllable).
Special cabman will not bear pressing as to the
immediate connexion considered in the relation
of cause and effect between this wicked minister
and the marked disinclination of tourists to
eujoy carriage exercise. He would plainly

ALL TIIK YEAR ROUND.

[October 13, I860.] 23

concur in that famous solution of all the wrecks
on (loodwin Sands, mid h;ive heartily con-
demned IVnlrnlrii steeple; but, seeing that he
has not convinced, Ottoman cabman hoarsely
intimates that he has an argument in his quiver
uhich is, so to speak, a perfect clincher it is
only too plain, the thing is not worth discussion
all the world knows it : Is NOT HIS BROTHER
GOVERNOR OF THE BANK. ? A smile of triumph,
with an ominous shake of the brushy beard, and
he has lashed his horses into a furious gallop.
No need of argument after that ! He retires
crowned from the discussion after that !

Burgher behind his counter, delving, a per-
fect navvy, among his trays and shelves of
commodities below, upon the mysterious bogie
name being mentioned to him, is brought up
suddenly in his mining, and rests, as it were,
upon his spade. " An-to-NEL-li," he repeats,
softly (with the popular stress on third syllable).
" II Cardinale ! an, to be sure, yes !" The
"eminentissimo" is the bane of the country.
From those three Vatican windows descends
a blight worse than the aria caltiva, the bad
air. " "What has he done ? what has he done ?
what has he done P" Burgher folding his
arms, pauses, then doubtfully goes on: "The
noble strangers will not buy ; they cheapen our
wares ; the harvests, signer, are getting worse
every year; the ground is parched with ex-
cessive drought." " But," it is mildly objected,
" this is only Tenterden steeple again. Is this
poor baited eminentissimo one of the genii, or a
familiar of the Great Nameless?" "Pah!"
exclaims burgher, dropping his voice, "IL suo

FRATELLO E GoVERNATORE BELLA BANCA."

Causa finita est !

" The day HE falls," another trading burgher
tells me, " all Rome will illuminate ! The Santo
Padre himself is aweary of him." Comes then
impatient rejoinder, " What wrong has he
done? Has he robbed the state?" "Well,
no. But have you not heard ? His brother is
Governor of the Bank." " Has he worked homi-
cide, murder, and the rest of it ?" " No. But
his brother," &c. &c. It revolves in that eternal
circle : NON E FRATELLO IL GOVERNATORE DELLA
BAJJCA?

It was the misfortune of our Cardinal Secre-
tary of State to have first seen the light close to
the notoriously operatic locality of Terracina. It
is set out conspicuously in the almanacks of the
polite circles. Hence, I suspect as I muse about
him, that fitting on of the bouche de brigand ;
hence the pleasant legends of the early life of
young Giacomo Antonelli, reared in all the excite-
ment of bandit life, and playfully taking part as
an outsider, dressed in a miniature little hat and
ribbons, and jacket of the regulation pattern,
while his sire and other friends stopped and
rifled the well-lined diligence.

Let us think of this, too. There are his
scarlet brethren, overshadowed by the broad
hat, hedging him round in a circle and watching
him distrustfully. There is a strong party
among the seventy who would thrust him gently

from the wheel, holding that his bad seaman-
ship has endangered the heavy temporal tender
which sails behind the spiritual bark of Saint
Peter. But they are powerless, single or in com-
bination. " If he fall, not one of us is fit to step
into his place." The days of ambitions cardinal-
ships are gone by, and these are mostly gentle,
pious well-meaning men, of little capability
beyond their ecclesiastical lasts. Such as look
on from afar off, think of the florid English
cardinal, sitting in the ministerial chair, and
signing decrees, but flounder sadly in such
speculation. He could not battle down the
tide of nationalities. Italy for the Italians is as
loud and persistent as was ever Ireland for the
Irish. He has no "party" among the seventy.
He will never sign himself " Nic. Card. Wise-
man, Segretario.

Amid all this tempest of obloquy, this din of
evil tongues, enough to chill the most iron
heart, the vellum-cheeked has a sort of comfort-
ing bower to withdraw into a circle of the
firmest and fastest friends man ever possessed.
Sheltered round by these protecting trees, for him
the storms no longer blow ; he sits in the shade
and forgets that he has enemies. Cheerfully he
sits among them, and says, with a smile and with
a half sigh, that he is the best abused man in
Europe ! He gives way to a childlike gaiety. It
is Cato at Tusculum over again. He is full of
a sweet merriment the best abused man in
Europe. He brings out his marbles and curiosi-
ties, and delivers a sportive lecture on their
beauties. He gives dinner parties, where he is
the smooth, graceful host. He dines out him-
self, and is a witty talker.

No wonder, then, when gigantic friend strides
in cheerily one morning, and bids me arise, for
he has arranged a visit to the mysterious Cardi-
nal, that I spring up excitedly. He had seen, had
gigantic friend, the Secretary's secretary, and
all things had been made straight and smooth.

Not long is our Roman chariot scouring the
narrow line of streets between the English pale
and the towering ochre-coloured palace.

Flight after flight of marble stair. Broad,
sufficient for a dozen men to march up abreast,
each flight in itself so high that, after the third
or so is surmounted, you begin to pause and
gasp. It becomes a grand Mont Blanc ascent,
with eternal marble for eternal snows. And
now the Grands Mulcts come in sight ; we could
go yet higher, but we pass, instead, into this
ante-chamber, where are the servants sitting,
who rise up and do us homage. Pass on, if it so
please you, signori, into the next chamber.

A long low chamber, positively brilliant with
windows, whence is a matchless view ; a pretty
chamber, with rich green and gold panelling,
and furnished with many elegancies. Furnishca,
too, with visitors patients it maybe, or clients
sitting round, leaning on the tops of sticks or
umbrellas. A curious miscellany, suggesting
forcibly the dismal company that wait in a den-
tist's ante-chamber. Most are of the humbler
order, one being clearly agricultural, on leave,
as it were, from "VVilkie's famous Rent Day.

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October 13, 1860.J

How did the bucolic farmer waiting liis turn,
sucking his stick top, with his hat on the ground
between, his knees, get into an Eternal City ?
Here, he unquestionably is. A pale widow-look-
ing woman, in rusty black, sitting there, sad
and patient ; what can she have to trouble a
Cardinal Secretary with ? A trader, and a soldier.
These are the patients waiting outside the
operating-room.

A little silver bell has tinkled, and Secretary's
secretary skims away like a bird. Gigantic friend
and I feel curious sensation, and dread the ap-
palling " Now, sir!" of the dentist's familiar.

Reappears, presently, Secretary's secretary,
with much mystery, making passes and signifi-
cant gestures. Agriculturist seeing us moving
forward in obedience to this Od force, enters a
faint protest by rising from his chair ; but sub-
sides again into the Rent Day, feeling that
he is powerless. We enter a little chamber,
and the door is softly closed behind us : a
dainty little cabinet of a place, panelled in green
and gold also, but whose appointments and
appropriate furniture are all absorbed into the
small dark figure sitting at the table. With mag-
nificent effect, stands out the firm cleanly cut
face, no longer vellum-cheeked in the broad light
rushing in, in floods, at the window, and rising
on billows, as it were, of flowing papers, peti-
tions, and documents official, unrolled and tossed
lightly before him. So clear and brilliant is it
flung out by that deep richly green background
and scarlet carpet, that I think the great mys-
tery cardinal must have studied the fine old
portrait colouring, and artfully selected this
bold combination. As he rises out of that do-
cumental foam, and, with a smile the most over-
poweringly gracious and fascinating welcomes his
two visitors, the hair seems to me at this closer
view yet more richly luxuriant, more classically
waving, and the eye caverns the darkest and
most piercing, that man can conceive. In
that vividly scarlet skull-cap, and dark cloth
robe with a little cape, edged with a fine scarlet
line and dotted with minute scarlet buttons, he
becomes to me the most mysterious awe-inspir-
ing figure true, genuine secretary of state.
Sweet phrases come rolling thickly over thftse
lips which the profane wit would christen " bri-
gand," and it seems to me the most melodious
voice I ever heard.

Now, two chairs are drawn close to the docu-
mental table, and H.E. the Cardinal Secre-
tary, with his chair thrown back a little, reels
forth discourse most musical, at times quaintly
bilingual, running fitfully from Italian into
French. I steal a glance round the room and
wonder at its small size ; but then recollect that
this is a cabinet a minister's boudoir. A most
coquettish and artistic disorder prevails in it, too,
and there are rare prints hung on the green wall ;
the furniture is of a quaint pattern; and an ancient
altar triptich of Byzantine pattern, leans against
a chair. A pretty little open-work screen, the

carving of which is a speciality in certain
Italian provinces, stands erect upon the table
and fences off the glare. Even as he sits, most
graceful is the attitude and effect : his black
robe of the finest cloth, falling in judicious
folds, and the neatest cleanest-shaped ankle
cased in a bright scarlet stocking without crease
or seam, peeping out under the skirt daintily
looped up. Gigantesque friend alludes to a cer-
tain friendship as dating from school-days. "Ah,"
sighs softly the Cardinal, with a plaintive regret,
" ce sont quelquefois les connaissances les plus
agreables !" And I think for the moment that
I have heard a Rochefoucauld maxim of singular
point and novelty. Gigantesque friend, know-
ing that his eminence is curious in bric-a-
brac and art relics, has ventured to bring
some rare engraved signet rings from his well-
known collection, for H.E.'s inspection. The
dark eyes lighten he is virtuoso himself and
yonder, in those inner chambers, keeps an unique
collection of gems and marbles. Another day
he will show us these treasures, with a trifle in
the way of a picture or two ; but alas ! are
there not the clients outside, waiting to devour
him ? These art enemies must have their
prey; but the ring is curious most curious
and he smiles over it with love, and peers
into it with the piercing eyes, then fetches
out from somewhere under the great flood
of lawyers' briefs, a great magnifier, and
studies it with that aid. There is yet an-
other signet wondrously wrought as to frame-
work, in the Cellini manner, but unhappily
lacking the stone. Eminency suddenly be-
thinks him of a remedy, and, groping in a little
cabinet drawer, fetches forth a little casket, and
out of the little casket picks, with neat fingers,
one special green gem, which he has had in his
mind, but which will not suit. He has fallen
into a bric-a-brac dream ; but presently a cloud
gathers about the caverns, and he wakes. The
clients press on him in a practical reality. The
bugbear Business comes in, roughly tramping
down these delicate fancies. So gigantesque
friend rises, and chairs are pushed away, and
Eminency rises, and the black shiny cloth falls
gracefully and hides the neat scarlet ankle.
Sweetest and most gracious dismissal, the shining
teeth flash upon us, little bell rings softly,
and Cardinal Secretary of State fades into his
deep green background. It is bucolic's turn
at last.

On the 15th of October will be published, price
5s. Gd., bound in cloth,

THE THIRD VOLUME

ALL THE YEAR ROUND,

Containing from Xos. 51 to 76, both inclusive.

Volumes the First and Second are to be had of all
Booksellers.

The right of Translating Articles from ALL THE YEAR ROUND is reserved by the Authors.

I'oUiibod t the Office, No. 26, Wellington Street, Strand. Printed by C. WHITING, Beaufort House, Strand.

"THE STORY OF OUR LIVES FROM YEAR TO YEAR." SUAKKSPKAUE.

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

A WEEKLY JOURNAL.
CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

78.]

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 20, 1860.

[PaicE

A DAY'S RIDE: A LIFE'S ROMANCE

CHAPTER XII.

I GREW impatient to leave Ostend : every asso-
ciation connected with the place was unpleasant.
I hope I am not unjust in my estimate of it. I
sincerely desire to be neither unjust to men nor
cities, but I thought it vulgar and common-place.
I know it is hard tor a watering-place to be other-
wise ; there is something essentially low in the
green-baize and bathing-house existence in that
semi-nude sociality, begun on the sands and car-
ried out into deep water, which I cannot abide.
I abhor, besides, a lounging population in fancy
toilets, a procession of donkeys in scarlet trap-
pings, elderly gentlemen with pocket-telescopes,
;uid tierce old ladies with camp-stools. The
\voni-out, debauchees come to recruit for another
season of turtle and whitebait ; the half-faded
victims of twenty polkas per night, the tiresome
politician, pale from a long session, all fiercely
bent on fresh diet and sea-breezes, are perfect
antipathies to me, and I would rather seek com-
panionship in a Tyrol village than amidst these
wounded and missing of a London season.

With all this, I wanted to get away from the
vicinity of the Jopplyns they were positively
odious to me. Is not the man who holds in his
keeping one scrap of your handwriting which
displays you in a light of absurdity, far more
your enemy than the holder of your protested
bill ? I own I think so. Debt is a very human
weakness ; like disease, it attacks the best and
the noblest amongst us. You may pity the
fellow that cannot meet that acceptance, you
may be, sorry for the anxiety it occasions him,
the fruitless running here and there, the protes-
tations, promises, and even lies, he goes through,
but no sense of ludicrous scorn mingles with
your compassion, none of that contemptuous
laughter with which you read a copy of absurd
verses or a maudlin love-letter. Imagine the
difference of tone in him who says : " That's an
old bill of poor Potts's ; he'll never pay it now,
and I'm sure I'll never ask him." Or, "Just
read those lines ; would you believe that any
creature out of Hanwell could descend to such
miserable drivel as that ? It was one Potts who
wrote it."

I wonder could I obtain my manuscript from
Jopplyn before 1 started P What pretext could I
adduce for the request ? While I thus pondered,

packed up my few wearables in my knapsack
and prepared for the road. They were, indeed,
a very scanty supply, and painfully suggested to
my mind the estimate that waiters and hotel
porters must form of their owner. " Cruel
world," muttered I, " whose maxim is, ' By their
outsides shall ye judge them.' Had I arrived here
with a travelling-carriage and a ' fourgon,' what
respect and deference had awaited me ! how
courteous the landlord, how obliging the head
waiter ! Twenty attentions which could not be
charged for in the bill had been shown me, and
even had I, in superb dignity, declined to descend
from my carriage while the post-horses were
being harnessed, a levee of respectful flunkeys
would have awaited my orders. I have no
doubt but there must be something very intoxi-
cating in all this homage. The smoke of the
hecatombs must have affected Jove as a sort of
chloroform, or else he would never have sat there
sniffing them for centuries. Are you ever des-
tined to experience these sensations, Potts ? Is
there a time coming when anxious ears will strain
to catch your words, and eyes watch eagerly for
your slightest gestures ? If such an era should
ever come it will be a great one for the masses of
mankind, and an evil day for snobbery. Such a
lesson as I will read the world on humility in
high places, such an example will I give of one
elevated, but uncorrupted, by fortune.

" Let the carriage come to the door," said I,
closing my eyes, as I sank into my chair in
reverie. " Tell my people to prepare the entire
of the Hotel de Belle Vue for my arrival, and my
own cook to preside in the kitchen."

" Is this to go by the omnibus ?" said the
waiter, suddenly, on entering my room in haste.
He pointed to my humble knapsack.

"Yes," said I, in deep confusion "yes, that's
my luggage at least, all that I have here at this
moment. Where is the bill ? Very moderate
indeed," muttered I, in a tone of approval. " I
will take care to recommend your house ; attend-
ance prompt, and the wines excellent."

" Monsieur is complimentary," said the fellow,
with a grin; "he only experimented upon a
' small Beaune' at one-twenty the bottle."

I scowled at him, and he shrank again.

" And this ' objet' is also monsieur's," said he,
taking up a small white canvas bag which was
enclosed in my railroad wrapper.

" What is it ?" cried I, taking it up. I al-
most fell back as I saw that it was one of the

VOL. IV.

26 [October 20, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

despatch bags of the Foreign-office, which in my
hasty departure from the Dover train I had ac-
cidentally carried off with me. There it was,
addressed to "Sir Shalley Doubleton, H.M.'s
Envoy and Minister at Hesse-Kalbbratenstadt,
by the Hon. Grey Buller, Attache," &c.

Here was not alone what might be construed
into a theft, but what it was well possible might
comprise one of the gravest offences against
the law : it might be high treason itself ! Who
would ever credit my story, coupled as it was
with the fact of my secret escape from the
carriage my precipitate entrance into the first
place I could find, not to speak of the privacy
I observed by not mixing with the passengers
in the mail packet, but keeping myself estranged
from all observation in the captain's cabin? Here,
too, was the secret of the skipper's politeness
to me : he saw the bag, and believed me to be
a Foreign-office messenger, and this was his
meaning, as he said, " I can answer for him he
can't delay much here." Yes; this was the
entire mystification by which I obtained his
favour, his politeness, and his protection. What
was to be done in this exigency ? Had the waiter
not seen the bag, and with the instincts of his
craft calmly perused the address on it, I be-
lieve, nay, I am quite convinced, I should have
burned it and its contents on the spot. The
thought of his evidence against me in the event
of a discovery, however, entirely routed this
notion, and, after a brief consideration, I re-
solved to convey the bag to its destination, and
trump up the most plausible explanation I could
of the way it came into my possession. His
excellency, I reasoned, will doubtless be too de-
lighted to receive his despatches to inquire very
minutely as to the means by which they were
recovered, nor is it quite impossible that he may
feel bound to mark my zeal tor the public service
by some token of recognition. This was a
pleasant turn to give to my thoughts, and I
took it with all the avidity of my peculiar tempe-
rament. "Yes," thought I, "it is just out of
trivial incidents like this a man's fortune is made
in life. For one man who mounts to great-
ness by the great entrance and the state stair-
case, ten thousand slip in by ' la petite Porte. 3
It is, in fact, only by these chances that obscure
genius obtains acknowledgment. How, for
example, should this great diplomatist know
Potts if some accident should not throw them
together ? Raleigh flung his laced jacket in a
puddle, and for nis reward he got a proud
Queen's favour. A village apothecary had the
good fortune to be visiting the state apartments
at the Pavilion when George the Fourth was
seized with a fit ; he bled him, brought him back
to consciousness, and made him laugh by his
genial and quaint humour. The king took a
fancy to him, named him his physician, and
made his fortune. I have often heard it re-
marked by men who have seen much of life, that
nobody, not one, goes through the world with-
out two or three such opportunities presenting
themselves. The careless, the indolent, the un-
observant, and the idle, either fail to remark, or

are too slow to profit by them. The sharp fellows,
on the contrary, see in such incidents all that
they need to lead them to success. Into which
of _ these categories you are to enter, Potts, let
this incident decide."

Having by a reference to my John Murray as-
certained the whereabouts of the capital of
Hesse-Kalbbratenstadt, I took my place at once
on the rail for Cologne, reading myself up on
its beauty and its belongings as I went. There
is, however, such a dreary sameness in these
small ducal states, that I am ashamed to say
how little I gleaned of anything distinctive in
the case before me. The reigning sovereign
was of course married to a grand-duchess of
Russia, and he lived at a country seat called
Ludwig's Lust, or Carl's Lust, as it might be,
" took little interest in politics" how should he ?
and " passed much of his time in mechanical
pursuits, in which he had attained considerable
proficiency ;" in other words, he was a middle-
aged gentleman, fond of his pipe, and with a
taste for carpentry. Some sort of connexion
with our own royal family had been the pretext
for having a resident minister at his court,
though what he was to do when he was there
seemed not so easy to say. Even John, glorious
John, was puzzled how to make a respectable
half-page out of his capital, though there was
a dome in the Byzantine style, with an altar-
piece by Peter von Grys, the angels in the
corner being added afterwards by Hans Liiders ;
and there was a Hof Theatre, and an excellent
inn, the " Schwein," by Kramm, where the sau-
sages of home manufacture were highly recom-
mendable, no less than a table wine of the host's
vineyard, called " Magenschmerzer," and which,
Murray adds, would doubtless, if known, find
many admirers in England ; and lastly, but far
from leastly, there was a Musik Garten, where
popular pieces were performed very finely by an
excellent German band, and to which promenade
all the fashion of the capital nightly resorted.

I give you all these details, respected reader,
just as I got them in my " Northern Germany,"
and not intending to obtrude any further de-
scription of my own upon yon ; for who, I would
ask, could amplify upon his Handbook ? What
remains to be noted after John has taken the in-
ventory? has he forgotten a nail or a saint's
shin-bone? With him for guide, a man may
feel that he has done his Europe conscientiously ;
and though it be hard to treasure up all the
hard names of poets, painters, priests, and
warriors, it is not worse than botany, and about
as profitable.

For the same reason that I have given above,
I spare my reader all the circumstances of my
journey, my difficulties about carriage, my em-
barrassments about steam-boats and cab lares,
which were all of the order that Brown and
Jones have experienced, are experiencing, and
will continue to experience, till the arrival of
that millenniary period when we shall all con-
verse in any tongue we please.

It was at nightfall that I drove into Kalb-
bratenstadt, my postilion announcing my advent

CharleiDlckeni.]

ALL TIIK YKAIl ROUND.

[October 20, 18CO.]

at the gates, and all the way to the Platz where
tin- inii stood, by a volley of whip-crackings
which might have announced a grand-duke or a
priuia donna. Some casements were hastily
opened as we rumbled along, and the guests of
a cafe' issued hurriedly into the street to watch
us, but these demonstrations over, I gained the
Schwein without further notice, and descended.
Herr Kramm looked suspiciously at the small
amount of luggage of the traveller who arrived
by " extra post," but, like an honest German,
he was not one to form rash judgments, and so
he showed me to a comfortable apartment, and
took my orders for supper in all respectfulness.
He waited upon me also at my meal, and cave
me opportunity for conversation. While I ate
my Carbonade mit Kartoffel-Salad, therefore, I
learned that, being akeady nine o'clock, it was
far too late an hour to present myself at the
English Embassy for so he designated our
minister's residence ; that at this advanced pe-
riod of the night there were but tew citizens out
of their beda : the ducal candle was always ex-
tinguished at half-past eight, and only roisterers
and revellers kept it up much later. My first
surprise over, I own I liked all this. It smacked
of that simple patriarchal existence I had so long
yearned after. Let the learned explain it, but
there is, I assert, something in the early hours
of a people that guarantee habits of simplicity,
thrift, and order. It is all very well to say
that people can be as wicked at eight in the
evening as at two or three in the morning;
that crime cares little for the clock, nor does
vice respect the chronometer ; but does expe-
rience confirm this, and are not the small hours
notorious for the smallest moralities ? The
grand-duke, who is fast asleep at nine, is scarcely
disturbed by dreams of cruelties to his people.
The police minister, who takes his bedroom
candle at the same hour, is seldom harassed
by devising new schemes of torture for his
victims. I suffered my host to talk largely
of his town and its people, and probably such a
listener rarely presented himself, for he cer-
tainly improved the occasion. He assured me,
with a gravity that vouched for the conviction,
that the capital, though by no means so dear as
London or Paris, contained much if not all these
more pretentious cities could boast. There was
a court, a theatre, a promenade, a public foun-
tain, and a new gaol, one of the largest in all
(iermany. Jenny Lind had once sung at the
opera on her way to Vienna ; and to prove how
they sympathised in every respect with greater
centres of population, when the cholera raged at
Berlin, they, too, lost about four hundred of their
townsfolk. Lastly, he mentioned, and this boast-
fully, that thougu neither wanting in organs of
public opinion, nor men of adequate ability to
guide them, the Kalbbrateners had never mixed
themselves up in politics, but proudly main-
tained that calm and dignified attitude which
Europe would one day appreciate ; that is, if
she ever arrived at the crowning knowledge of
the benefit of letting her differences be decided
by sortie impartial umpire.

More than once, as I heard him, I muttered
to myself, " Potts, thi* is the very spot you have
sought for ; here is all the tranquil simplicity
of the village, with the elevated culture of a
great city. Here are sages and philosophers
clad in nomespun, Beauty hersell in linsey-
woolsey. Here there are no vulgar rivalries of
riches, no contests in fine clothes, no opposing
armies of yellow plush. Men are great by their
faculties, not in their flunkeys. How elevated
must be the tone of their thoughts, the style of
their conversation, and what a lucky accident
it was that led you to that goal to which all your
wishes and hopes have been converging ! For
how much can a man livea single gentleman
like myself here in your city?" asked I of
my host.

He sat down at this, and filling himself a
large goblet of my wine the last in the bottle
he prepared for a lengthy seance. " First of
all," said he, "how would he wish to live?
Would he desire to mingle in our best circles,
equal to any in Europe, to know Herr von
Krugwitz, and the Gnandige Frau von Stein-
haltz ?"

" Well," thought I, " these be fair ambitions."
And I said, " Yes, both of them."

" And to be on the list of the court dinners ?
There are two yearly, one at Easter, the other
on his highness s birthday, whom may Provi-
dence long protect !"

" To this also might he aspire."

" And to have a stall at the Grand Opera, and
a carriage to return visits twice in carnival
time and to live in a handsome quarter, and
dine every day at our table d'hote here with
General von Beulwita and the Hofrath von
Schlaffrichter ? A life like this is costly, a*id
would scarcely be comprised under two thou-
sand florins a year."

How my heart bounded at the notion of re-
finement, culture, elevated minds, and polished
habits : " science," indeed, and the " musical
glasses," all for one hundred and sixty pounds
per annum,

" It is not improbable that you will see me
your guest for many a day to come," said I, as
I ordered another bottle, and of a more generous
vintage, to honour the occasion. My host
offered no opposition to my convivial projects
nay, he aided them by saying,

" If you have really an appreciation for some-
thing super-excellent in wine, and wish to taste
what Freiligrath calls ' der Deutachen Nectar,'
I'll go and fetch you a bottle."

" Bring it by all means," aaid L And away
he went on his mission.

"Providence blessed me with two hands,"
said he, as he re-entered the room, " and I have
brought two flasks of Lieb Heraenthaler."

There is something very artistic in the way
your picture-dealer, having brushed away the
dust iroua a Mieris or a Gerard Dow, places the
work in a favourite light before you, and then
stands to watch the effect on your countenance.
So, too, will your man of rare manuscripts and
illuminated missals offer to your notice some

28 [OctoberM, 18CO.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted bjr

illegible treasure of the fourth century; but
these are nothing to the mysterious solemnity of
him who, uncorking a bottle of rare wine, waits
to note the varying sensations of your first
enjoyment down to your perfect ecstasy.

I tried to perform my part of the piece with
credit: I looked long at the amber-coloured
liquor in the glass, I sniffed it and smiled ap-
provingly ; the host smiled too, and said " Ja."
Not another syllable did he utter, but how ex-
sive was that "Ja!" "Ja" meant, "You are
right, Potts, it is the veritable wine of 1764,
bottled for the HerzogLudwig's marriage ; every
drop of it is priceless. Mark the odour how it per-
fumes the air around us ; regard the colour the
golden hair of Venus can alone rival it ; see how
the oily globules cling to the glass !" " Ja" meant
all this, and more.

As I drank off my glass, I was sorely puzzled
by the precise expression in which to couch my
approval ; but he supplied it and said, " Is it not
Gottlieb ?" and I said it was Gottlieb ; and while
we finished the two bottles, this solitary phrase
sufficed for converse between us, "Gottlieb"
being uttered by each as he drained his glass,
and Gottlieb being re-echoed by his companion.

There is great wisdom in reducing our admi-
ration to a word ; giving, as it were, a cognate
number to our estimate of anything. Wherever
we amplify we usually blunder: we employ
epithets that disagree, or, in even less ques-
tionable taste, soar into extravagances that
are absurd. Besides, our moods of highest en-
joyment are not such as dispose to talkative-
ness : the ecstasy that is most enthralling is
self-contained. Who on looking at a glorious
landscape does not feel the insufferable bathos of
the descriptive enthusiast beside him? How
grateful would he own himself if he would be satis-
fied with one word for his admiration. And if one
needs this calm repose, this unbroken peace, for
the enjoyment of scenery, equally is it applicable
to our appreciation of a curious wine. I have
no recollection that any further conversation
passed between us, but I have never ceased, and
most probably never shall cease, to have a per-
fect memory of the pleasant ramble of my
thoughts as I sat there sipping, sipping. I pon-
dered long over a plan of settling down in this
place for life, by what means I could realise
sufficient to live in that elevated sphere the
host spoke of. If Potts pere I mean my
father were to learn that I was received in the
highest circles, admitted to all that was most
socially exclusive, would he be induced to make
an adequate provision for me ? He was an am-
bitious and a worldly man; would he see in
these beginnings of mine the seeds of future
greatness ? Fathers, I well knew, are splendidly
generous to their successful children, and " the
poor they send empty away." It is so pleasant
to aid him who does not need assistance, and
such a hopeless task to be always saving him
who will be drowned !

My first care, therefore, should be to impress
upon my parent the appropriateness of his con-
tributing bis share to what already was an ac-

complished success. "Wishing, as theFrench say,
to make you a part in my triumph, dear father,
I write these lines." How I picture him to my
mind's eye as he reads this, running frantically
about to his neighbours, and saying, "I have
got a letter from Algy strange boy but as I
always foresaw, with great stuff in him, very
remarkable abilities. See what he has done !
struck out a perfect line of his own in life ; just
the sort of thing genius alone can do. He went
off from this one morning by way of a day's
excursion, never returned never wrote. All my
efforts to trace him were in vain. I advertised,
and offered rewards, did everything, without suc-
cess ; and now, after all this long interval, conies
a letter by this morning's post to tell me that he
is well, happy, and prosperous. He is settled,
it appears, in a German capital with a hard name,
a charming spot, with every accessory of en-
joyment in it : men of the highest culture, and
women of most graceful and at tractive manners;
as he himself writes, ' the elegance of a Parisian
salon added to the wisdom of the professor's
cabinet.' Here is Algy living with all that is
highest in rank and most distinguished in station;
the favoured guest of the prince, the bosom
friend of the English minister ; his advice
sought for, his counsel asked in every difficulty;
trusted in the most important state offices, and
taken into the most secret councils of the
duchy. Though the requirements of his station
make heavy demands upon his means, very little
help from me will enable him to maintain a posi-
tion which a few years more will have consoli-
dated into a rank recognised throughout Eu-
rope." Would the flintiest of fathers, would the
most primitive-rock-hearted of parents resist
an appeal like this ? It is no hand to rescue
from the waves is sought, but a little finger to
help to affluence. "Of course you'll do it, Potts,
and do it liberally ; the boy is a credit to you.
He will place your name where you never
dreamed to see it. What do you mean to settle
on him ? Above all things, no stinginess ; don't
disgust him."

I hear these and such-like on every hand ;
even the most close-fisted and miserly of our
acquaintances will be generous of their friend's
money; and I think I hear the sage remarks
with which they season advice with touching
allusions to that well-known ship that was lost
for want of a small outlay in tar. " Come down
handsomely, Potts," says a resolute man, who
has sworn never to pay a sixpence of his son's
debts. " What better use can we make of our
hoardings than to render our young people
happy ?" I don't like the man who says this,
but I like his sentiments ; and I am much
pleased when he goes on to remark that " there
is no sucli good investment as what establishes
a successful son. Be proud of the boy, Potts,
and thank your stars that he had a soul above
senna, and a spirit above sal volatile !"

As I invent all this play of dialogue for my-
self, and picture the speakers before me, I conic
at last to a small peevish little fellow named
Lynch, a merchant tailor, who lived next door

Oickeni.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October 10, 1MO.J 29

to us, and enjoyed much of my father's confi-
dence. " So, they tell me you Invc heard from
that runaway of yours, Potts, is it true P What
face does he put upon his disgraceful conduct ?
What became of the livery-stable-keeper's horse?
Did he sell him, or ride him to death ? A bad
business if he should ever come back again,
which, of course, he's too wise for. Aud where
is he now, and what is he at?"

" You may read his letter, Mr. Lynch," re-
plies my father ; " lie is one who can speak for
himself." And Lynch reads and snipers, and
reads again. I see him as plainly as it he were
but a yard from me. " F never heard of this
ducal capital before," he begins, "but I suppose
k's like the rest of them little obscure dens of
pretentious poverty, plenty of ceremony, and
very little to eat. How did he find it out?
Wliat brought him there ?"

" You have his letter before you, sir," says
my parent, proudly. " Algernon Sydney is, I
imagine, quite competent to explain what relates
to his own affairs."

" Oh, perfectly, perfectly ; only that I can't
really make out how he first came to this place,
nor what it is that he does there now that he's
in it."

My father hastily snatches the letter from his
hands, and runs his eye rapidly along to catch
the passage which shall confute the objector
and cover him with shame and confusion. He
cannot fiud it at once. " It is this. No, it is on
this side. Very strange, very singular indeed ;

but as Algernon must have told me " Alas !

no, father, he has not told you, and for the simple
reason that he does not know it himself, lor
though I mentioned with becoming pride the
prominent stations Irishmen now hold in most
of the great states of Europe, and pointed to
O'Duunell in Spain, Mac Mahon in Prance, and
the Field-Marshal Nugent in Austria, I utterly
forgot to designate the high post occupied by
Potts in the Duchy of Hesse Kalbbratenstadt.
To determine what this should be was now of
imminent importance, and I gave myself up to
the solution with a degree of intentness and an
amount of concentration that set me off souud
asleep.

Yes, benevolent reader, I will confess it,
questions of a complicated character have
always affected me, as the inside of a letter
seems to have struck Tony Lumpkiu " all
buzz." I start with the most loyal desire to be
acute and penetrating ; I set myself to my task
with as honest a disposition to do my best as
ever man did ; I say, " Now, Potts, no self-in-
dulgence, no skulking; here is a knotty pro-
blem, here is a case for your best faculties in
their sharpest exercise ;" and if any one come in
upon me about ten minutes after this resolve,
he will see a man who could beat Sancho Pauza
in sleeping !

Of course this tendency has often cost me
dearly ; I have missed appointments, forgotten
assignations, lost friends through it. My cha-
racter, too, has suffered, many deeming me in-
supportably indolent, a sluggard quite unfit for

any active employment. Others, more mercifully
hinting at some "cerebral cause," have done me
equal damage ; but there happily is an obverse on
the medal, and to this somnolency do I ascribe
much of the gentleness and all the romance of
my nature. It is your sleepy man is ever bene-
volent, he loves ease and quiet for others as for
himself. What he cultivates is the tranquil
mood that leads to slumber, and the calm that
sustains it. The very operations of the mind in
sleep are broken, incoherent, undeliueated just
like the waking occupations of an idle man ; they
are thoughts that cost so little to manufacture
that he can atford to be lavish of them. And now
Good night !

SANITARY SCIENCE.

MANY of the Levitical laws are sanitary
laws. In the fourteenth chapter of Leviti-
cus, and beginning at the thirty -third verse,
we have the signs of leprosy and plague in
houses described, and means of removing or de-
stroying such leprosy and plague set forth. The
description is not more curious than it is true
of houses in the present day. There are at
this time in London, and in great Britain gene-
rally, as also over the whole of the known
world, sites and houses with subsoils so tainted,
and the walls of the houses so leprous, plague-
stricken, and foul, that entire removal of such
houses, and of the material, is the only safe
remedy. Some of our hospital surgeons could
have defined streets, and even houses, from which
patients, suffering under certain forms of ma-
lignant diseases, were regularly brought, and
had been brought, for years. With a destruc-
tion of such houses tiiere has been a cessation
of that form of virulence in the particular class
of disease. "And he shall break down the
house, the stones of it, and the timber thereof,
and all the mortar of the house ; and he shall
carry them forth out of the city, into an unclean
place."

Examine the cities in the East, and we shall
find pre-eminent ignorance of Sanitary law, and
consequent filth, squalor, and human misery,
disease and premature death. The entire sub-
soil is a vast mass of putrid and putrefying
human and animal refuse and ordure. Recently,
in Calcutta, the workmen employed to excavate
the trenches for laying gas-pipes died from the
effects of the noxious gases liberated by breaking
through the upper oxydised crust of foul deposit,
the accumulation of years. Sunshine, rain, and
wind are most powerful disiufectors ; if it were
not so, the sites of cities and houses would long
since have become more deadly than the emana-
tions from the upas-tree of fable.

Owners of estates and builders of houses are
alike ignorant of sanitary laws, even now in this
our day, or alike careless as to consequences.
Architects design and execute cloud-capp'd
towers, solemn temples, and gorgeous palaces,
but only that these buildings, with richly-carved
outsides, may become vast poison generators,
health destroyers, and life shorteuers. In this

30 [October 20, 1B60.J

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

huge metropolis no real remedy is applied to the
sanitary evils existing, nor does a remedy form
any portion of the gig-antic plans of the Metro-
politan Board of Works. Outlet sewers will
not purify the miles of sewers now ruinous and
choked with foul deposit. Disinfecting may be
a slight palliative, but it is not an effectual
remedy. The Queen, Lords, and Commons fare
no better in their new and gorgeous palace at
Westminster than the poorest subject in the
realm. The architect has elaborated the outside
of the building with carvings in endless repeti-
tions, whilst within there is rottenness gene-
rating the seeds of disease and premature death.
This " gorgeous building" has been placed on a
site below the level of river floods and daily
tides. All the sewers and drains are within the
" richly-carved walls ;" all the traps and sinks
connect every apartment with such drains and
sewers ; and the foul contents are retained by
river flood and tidal waters, to ferment and
give off the injurious gases of decomposition.
The government of the day had the wisdom to
consider the question of ventilation, and some
hundred thousands of pounds sterling have been
laid out, and many thousands are annually ex-
pended, to work the ventilating apparatus pro-
vided. The architect did not, however, believe
in the ventilating doctor ; and, consequently,
little besides cost, blundering, quarrelling, and
law expenses, have come of the money expended
on ventilation. The corridors and the committee-
rooms are totally unventilated.

London is said to be " the best-sewered large
city in the world," and this, no doubt, is true.
But London sewers require many improvements.
The flat inverts and ruinous sides retain all the
foul solids, and the subsoil soaks in the tainted
fluids, so that the earth beneath and the air
above are alike poisoned. The greater portion
of the sewers in Westminster, around and
within Buckingham Palace, and about Belgravia,
have been constructed of bad sectional forms,
with defective, spongy, porous bricks and in-
ferior mortar, and are, consequently, ineflicient.
Fever has prevailed in the neighbourhood.

The foul sewers of London taint the atmo-
sphere in the streets, and, through drains,
contaminate the air within the houses. Many
of the inhabitants of London judge as to changes
of weather by the effluvium from their drains.
During the so-called disinfecting operations of
last summer, the peculiar taint of certain dis-
infecting material, passed down the main sewers,
was perceived within the houses on each side of
the streets : proving that sewer gases constantly
have access to the interior of such houses.
_ The fashionable novelist describes vast man-
sions, surrounded by park and gardens, where
servants in gorgeous liveries attend the noble
and wealthy of the land. In this England of
purs, many such houses bear names renowned
in history, and are celebrated in song. The
fashionable novelist would write something as
follows: "Before us stood the embattled walls
of this famous castle, out of whose gates
lords, knights, and ladies rode forth to par-

lake of the excitements of the chase, in the
wide-spreading meadows and extensive woods
around." Or, " The traveller arrived before
the entrance to the park. An elaborately
polished stone archway, gates of cunning
workmanship, richly edged with gold, lodge
and gateway bearing the arms of the noble
family, stood partially shrouded amidst full-
grown trees. A neatly-kept carriage-drive led
on through forest trees centuries old, amidst
which antlered deer bounded in native freedom.
At each turn of the road some new beauty was
opened to view ; until at length glimpses were
seen of grass and water, and then was fully re-
vealed a breadth of lake and lawn; above which,
terrace on terrace, rose the palace-like residence
of his Grace." There are many seats in England
more picturesque than the words even of the
novelist can paint. Nature and art combine to
make a perfect whole. Within, we tread polished
floors and velvet pile to examine the evidences
of luxury and taste. Every square yard of wall
and ceiling has been an artistic study. Win-
dows of coloured glass light up hall and corridor
with rainbow-tinted shadows. Great artists are
represented in cabinet pictures bearing fabulous
prices. Wealth, judgment, and refined taste
have accomplished all that money could do to
make a luxurious and comfortable abode for in-
tellect and worth. Sanitary knowledge has alone
been absent.

The castle may be surrounded with remains
of a moat, the whole basement subsoil may be
damp and rotten, so that leprous blotches of
mildew and decay are spread over floors and
walls. The mansion, in its beautiful grounds,
may stand upon a wet subsoil, ever damp and
cold. The architect was skilled in all the learn-
ing of the Greeks and Romans, in grouping use-
less columns to bear incongruous pediments, filled
with Unmeaning sculpture. There may be no
room for even an architectural pedant to find
fault, as there is " precedent" for every line, and
for every break, and for every form. The eleva-
tion in central mass and wings, from ground to
sky line, is presumed to be "perfect." Yet,
who has thought of sanitary arrangements ?
Not the architect. The family physician,
generation after generation, visits and pre-
scribes in crampy-written Latin. The grand
house swarms with quadruped vermin, the
natives in the adjoining village know when
the family is at home or from home by the
migrating movement of the rats. Servants
sutler from rheumatism and fever, ladies may
have died of consumption, and several heirs to
the illustrious house may have been gathered to
their fathers in babyhood. There has been
fresh decorating, renewed painting and gilding,
additional pictures and statuary. But, year by
year, foul subsoil, foul drains, and foul sewers
become still fouler.

Here is no over-statement. There are few
houses in which, or about which, there are
not some causes of discomfort which are easily
removable. The sewers may be too large and
not sufficiently ventilated, the drains may ho-

Cbulei L)ickni.J

ALL TIIK YEAH ROUND.

[OttoUr M, 1MO.J 31

neycomb the basement and not remove the
refu.- into them, the water may be

hard, the tanks and cisterns may be in im-
proper places, and may also be neglected
and foul with deposited sediment. Basements,
halls, staircases, corridors, and rooms may be
unventiiated, a considerable number of the rooms
may bo permanently \vitliuut sunshine, and some
ereu without any direct sunlight. A princely
income will not secure health to any person vo-
luntarily, or otherwise, passing the greater part
of his time in such character of house. An un-
tainted subsoil, a thoroughly ventilated base-
ment, large and lofty rooms, exposed to direct
sunshine, pure water, preserved pure for use,
afford a chance of health and comfort. Carving,
gilding, rich carpets, costly works of art, and
close and dark rooms, may only contribute to
splendid misery.

There are many houses in Great Britain which
have inherited evil reputations; there is a
"ghost's room," or "a ghost's corridor," or "a
ghost's tower," or "a ghost's terrace." The
true ghost's walk is, however, in the basement ;
amongst and through foetid drains and foul
sewers, the ghost's reception-chambers are an-
cient cesspools, and the ghost's nectar is drawn
from tainted wells and neglected water cisterns.
There are British ghosts ; but there are also
continental ghosts, if possible, more terrible :
the chilling palaces of Italy, the gilded splen-
dours of Paris, are alike ghost-haunted. Your
only exorcist is the sanitary engineer.

PROSCRIBED POETRY.

IT is curious how little we in England, who
pique ourselves, and not without reason, on
our general knowledge of contemporary French
literature, know of certain names and popularities
and those not of the vulgar or ephemeral order
which, from time to time, spring up and grow
at the other side of the Channel, making their
wav, exerting their influence, and sending forth
their voices, through the length and breadth of
France, without an echo finding its way across
so narrow a space. Few of us have heard of
PIERRE DUPONT, now living, who was born
at Lyons on the 23rd of April, 1821. His family
were simple artisans, and, at the death of his
mother which occurred when he was four years
old his godfather, a priest, took him to his
home, and commenced his education, which,
later, was advanced in the little seminary of
Largentiere. On quitting the religious school
he was bound apprentice to a silk weaver, but
shortly after obtained a clerkship in a bank.

Then came the old story, often repeated but
ever new, of tho poet- nature revolting against
the regular discipline, the dry details, what ap-
pears to it the vulgar tyranny of commercial
habits and rules, and in his new position Pierre
Dupont chafed and fretted for the liberty which
poets, and especially young poets, dream, often
erroneously, as essential, not only to their hap-
piness, but to the development of their genius.

It happened that at 1'rovins there resided a

grandfather of Dupont, who was acquainted
with M. Pierre Lebrun, a member of the Aca-
demy. Occasionally our budding poet visited
this grandfather, and became an object of con-
siderable interest to M. Lebrun. At this time he
had completed one of his earliest poems, Le
Deux Anges, The Two Angels. Being drawn
for the conscription, he was, much to his dis-
satisfaction, ordered to join a regiment of chas-
seurs, but the idea occurred to M. Lebrun to
publish this poem by subscription, and thus en-
deavour to obtain a sufficient sum to purchase
a substitute.

The plan was tried and succeeded, and thus
Dupont, unlike most youthful artists (using the
word in its larger and more general sense), was,
so to say, enabled to enter regularly on his
poetical career through the profits of the first
fruits of his poetical genius.

Les Deux Anges, though in many respects
incomplete, incorrect, and wanting in the vigour
that is so remarkable a characteristic of many of
his later productions., yet contained so much
promise, had in it so many indications of an
original genius and an elevated intelligence, that
in addition to the material benefit he obtained
by it, he was honoured by a prize from the
Academy, and on this, was offered a small place
in the Institute as assistant in the compiling
the Dictionnaire de 1' Academic. There is no
doubt but that his labours in this department,
however material they may seem, and the oppor-
tunities he frequently had of hearing the some-
times stormy, often eloquent, discussions on
philological points, of such men as Victor Hugo,
Cousin, &c., went far to perfect his style, teach
him the value of words, and give force, elegance,
and correctness to his language.

But still Dupont aspired to live entirely free,
to follow poetry exclusively, to live for it and by
it ; and, after a time, he resigned his post at the
Academy, explaining to M. Lebrun his reasons
for doing so, and expressing the warmest grati-
tude for the interest and assistance he had ac-
corded him.

Free to follow the bent of his inclinations, he
worked hard to complete a series of songs en-
titled Les Paysans, Chants Rustiques, Peasants,
Rustic Songs, of which not only the words but
the music (though he was utterly ignorant of
music as a science, insomuch that when he
had composed his airs he was obliged to sing
them to De noted down by another person) was
his own. A neat edition, illustrated with tole-
rable lithographs, appeared, and then com-
menced his popularity.

For many years the vocal drawing-room music
of the middle classes had consisted of "ro-
mances," of which words and music rivalled
each other in mawkish sickliness and inane mo-
notony. Here was something new, something
sparkling with truth, and hie, and freshness,
with earnestness and originality; words, now
plaintive, simple, tender, now overflowing with
a wild, turbulent, but never coarse gaiety, novr
marked with the manly tone of wholesome, loving
labour; music instinct with feeling, melody, ?r

32 [October *0, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

riety and originality, indeed, often rising to a
degree of excellence most difficult to compre-
hend as the work of one totally ignorant of all
scientific rules. And the new voice thus speak-
ing speedily found an echo among nearly all
classes of society, descending from the drawing-
rooms to the streets.

Thus Dupont continued to labour in his call-
ing, gathering fresh strength, seeking inspiration
in natural scenery, his love for which breaks out
at all times, even amid the sterner accents of
patriotic and political denunciation philoso-
phising, in a word, thinking, and putting his
thoughts into strong, true, and eloquent lan-
guage.

In 1846, Dupont composed a song, The Song
of the Working Men, of which I shall presently
give a translation ; however feebly it may re-
present the verve of the original, it is yet, I
think, nearly as faithful and literal a rendering
of its force as can be produced.

The Song of the Working Men forms a sort of
epoch in the history of Dupont's genius. Here
mind and heart and virile indignation assert them-
selves in tones hitherto unuttered. The poet
himself was half uneasy at the echoes of his own
voice, and in his uncertainty kept back the song
for a while, and consulted some of his friends
ere deciding to publish it. One of these, M.
Charles Baudelaire, from whose brief notice of
the life and works of Dupont some of the facts
here recorded are gathered, thus relates the im-
pression caused by the first hearing, from Du-
pont's lips, of Le Chant des Ouvriers :

" When I heard this admirable cry of suffer-
ing and melancholy, I was dazzled and affected.
Tor so many years we had waited for some
poetry that was strong and true ! It is impos-
sible, to whatever party we may belong, in what-
ever prejudices we may have been brought up,
not to be touched by the spectacle of a sickly
multitude, breathing the dust of the workshops,
swallowing cotton, becoming actually impreg-
nated with white lead, mercury, and all the
poisons necessary for the creation of the won-
ders they execute ; sleeping amid vermin, buriec
in quarters where the greatest and the humblesl
virtues lodge side by side with the most hardenec
vices, and the offscourings of the hulks" (bagne),
"of that suffering, languishing multitude to whom
the earth owes her wonders, who feel

the vermilion blood

Through their veins impetuous flow ;
who cast long and saddened looks on the sun
shine and shade of broad parks, and who, for
sufficient consolation and encouragement, shout
their saving refrain, ' Aimons-uous !' Let us
love."

Thenceforward, Dupont's poetry continuec
chiefly to pursue the new course it had struck
out. He wrote earnestly, passionately, feelingly
though perhaps at times somewhat one-sidedly
of the rights, the wrongs, the sufferings, the
temptations of the working classes, bringing tc
bear on all a hopeful, loving philosophy whicl
makes his songs find an echo wherever they ar<
heard in France.

The revolution of 1848 gave new vigour and
ew voice to Dupont, and all the hopes, interests,
nd prospects it awakened were sung by him
jrith a passion and energy that are yet tempered
iy the tender and pastoral character of his
arlier muse. At all times his intense love of
nature breaks forth, and he always seems to
iew it with a sort of tender, mysterious melan-
iholy : the waving boughs of the thick forest,
ts whispering shades, the murmur of hidden
treams, the pale beauties of the most ephe-
meral and fragile flowers, all the more mystic
and essentially poetical views of natural scenery
and objects are what seem especially to address
hemselves to his feelings. Listen to the vague,
dreamy, half-supernatural tone that breathes
hrough

LA BLONDE.*

Dream of a landscape pale,

With heather and birches light,
Whose silvery leaves on the passing wind

Float like foam on the surges white :
And beneath their flickering shade,

A graceful form behold,
More fair and slight than the birches white,
The virgin with locks of gold.

Day and night, all pale and fair,

She roams the woodland bowers,
Child beloved of the earth and sky,
Sister of stars and flowers.

All gaze as she passes by,

All praise her near and far,
Break the guitar and the sounding lyre,

The wild woods her minstrels are !
The beast from its den looks forth,

The birds from their downy nests,
And river and lake for her sweet sake,

As mirrors spread forth their breasts.

Day and night, all pale and fair, &c.

They say that with the stars

She communes when the night wind blows,
Some whisper a tale of mysterious love,

But her lover no one knows.
Oh it is not beneath the boughs

Of the fir-trees and birchen groves,
Their feathery shade was never made

To shelter her earthly loves !

Day and night, all pale and fair, &c.

She loves 'neath the mystic shade

Of the heavens' golden palms,
Far from the mortal world her soul

Dissolves in the voice of psalms !
Angel ! a woman thou art,

Ere called to thy home above,
Among mankind one soul thou couldst find

To love thee and merit thy love.

Day and night, all pale and fair, &c.

But before long the government found that
Pierre Dupont's songs were of a character far
too revolutionary to be uttered in the ears of a
republic constituted under the existing and only
possible and perfect form, and under a princely
president who, a few months later, accomplished
the coup d'etat of the second of December, and
Dupont was warned that he must moderate his
tone, or take the consequences.

As, however, the warning produced but little

The Fair Woman.

Cbtrlei Dlektni.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October JO. I WO.] 33

effect, lie found himself obliged to keep out of
the way of the police ; and having many sincere
friends, admirers, and sympathisers in Paris and
its environs, he remained hidden in the houses
of various of these "till this tyranny should be
overpast."

I remember seeing him at this time. He was
then about thirty, of middle height, with good
features, a somewhat full, fresh-coloured lace,
and brown hair, a very quiet and somewhat shy
manner, and a countenance rather indicative of
frank simplicity than of force or energy. An
evening \vas appointed when I was to hear him
sing, hut ere it came he was obliged to change
his quarters to escape arrest.

I remember being much struck with a picture
of his life at this time. Among his friends were
a young sculptor, since celebrated in France,
and his young wife, daughter of one of the most
gifted writers of the day. In their country re-
treat Pierre Dupont was staying, and of a
summer evening the three would wander forth
through the fields, to the banks of the Seine,
and lying hidden among the reeds and willows,
the poet, in a low tone of suppressed energy,
would sing to his friends the forbidden songs
composed from day to day, songs Jie dared not
sing in the house, lest the servants should hear
and denounce him, but which he could not shut
up silent in his breast, however great might be
the risk of uttering them.

Here is one of the songs that belong to this
period the Song of Bread :

When in the stream and on the air
Is hushed the busy mill's tic-tac,
When listlessly the miller's ass

Browses and bears no more the sack ,
Then like a gaunt she-wolf comes in

Fierce Hunger to the peasant's hearth ;
A storm is brooding in the heavens,
A great cry rises from the earth.

There is no stilling the cries
Of human creatures unfed,
Tis Nature herself doth rise,
Crying, " I must have bread !"

Up to the village Hunger walks,

Up to the frightened town she comes ;
Go, stop her progress, drive her back
With all the rattle of your drums !
Despite your powder and your shot
She passes on her vulture-wing,
And on the summit of your walls
She plants her black flag triumphing.
There is no stilling the cries
Of human creatures unfed,
'Tis Nature herself doth rise,

Crying, "I must have bread!"
What will your marshalled armies do?

Hunger steals from the farm, the field,
Arms for her fierce battalions, scythes,

Reap-hooks and shovels the farm-yards yield.
In the town I hear the tocsin's knell,

All are stirring : they rise, they run !
The breasts of the very girls are crushed
With the sharp recoil of a heavy gun.
There is no stilling the cries
Of human creatures unfed,
'Tis Nature herself doth rise,
Crying, ' I must have bread !"

Arrest among the populace

All the bearers of scythes and gone,
Scaffolds erect till the public place

Red with the people's life-blood runs.
Before the eyes of the shuddering crowd,

After the fall of the slippery knife
Has cut the thread of their du-tinie.*,
Their blood shall send forth a cry of life.
There is no stilling the cries
Of human creatures unfed,
'Tis Nature herself doth rise,
Crying, " I must have bread !"

For bread is needful as fire, or air,

Or water. What can a people do,
Unsustaincd by the staff of life,

That God to his creatures seems to owe?
But God has amply done His part :
Has He refused us field or plain ?
His sun is glowing upon the earth
Ready to ripen the golden grain.

There is no stilling the cries
Of human creatures unfed,
'Tis Nature herself doth rise,
Crying, " I must have bread!"

The kindly earth unploughed remains

The while that all the temperate zone
'Twixt pole and pole with yellow corn
To feed the nations might be sown.
Open the bosom of the earth,

And for the combat let us learn
To use new arms, and guns and swords
To instruments of labour turn.

There is no stilling the cries
Of human creatures unfed,
Tis Nature herself doth rise,
Crying, " I must have bread !"

What to us are the quarrels vain

Of cabinets and states afar ?
Must we, for all these useless brawls

Be called to share in a bloody war ?
The surging people-ocean fear,

Behold its awful tide with dread,
Give the earth to the patient plough,
And the nations will all have bread.
There is no stilling the cries
Of human creatures unfed,
'Tis Nature herself doth rise,
Crying, " I must have bread!"

It is remarkable that, while treating of natural
scenery, Dupont's poetry is instinct with an im-
pression of melancholy mystery, many of his
other songs, as Ma Vigne, My Vine, La Noel des
Paysans, The Peasant's Christmas, La Fete du
Village, The Village Fair, &c., are full of a wild,
boisterous gaiety, which irresistibly carries the
reader along, making the refrain (almost with-
out an exception Dupont's songs have a refrain,
in which is contained the very pith and essence
of the spirit of the song) ring in his cars like a
passage in some pleasant melody, which haunts
him while the rest has escaped his memory.
But it is almost impossible to give any notion
of these songs (which are by no means the
best, as poetical compositions) by translation ;
rendered into another language they become
vulgar and trivial, and 'losing the local charac-
ter, which forms one of their most remarkable
features, they lose the chief part of the charm
and effect that belongs to them in the original.

84 [October 20, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

Pierre Dupont's songs may be divided into
four categories.

His first " manner," as painters say, is seen
in the Peasants, of which the following may be
taken as a fair specimen :

LES BCEUFS. THE OXEN.

Two oxen in my stable stand,

Two great oxen, white and red,
The plough is all of maple-wood,

Of holly-branch the goad is made.
All by their labour is the plain

In winter green, in summer gold,
The}' gain more money in a week
Than the price at which they sold.
If I had to sell the pair,
I'd rather hang myself, I swear !
Jeanne my wife I love, but if I had to

choose
'Tween her and them, 'tis her I'd rather

lose!

Mark them well, the gallant beasts !
Delving deeply, tracing straight,
Eain and tempest, heat and cold,
Hinder not their patient gait.
When I halt awhile to drink,

Like a mist on summer morns
Steams their breath, and little birds
Come and perch upon their horns.

If I had to sell the pair, &c.

Strong as any oil-press, they

Gentle yet as sheep can be ;
Every year the town-folk come

Bargaining for them with me,
To keep them till Shrove-Tuesday comes

And lead them out before the king,
Then sell them to the butcher's knife

They're mine: I'll have no such thing!
If I had to sell the pair, &c.

When our daughter is grown up,

If the regent's son should come
To marry her, I promise him

All the money saved at home ;
But if for dowry he should ask

The two great oxen, white and red,
Daughter, bid the crown good-by,

Home the oxen shall be led.

If I had to sell the pair, &c.

It was these songs that first established hi
popularity, and many of them, especially th
ioregoing and Les Louis d'Or, The Golden Louis
may still be heard on organs and hurdy-gurdie
all over France.

THE SONG OF THE WORKING MEN.

We whose lamp, when the shivering morn

Is announced by the cock-crow, is lit,
We all, whom the struggle to live

Brings ere dawn to the forge and the pit ;
We whose labour from morning to night

Is a struggle of arms, hands, and feet
And that but to live for to-day
No earning for age a retreat.

Brothers ! let's love, and think,
When round the table we stand,
Though the cannon be near at hand,

To drink
To the freedom of every land !

Our arms, from the niggardly earth,
From the jealous wave, painfully bring

Hid treasures, f od, metals, and gems,
Pearls and diamonds to deck out a king :

Rich fruits from the glowing hill-sides,

From the plains golden grain, ripe and full.
Poor sheep ! while our backs remain bare
What warm mantles are made of our wool !
Brothers ! let's love, and think,
When round the table we stand,
Though the cannon be near at hand,

To drink
To the freedom of every land !

What profit have we of the work

That crookens our meagre spines ?
Gain we aught by our floods of sweat ?
We are nothing but mere machines !
To the sky do our Babels mount,
To us earth owes her rarities ;
But when once the honey is made
The master has done with the bees.
Brothers ! let's love, and think,
When round the table we stand,
Though the cannon be near at hand,

To drink
To the freedom of every land !

Our women must offer their breasts

To the feeble stranger-child,
Who, later, to sit by their side,

Would consider himself defiled.
The rights of the lords of the soil

Upon us heavily tell,
Our daughters their honour for bread,
To the lowest of shopboys sell.

Brothers ! let's love, and think,
When round the table we stand,
Though the cannon be near at hand,

To drink
To the freedom of every land !

Half-naked, 'neath rafters we dwell,

Amid ruins, in pestilent holes,
Now lodging 'mid villains and thieves,
And now with the rats and the owls.
Yet withal, our vermilion blood

Through our veins impetuous flows
How we joy in the sunshine's gold,
And the green of the oaken boughs !
Brothers ! let's love, and think,
When round the table we stand,
Though the cannon be near at hand,

To drink

To the freedom of every land !
Every time that the purple tide

Of our life-blood waters the eartb,
'Tis for tyrants' lust that the dew,

Is of fertilising worth.
Let us spare it, brothers, henceforth,

For love is stronger than war,
While we pray that better days,
May come with a happier star !

Brothers ! let's love, and think,
When round the table we stand,
Though the cannon be near at hand,

To drink

To the freedom of every land !
But beside these two styles, and mingling
with them, are two others, of which the one is
of an idyllic cast, delicately imaginative, as in
La Blonde, Eusebe, &c., touched, here and
there, with a sort of mystic and loving philo-
sophy ; and the other a lighter kind of verse, as
in L'Emigree de Prance, The French (female)
Exile, and La Chataine ;* but in this latter order

* A woman between dark and fair. We have no
English equivalent.

Ctoarlct DIcktni.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October W, lea] 35

of song, descriptive of that curious specimen
of humanity, la Parisienue, Dupont is, as may
be supposed, far less at home, and the result is
not satisfactory. Here is

Bt'SKBIUS.

The woodmen of the valley pause,

And point with smile of score,
At the foolish youth, whose floating hair

Is blowing all forlorn.
His eye, blue MB a .summer stream,

Swims with a bitter tear,
For his heart Ls full as the boundless sea,
With a mi-lity grief and feai.
He loves oh, folly viM !

The nameless, low-born youth
He loves the only child
Of the Christian baron, forsooth !

lie saw her as one day he went

By her window, at her glass,
And* now he roams from park to church,

lu the thicket to see her pass.
Fair, slender, tall and graceful, she,

From her hair to her shoe, in truth,
She looks a baroness, every inch,

And he's but a student youth.

He lovea oh, folly wild ! &o.

No Greek nor Lathi does he know,

His studies come by chance,
Only in Nature's book he reads,

And in the lady's glance
And yet the world must yield to him-

Will the baron say him nay?
A secret, God to him reveals,

That chases fear away.

He loves oh, folly wild ! *c.

This secret deep, this mystery,

Makes him at once a sage,
It teaches that the rich and poor,

In every clime and age,
Are moulded from the self-same clay,

That love and learning raise
All to a level Forth he goes

To seek the baron's face.

He loves oh folly wild ! &c-

His tale he to the baron tells,

Who bears upon his shield,
A cross, a lance-head, and a gem,

Upon an azure field.
" Twere a scurvy thing," the baron says,

No wise inclined to yield,
" To see thy science and thy love,

Engraved upon my shield!"

He love* oh, folly wild ! &o.

The damsel listened silently,
The while her lingers fair
F.ntwined the laurel and the rose

That clustered richly there.
" These lovely branches con but add

New grace to it, I uis. '
41 Your band, young man," the baron said,
And joined the two in his.

" He loves me ! bliss extreme !

His heart the noble youth !
Is worth the love supreme

Of the baron's child, in truth !"

To regard Pierre Dupont's works in a merely
literary point of view would be altogether a mis-
take ; their claims to actual poetical merit van-
ing considerably, aud seldom rising to the tirat

rank. But he was the poet the times required;
he rose from among the class who wanted a
voice to speak their wrongs aud their sufferings,
their few joys and many sorrows, their claims
and their aspersions, with a personal knowledge
and experience of what these were : he refused
to let himself be trammelled by the lifeless con-
ventionalities of the modern French school of
poetry, and above all, though sometimes preju-
diced, he was always true, to the extent of ma
knowledge and belief; always in earnest, and
despite occasional outbursts of indignation, his
was a loving, hopeful, and essentially genial and
human nature, and when the voices of such, men
speak, they must infallibly find an echo. He
believed that men were honest ; that they had
hearts and consciences ; that they loved what
was right, and high, and true ; and that they
were anxious and able to advance to freedom
and regeneration through love and union,
through hope and courage ; and if ever men are
so to advance, it will, under God, be through
the sound of such appeals, through the awaken-
ing of their nobler and better natures by confi-
dent addresses to such higher part of them.

Many a time France has been called to assert
herself by empty swash-buckler cries of " La
patrie ! Our country !" " La Fr-r-rance !" and
" A bas, Down with this !" " A bas, Down with
that !" it has always been down with something;
surely now it is time to think of building some-
thing up.

In the year 1850 or 1851 commenced the
publication of an edition of Pierre Dupont's songs
m numbers, each number containing aa illustra-
tion ; which illustrations, be it remarked in pass-
ing, although in some instances signed by the
names of Tony Johannot, Andrieux, &c., were,
for the greater part, singularly poor, ill- ima-
gined, conventional, ugly, and most carelessly
executed. With the words was the music,
which, with very rare exceptions, was of Du-
pont's own composition. But whether this edi-
tion was ever completed, I have not been able
to ascertain: I should think that the political
tone of some of the songs would render their ap-
pearance, under the existing condition of the laws
that govern the press, highly problematical.

Some time alter the coup d'etat it was de-
cided that Pierre Dupont's republican notions
were no longer in any degree to be tolerated in
France, and he was sentenced to transporta-
tion.

Many persons, however, even among those
who had given in a more or less sincere adhe-
rence to the new order of things, were interested
in him, and Gudin, the celebrated marine painter,
whose house had afforded him very efficient
shelter and hospitality in these perilous times
when men of weight and note were sent out
of France at twenty-four hours' notice, without
any further reason being assigned than that
it was for the " general security " of the nation
organised a dinner to which were invited the
.u and other influential guests,
among whom Pierre Dupout, unnamed and un-
touk his place. After dinner, Gudin,

36 [October 20, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Condactedby

still without mentioning the name of the very
quiet, inoffensive guest who had taken so small
a part in the conversation at table, called upon
Dupont to sing. He did so, choosing, as may
be supposed, such of his songs as were least
calculated to offend the loyal ears of the
company, and having succeeded in charming
those of the marechal, Guclin revealed the
1 obnoxious name of the singer, begging the great
i man to exert his influence in his favour. This
: the mare'chal promised to do, but as his master
was strongly prejudiced against the rebellious
bard, the friends of the latter counselled his
leaving Paris, and keeping altogether out of
reach till his security should, in one way or
another, be established. But this he neglected
to do, whether out of defiance or a too great
confidence in the marechal' s intercession, or its
results, does not appear. The consequence
was, that before long he was arrested, and
lodged in the Couciergerie, the prison from
which Louis Napoleon himself had, but a few
years previously, been transported to Ham.
After spending some time in this incarceration,
he was released through the influence of the late
Prince Jerome, since which period he seems
quite to have kept out of public sight.

Pierre Dupont was married to a woman in
his own class of life, to whom, it is said, he was
much attached ; but she kept entirely in the
background, and except that the heroines of all
his Peasant Songs are called Jeanne, which, let
us hope, was the name of Madame Dupont, we
have no clue at all to her identity or history.

It is hard to think that at thirty-nine the
poet's career should be finished ; that any man
possessing the gifts and the feelings he undoub-
tedly possesses, should, in the force of age and
strength, finally cast aside his arms, give up the
struggle, and resign himself to fall into an apa-
thetic indifference to the things that made his
blood boil, that stirred all the pulses of his
heart, that inspired him to raise his single voice
in songs to which the nation sang a passionate
and soul-felt chorus. Perhaps, seeing that, at
present, any attempt to raise that voice again
would be mere Quixotism, that its first accents
would be stifled, and the singer sacrificed at a
time when the sacrifice could render no service
to the nation he loves so well, he bides his time,
seeing, or deeming he sees, in the horizon the
dawn of a happier day.

UNCLE'S SALVAGE.

A TRUE STORY.

MY uncle Sam was a man to be proud of. He
stood six feet three in his stockings, and could
jump a wall, ride a horse across country, or
wrestle with any man in Cornwall. There are
few of your fox-hunters throughout England
who would care to put a horse on his mettle up
and down our Cornish hills. Uncle's horse
seemed made to his measure, " foaled to order,"
as our people said ; and daring riders as Cornish-
men are, no friend borrowed the beast twice.
Uncle Sam bought him at Bodmin; they
could do nothing with him there, and were

only too glad to get rid of him. His pre-
vious owner hailed from the metropolis of the
west, but the horse did not long remain at
Plymouth, owing to an unfortunate habit of
returning home without his rider. The Ame-
ricans had not yet invented Mr. Rarey, and,
but for my uncle purchasing Rambumptious, I
do believe he must have been cut up into cat's-
meat. Uncle Sam's " breaking-in " was unlike
Mr. Rarey's, but equally efficacious. Rambump-
tious stared at him, he stared at Rambumptious ;
then, leaping upon his back, uncle rode him to
his house, eight-and-twenty miles off.

Uncle Sam's favourite amusement was swim-
ming. He lived on the northern coast of the
county, where the great Atlantic rolls in its
mighty billows unchecked; the shore shelved
out gradually for a long distance, and to gain
the deep blue water he had to beat his way
through a mile of breakers. We often watched
him plunging through the white-crested waves
and manfully surmounting the "rollers," look-
ing like Neptune in his own element. Some-
times he was away so long that folks said he was
gone to Lundy Island, or to the Welsh coast, or
Ireland. Nearly everybody in our little out-of-
the-way town could swim, many having taken
their first lessons from him, and he laid it down
as a rule that no person's education was complete
who could not undress and dress and support
himself any number of hours in the water. I
do think, if it had not been for the pigs and the
poultry and the cows and Rambumptious and
myself, Uncle Sam would have lived in the sea
altogether. When anybody wanted him, he was
generally to be found somewhere off the coast ;
reminding one of Vice-Chancellor Shadwell, who,
if not on the Bench or in Chambers, was sure to
be in the Thames between Kew and Richmond.
Lawyers tell us that he once granted an injunc-
tion in the water.

When I was ten years old (I recollect the
time well, for it was just before I was sent to
Winchester), uncle went to London, and I did
not see him for three weeks. Wasn't I glad to
welcome him back again ? He told me he was
sea-sick, pining for the salt-water, the surf and
the billows, and that London smoke and fo
made him feel as though he had not washed
himself for a month. So down we trudged to-
wards the beach, and soon were in the water.
Uncle told me he meant to make up for lost
time, and that if he did not return within the
hour, I could walk home and await his coming.
At other times, he would take me a long way
through the surf on his back, then throw me
in and watch me regain the shore, for I was a
capital swimmer for my age, having been quite
at home in the water before I reached my sixth
birthday. But this day uncle was ravenous, and
I really think he ran through the breakers, like
Atalanta over the standing corn, until he plunged
into the deep blue water. I watched him out
to sea as far as the breakers would permit, and
then tried conclusions with the waves until my
young strength was exhausted. I dressed my-
self, and sat down on the beach to read a funny

Charles Dlckni.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October*, I MO.] 37

book uncle had brought with him from London.
I know I must have read a long time, for I got
tired of reading and laughing, and wished uncle
would come back. Then I walked about and
strained my eyes to catch sight of him, but to
no purpose, and if 1 hadn't been sure he could
swim to America if he wished, I should have
been frightened for him. At last I saw a speck
upon the water at a great distance, and I knew
it must be uncle's head ; and it came nearer and
nearer, until finally there were two specks a
big one and a little one. Then I ran to the
highest ground I could find, and watched him,
as the French say, " with all my eyes,'' and I
got excited and wondered who was swimming
with him, and whether his head was the big
speck or the little one. Both of them came
nearer and nearer, and I undressed myself again
and plunged in to go and meet them. I was so
excited that I think I could have swum ten
miles, and in a short time I neared the blue
water, and discovered that the little speck was
uncle's head, and the big one I had seen first
a great cask covered all over with barnacles.
Uncle was angry at my venturing out so far,
but I told him I thought he was bringing some-
body to land with him, and that he must forgive
me as I did not feel at all tired. I asked him
what the great thing was he wias pushing in
front of him, and he said it appeared to be a
hogshead of French brandy. I helped him as
well as I could to propel it through the surf,
and after some considerable trouble we rolled
it safely upon the beach.

Wasn't this a funny kind of fish to be swim-
ming in the sea ? But we do pick up funny
things all along the Cornish coast. I have
heard of bottles of wine by the dozen, floating
ashore, and silks and satins, and shawls and
laces, and gold watches and jewellery, and to-
bacco and clocks. When I asked uncle how it
was such things came there, he told me it was
all due to the tariff and customs. I am sure I
was obliged to them for their kindness to Corn-
wall.

We did not leave our hogshead. Oh no !
We pushed far up the sands, out of reach of the
sea, and dressed ourselves, and uncle said he
would go and fetch a cart from the town. Four
or five persons ran down to the beach, and there
was great excitement about uncle's capture,
until who should arrive but the exciseman. I
never could like that man. He was a fussy
little fellow, with a large head, and talked so
much about one thing called the revenue, that
everybody in the neighbourhood hated him. He
came running to us, saying " Hi, hi ! what have
we got here ?" as though it was any of his busi-
ness. Uncle told him that he had found the
hogshead floating in the sea, about three or four
mites from shore, and that he was going to cart
it to his house, when the exciseman stated that
he had equal claims upon it, and that uncle
must resign it to his care and keeping. Then he
sent off for a cart, and we all accompanied the
hogshead into town, uncle and the exciseman
chatting amicably by the way. The news spread

like wildfire, and very shortly there appeared a
third claimant, in the person of Lawyer Tregar-
thfii, the steward of the lord of the manor. I
was very glad when we got the hogshead safely
under cover in the exciseman's store, for I was
;itVaid there would shortly be so many claimants
that uncle, who had done all the work, would
get little or nothing for his pains. The excise-
man tapped the cask and handed a glass of the
contents to uncle and Lawyer Tregarthen, both
of whom said it was very fine claret. It was
then agreed that the hogshead should remain
under lock and key until the following morning,
when they would all three repair to the magis-
trates and request their opinion as to the owner-
ship of the prize.

There was a good deal of excitement in the
town when we went before the magistrates next
day. Everybody said the hogshead belonged to
uncle, because he alone had captured it ; but
there were other reasons for the townspeople
being in his favour. They all liked him and dis
liked the other claimants. Lawyer Tregarthen
was particularly obnoxious to many of them ;
on "court" days, when the tenantry came to
pay their rents, he never admitted any excuse,
merely offering them one alternative "Pay-
ment or penalty : receipts, gentlemen, for your
money, or writs for the want of it." Need I
say Lawyer Tregarthen was not popular ? As
for the exciseman, the poorer townspeople posi-
tively hated him, for many of them had received
his attentions in the shape of fines and imprison-
ments, merely for picking up a few articles of
foreign manufacture on the coast. Uncle Sam
was their idol, their tribune. His advice was
asked and followed in every emergency, and his
giant arm and well-filled purse were ever ready
to succour the unfortunate. I don't think he
had an enemy ; if he had, the individual didn't
like to show himself, out of fear of the towns-
folk.

The three claimants walked together to the
court-house, followed by a crowd of persons, all
anxious to see how the case would be decided.
Uncle, who was accommodated with a chair near
the magistrates, stated how the hogshead came
into his possession, adding, that he should have
removed it to his house, had not two other claim-
ants appeared whose rights seemed apparently co-
equal with his own. They all three had agreed
to submit their claims in an amicable manner to
their worships, and he therefore, on behalf of
himself and friends, requested their advice in
this strange case of disputed ownership.

I noticed Lawyer Tregarthen nodded to uncle
when he had finished his speech, but the excise-
man thought he could still further ventilate the
affair, and having cleared his throat with an ex-
plosion which startled several persons, me among
the rest, he began as follows : " Yer wushups,
there's a good deal of the genteel in what the
squire has told yer, but I appears here for

the revenue " when the senior magistrate

stopped him, observing, "Their worships are
perfectly advised of all the facts bearing upon
the point at issue." There was a general laugh

[October 20, 18CO.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

at the exciseman, and numerous advices to " Shut
up, ugly!" "Choke off!" &c. The magistrates re-
tired for a few minutes, and, on their return, they
gave their decision as follows :

"Their worships are unanimously agreed that
they can offer no decision in regard to the hogs-
head and its contents. The claims are conflict-
ing, and may or may not be coequal and co-
existent, for though the capturer of the hogs-
head may with some colour of justice uphold
his right to the claret, on the plea of salvage,
yet do the rights of flotson and jetsam give a
coequal claim of ownership to the lord of the
manor, whilst the rights of the excise interfere
with both, and may, in their worships' opinion,
be, perhaps, pre-existent. But while unpre-
pared to give any decision upon the points at
Issue, for the case is not down in the books,
their worships are relieved from further trouble
by the amicable manner in which the case has
been submitted to them. They are therefore
unanimously of opinion that the hogshead should
remain secure under lock and key, and a me-
morial be forwarded to the Board of Excise,
praying the board to take the various claims
into their earliest possible consideration, so that
the hogshead and its contents may be disposed
of as to them may seem fit."

The three claimants left the court together,
as they entered. They proceeded to the store
where the hogshead was imprisoned, and having
made sure it was all safe, they rolled it up
against the wall, shut it in, turned the key, and
all three affixed their seals upon the door, with
the understanding that these were not to be
broken until such time as the Board of Excise
returned an answer to their memorial.

Letters did not travel so fast in those days as
they do now, but I expected uncle would have
an answer in a week or ten days, at furthest.
How uncle laughed at me, " Willy," said he,
" we shall indeed be fortunate if we hear any-
thing about the claret within six months. The
government coach is a stick-in-the-mud vehicle,
and the coachman sleeps on his box." And he
was right, too, for six months passed, and a
year, and then six months more, and no answer
came back, and I thought they had forgotten all
about it. At last uncle had to go up to London,
and he got one of our county members to make
inquiries about the hogshead. Didn't he laugh
when he told us, on his return, that the memo-
rial had been handed from one clerk to another
in the Excise, and referred back again, and laid
before a committee, then reported upon by a
commission, submitted to counsel for opinion,
covered over with figures and hieroglyphics,
passed on through various stages, then dock-
eted, tied up in red tape, and laid upon some-
body's desk until he chose to look at it. They
don't use red tape in government offices now, as
formerly. Some naughty man, who I did hear
was hanged, drawn, and quartered for it (the
Lord Chancellor and all the great lawyers say-
ing he was guilty of high treason), wrote wicked
tilings about the Circumlocution Office, accusing
the gentlemen in government departments of

tying up John Bull with red tape, and strangling
him with it. People laughed so much about
this red tape, that it was ordered not to be used
any more, and official documents are now tied in
pretty green ribbon. Isn't that clever ? No-
body can laugh at great folks any longer about
" red-tapeism !"

Would you think it ? Nearly two years after
uncle found the claret we heard that a fourth
claimant had started up in the person of a Mr.
Droits, of the Admiralty, and that perhaps we
might get none of it. 1 asked everybody I met
who this Mr. Droits was, and everybody I asked
told me he didn't know. Lawyer Tregarthen
laughed at me when I said it wasn't a Cornish
name, and advised me to question uncle about
the gentleman. I did so, and uncle told me it
was not a gentleman at all, but the droits or
rights which the Admiralty possessed over all
property found at a certain distance from shore.
The Lords of the Admiralty did not, however,
press their claim upon the hogshead, and folks
down our way said it would have been very
different if the claret had been port. I asked
somebody why this was, and he told me that
" mulberry -nosed, gouty-toed admirals were fed
on nothing but port wine and turtle."

We did get an answer to the memorial after
all. The Board of Excise took two years and
three months to decide the question, and then
sent word that the claret was to be divided
equally amongst the three claimants. Lawyer
Tregarthen and the exciseman called upon uncle
(I was home then for the holidays), and it was
arranged that the next day but one all three
were to be at the store at nine o'clock in the
morning, for the purpose of bottling off the
claret. I shall never forget that day. Uncle
Sam sent down nine dozen empty claret bottles
in a cart, and I accompanied him to the store,
where we found Lawyer Tregarthen and the ex-
ciseman waiting our arrival. The steward had
an assemblage of bottles similar to uncle's, but
I never saw such a lot of odd-shaped things as
the exciseman had brought there. He had
magnums, quart and pint wine bottles, cham-
pagne bottles, soda-water and ginger-beer
bottles, and three big medicine bottles. Every-
body laughed at him, but he laughed too, and
said his bottles would hold as much wine as the
others. Then he broke the seals on the door,
and in we went uncle, Lawyer Tregarthen, the
exciseman, and I the crowd standing outside by
the bottles.

The exciseman grasped a gimlet in his hand,
and with a magnificent flourish, plunged it into
the hogshead, turned it round and round, and
pushed it in up to the handle. He had pre-
viously placed a can underneath to catch the
wine, but when he pulled out the gimlet not a
drop followed. We all looked at each other in
astonishment, and uncle said we had better re-
move the head of the cask. This was soon done,
amidst peals of laughter outside, and we dis-
covered that the interior of the cask was dry as
a chip. What could have become of the wine ?
We turned the hogshead over and examined the

Cbtrlei Dlckeo*.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

(October*). 1*00 39

head next the wall, when what should we find
but a large hole through which all the wiue had
been ' . \V ho had clone it ? The crowd

outside quickly hit upou the culprit, for we
heard them cry, " That's Polzue! Bravo, Polzue!"
We examined the remains of the seals upon the
door, and satisfied ourselves they had not been
tampered with, and for a long time could not
make out how the rascal had managed to suck
the monkey, as sailors call it. But when we
went next door the mystery was explained.
Polzue was a little cobbler who assisted in roll-
ing the hogshead into the store, and had watched
his opportunity to break through the lath and
plaster partition dividing the store from his
shop. Some months previously be had left the
town, and glad all parties were to get rid of
him, for he had taken to habits of drunkenness,
and made himself a nuisance to the neighbour-
hood. But he had first finished our hogshead
of claret.

Uncle Sam enjoyed the joke amazingly, but
Lawyer Tregarthen and the exciseman felt much
hurt, and threatened all the terrors of the law and
the revenue. " Who drank the claret P" has
passed into a proverb in our little out-of-the-
way Cornish town ever BJnou

A ROMAN RECEPTION.

THE Baron Bureaucrat, Envoy Extraordinary
of the Most Christian King, is of the mystic
" bund" diplomatic, and an accredited chrysalis
living in a cocoon of protocols. Periodically,
he takes his turn on the crank plenipotential,
and regularly lets himself be tightened into a
gorgeous prison jacket, like Mr. Keade's crimi-
nals, choking splendidly. I am bound to say
having seen him on public occasions, with the
gold daubed on profusely, and the orders nailed
on tirmly to his wooden chest, and the stiff patent
saw which he wears as collar that he makes up
as about the best doll of the party.

The order of precedence throws him next to
the great Panjam of France. He is, in a manner,
handcuffed to that awful representative ; and
the eldest son of the Church and the most
Christian king may be said to be chummed to-
gether, vicariously.

Curious to say, though the noble baron has
been sojourning here in Rome, some six or eight
months, we cannot be taken to be officially cogni-
sant of his being. \Ve have all seen him doing his
puppel's business in the public shows in which
parts he is more than respectable but we can-
not be said to be aware of his existence. He
has not been born to us pleiu potentially; and
until he has passed through the formal nte cus-
tomary, we shall obstinately disbelieve in him.

At last, on one clear night, a carriage trundles
me noisily into the broad Piazza ili Venezia,
where the genuine plenipotentiary dwells in
state, and where the possible one has cons,
to undergo the probationary rite. There is to
be jubilee to-night. The newly-made ambassador
will be at home to all the world. Decent apparel
is the only necessary passport.

I suppose there is no accredited wan of pro-
tocols who lays his head in so grand and me-
diaeval a fortress as that Palazzo di Venezia.
To look ou that bare still waste of wall, capped
with battlements, stretching away down a
whole side of an open square, and then running
on still further down a narrow squeezed pa
where you cannot pursue it further a L-
blank chilling bit of desolation, with tremen-
dous accommodation in the way of chambers,
dungeons, chapels, and what not this spectacle
is, in the open daylight, one of the most sombre
and suggestive ; for it sets us galloping back a by-
road ot history (without reference to the crimson
Koran of Murray the prophet) to the fiercer
days when it harboured tlie representative of
the magnificent Lion of St. Mark. But at
night, as I sec it now from the carriage win-
dow, it rises, a dark mysterious fastness, its
battlements standing out clear and defined
against a dull blue sky, wonderfully like to the
operatic castles disclosed at the opening of the
third act, where the wicked Basso lives, and the
two sentries pace to and fro, with their tin armour
glinting fitfully in the moonlight. Every window
has a Tine of flaring lamps upon its sill, which
marks out so many yellow bands, and lights the
old grey waste in a sort of mournful fashion.
In front, in the open place, crammed thickly
with the dark figures ot the populace, are two
enormous orchestras garnished with wildly flick-
erittg torches, and crowded with good players,
discoursing exquisite operatic musio under the
moonlight. The strangest, most Dantesque effect,
for one looking from the carriage ! A true me-
diaeval, semi-barbaric savour inthis kind of feudal
entertainment of the populace. For, it is rigor-
ously enacted that these nohle signors, while
doing honour to the higher classes, must also
furnish Panem et circenses, in this musical shape,
to the mob. Very weird-like and fitful show
the ranks of faces looking upwards, turned to
flaming red in the glare of the torches ; and
the musicians raisea aloft among the lights;
and the carriages rolling in and out at the fiery
archway a perfect blaze of illumination-^-aud
the pale horsemen in their white cloaks, like
mounted Dominicans, plunging among the dark
figures, shouting hoarsely, aud flashing tlieir
swords ; the old fortress looming out solemnly
behind. A scattering of gravel, a tramping
of restive horses, a banging of steps, and I
am discharged at tbe fiery arch in a miscellany
of guards, servants, and scarlet carpeting, and
blaze of light.

Ranks of the great Liveried look down expec-
tant from the top of the scarlet stair, up which
make progress, a company of golden puppets
illustrious Panjama military, civil, and with
a sprinkling of ike great Diplomatic Beflapped
while, at tke top, the Liveried Interest waves you
on grace fully into ike illuminated corridor.

I rub my eyes. Am I being taken bodily
to Dublin " Kestle" and the Lord " Lift'nint ?"
or will this gallery lead me out with a surprise
into familiar "Patrick's" Hall? Or ho\v is
this sudden gush of court suits, the real steel

40 [October 20,1860.]

ALL THE TEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

buttons and chains, the embarrassing spike
called in courtesy a sword, the comic bag-wig,
which we are accustomed to associate with that
striking solemnity, to be accounted for? Glories
of the " levy," incomparably unbecoming suits
they touch a chord far off in this Eternal City !
Chamberlains these a flock, a bevy ; but the
court suits ? They trouble me. For how could
they have compassed them, unless indeed it be
that one Nathan has an agency and fancy depot
in the Old Jewry or Ghetto yonder ? One
singles me out as his special prey, and being
entreated in a confidential manner to entrust to
him my name, and style, and titles, I break
them to him with the same caution and diplo-
matic reserve which I can see is the correct
tone of the place. Being thus formally con-
signed to this officer, we set out in a kind of
procession, down the galleries : Court Suit lead-
ing. Wondrously it affects me to see the long
white spike embarrassing his movements, pre-
cisely as in the dear old Dublin days the
guise of the lower limbs suggesting the usual
menial associations. But whither, Chamber-
lain?

The procession moves forward, not gathering
as it goes, limited strictly to its original ele-
ments : Court Suit pattering on in front : vic-
tim following close. Through many brilliant
passages, through many scarlet-lined chambers,
no help from without ; but glancing back, I see
in the far distance another victim following his
Court Suit meekly. I grow nervous. Whither,
again, O Chamberlain? This way. In here.
YVe are plunged suddenly into a bright glaring
room, all deep crimson and gold, and flooded
with the golden puppets ; with gaudy military,
civil, ecclesiastical; with our own ball-room
uniform, and shot and sprinkled with glittering
ladies. Millennium for the Great Beflapped is
at hand. Gorgeous Buckram is rampant. It
seems to me an illimitable perspective of backs,
of the long blue backs, with the tails and the
flowered flaps, and the white trousers. All
seem to have been temporarily elected into
French mayors, and councillors " prive"s," and
deputies. Dive in now into the glowing atmo-
sphere Court Suit still leading, and looking
round cautiously for his prisoner past this tem-
porary mayor, who is at the doorway, with his
linger on the wooden chest of another mayor,
and the captive is led up straight into a clear-
ing, where the great Panjam is standing in all
his state. He stands in his embroidered prison
jacket, suffering the usual strangulation fixed
for solemn occasions. I see that he is a very
florid man, perhaps a little goggle-eyed, and
works his chin convulsively over the saw-edged
collar. Chest is so well wood-lined and thrust
forward, with such a crop of orders nailed firmly
down, that I manufacture a new ornithological
variety on the spot, and prefigure to myself a
Robin Bluebreast.

What was the fate of the name so privately
confided to the Court Suit I never could learn.
In what unrecognisable shape the mutilated
syllabic remains were laid to the ear of the

august diplomat, I cannot so much as speculate.
There was profound obeisance on one side, and
on the other reciprocal dippings of the head and
neck (attended with spasms of pain) of the fitful
jerky character peculiar to the Robin Blue-
breast.

Court Suit, with yet something upon his mind,
has fluttered round to where a small lady, a
little bit faded yet not without a dignity of
hers, stands beside the noble Panjam. Yet,
she is not linked matrimonially to the noble
baron, but is only, as it were, lent for the
evening by a brother of the cloth of gold.
A phantom ambassadress, to whom all comers
shall bow obsequiously. Noble cardinals " re-
ceiving," invite a distinguished kinswoman to
stand in their brilliant chambers and play
hostess for them. Court Suit and his trust
being now parted for ever, he fades off into
space, and the Trust having passed through
his probation, it is hoped with tolerable credit,
backs gently in the compressed humanity, and
is absorbed into the gold-embroidered backs, the
buckram figures, the slowly turning kaleido-
scope of rustling silks and laces, cloths poly-
chromatic, and dazzling pendent jewels that
positively chink and tinkle.

A perfect Babel as to hum and chatter, every
one talking and whispering with a strained ear-
nestness as though he had his last worldly di-
rections to give before immediate execution,
and but two minutes for that mournful office.
Every one has a finger upon his neighbour's
breast, thus putting home to him what he has
to say. Every one is elbowing by every one else,
and tegs pardon of every one else. Every one is
military, ecclesiastical, or diplomatic, and wears
the cloth of his order. The whole mass scin-
tillates and shifts, like a piece of shot silk. As
shifting humanity glints and is rent open, now
and then I see a white gauzy fringe or waistcoat
against the wall round the room : a fringe that
rustles and turns, and, in parts, flashes and re-
flects. The noble Roman ladies have come to
see a diplomatic bureaucrat at home, and are
decked in their purple and fine linen, and gold
and jewels ; they blaze with these adornments.
The family secretary has been summoned and has
given up the gems which he holds in trust, has
received receipt for the same, and will come for
them again to-morrow. I see perfect cables of
pearls, and lustrous chains of diamonds and
emeralds, coiled thickly round fragile necks. It
is gratifying to see here a sort of Indian idol
a person of the most awful consideration, cream
of cream, princess and what not decked extra-
vagantly, literally encrusted, with these orna-
ments. Gratifying, I say, as a joss or idol
whose high priests shall be the Iinaum Han-
cock, or Dervishes Hunt and Roskell; but
otherwise a fearful little old lady, a perfect hag
of quality, whose abundant bejewelling only
brings out in more repelling hideousness the
tawny skin of her poor shrunk neck, crumpled
into a score of plaits and wrinkles. The earrings
swing heavily from her ears, a great tiara flashes
on her head, she has a stomacher for a jewelled

Cb.-irlct Dlckent.}

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Octobtr 10,1860] 41

breastplate, and she turns slowly round on a
pivot, this terrible little old lady, to furnish as-
tonished beholders with the best view. There
are other noble ladies thickly encrusted too,
but they are, on the whole, minor nebulae.

Such a tangled yarn of bishops, monsignori,
cardinals, soldiers, priests, ladies, and the un-
adorned black privates of the drawing-room,
all jammed' and huddled together in one seeth-
ing mass ! There are dainty bishops all violet,
with light violet silk mantles fluttering behind,
and violet limbs, and shading black hat witli
gold cord entwined with a wreath of green
velvet leaves. There are monsignori, daintier
still, the very dandies of their cloth, some unor-
dained and untonsured, being conspicuous at
parties questing the well-endowed English belle.
Most reasonably do their stricter brethren pro-
tost against their being credited with these
light doings, these gay oachelors belonging to
their guild only in respect of dress. One hun-
dred years back, it was a la mode for every one
to wear the dress ecclesiastical ; and all such as
enjoyed the patronage or protection of a cardinal
or any influential authority in the Church, were
privileged to masquerade it in grave sacerdo-
tal robes. Barbers, apothecaries, and others,
went abroad in decent black, and made the
Eternal streets positively teem with clergy-
men.

I see a tall and imposing figure, rustling and
flaming in scarlet, capped by a round, florid, and
amiable face not wholly unfamiliar to London
streets, and the famous English Cardinal whose
seat is at Westminster breaks out of the crowd.
I admire how, at one moment, he is all Itah.Mi
redundancy ; at another, plain English ; shiftily
swiftly, according to his company, from lively
animated gesticulation of arm and finger and
feature, and from a liquid and most musical
fluency, into sober, tranquil, and severe Saxon.
How his crimson flashes, and rustles noisily as
he turns, and the light is reflected from broad
round forehead, russet also ! He is taller by a
head than all these. And do I not know,
and recognise with a start, this little figure,
now gliding by, in violent contrast to the
scarlet cardinal ! Familiar the ivory face, and
the shadows and caves in the ivory face, and
the massive black hair, and the bar mouth with
the shining teeth all on view, and the plain un-
assuming black habit set off so daintily with the
thick sprinkling of tiny scarlet buttons : set off,
too, more effectively by the blazing diamond
star upon his right breast. But that little patch
of scarlet upon nis coal-black hair is more effec-
tive still, and should fill a painter's heart with
gratitude and refreshing comfort. He glides by
with his head bent a little forward, and brushes
by opposing figures ever so softly, and with a
liquid " Perdona" sliding from the shining
teeth. Inert military clothes-blocks look over
their shoulders disdainfully as they feel the
touch, and shrink back with a cowering humi-
lity as they discover who passes. Golden
dolls of diplomacy salute him with the smirk of
their order, and he flings them back a superb

nod. Some dare to accost him with a sort of
timorous servility, and to each he casts a sen-
tence or two, with a magnificent insolence
could hug him for. Eyes meet eyes furtively
as he glides, and many times are whispered the
words, " II famoso cardinale !" A poor little
shrivelled ancient, with a " civil " air about
him, and who has plainly hung on at some courts
time out of mind, and at whose button-hole
jingles a whole string of little medals and orders,
like a bunch of keys, has with a frightful au-
dacity ventured to stay the progress of " II fa-
moso." I tremble for the little grizzled ancient,
but he goes to his work manfully. He pours
some hurried tale in at the ivory ear. More pre-
cious than the best bit of comedy is the impa-
tient roving of the black eyes travelling on their
course, though the dark body be stopped. The
bar mouth lengthens sourly. The firm fleshy nose
is drawn downwards, and I catch the words
" E fatto ! e fatto !" as who should say, " Tis
done, I tell you, old man ; plague me no more !
let me by !" Aground out. Ancient retires with
ioy on his wizened face, and with his bunch of
Keys jingling.

To men thus deliciously overbearing, he
tramples his way onward. Grammont, the Wer-
ther-taced, true " Alfredo mio," smiles on him
sweetly, and it strikes me half sarcastically ; but
is flung back with a bare nod of defiance.
And now, touching his goal, reaching to the
soft fringe of fluttering muslin, and clouds
of lace and shining silks, whence Madame la
Princesse has been smiling smile of invitation
and wooing with her face, bar mouth fades away
and dissolves utterly, and a sweet soft expres-
sion takes its place. Presently he is sitting
opposite the two noble ladies, distilling the
sweetest honey of small-talk, most fascinating,
insinuating, and seducing.

Stalks by, now, the gigantic Edinburgh Vo-
lunteer: whom bystanders civil and military
survey curiously and with a sense of awful
mystery. Friends, privileged to such familiarity,
take hold of his dirk and hairy pouch, feeling
them all over, as do Indians the dress of the
white men. But to the august princesses and
other ladies, that needless exposure of lower
limbs is a terrible scandal. Brush by me, too,
many ministers and envoys, not one of whom, I
will venture to affirm, is fitted with the odd
exceptional no-mission which belongs to the
short black-bearded little man, whom foreigners
call " Odoroosell." He is the envoy unaccre-
dited, in diplomatic relation to the state with
whom we have no diplomatic relations. He is
a plenipotential contradiction and diplomatic
anomaly. He officially exists, and has his being
as Secretary of Legation, far down at Florence ;
but comes up on little amateur missions prying
about, and questing little facts and damaging
matters which he shall embody in a despatch to
" my government." Wise legislators, who shrink
from any contact with the scarlet hats that reign
on the Seven Hills, and who fought the good
figiit, years since, in that famous debate on the
Diplomatic Relations with Rome Bill, now Uttle

42 [October 20, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

dream that a real red-tape official goes up daily to
the Vatican, and is closeted for hours with the
Cardinal Secretary of State, arranging English
interests with that person, and playing- a little at
diplomatic chess.

Meantime, company pours in fast and thick.
Court Suits are overborne utterly, and finally
break down, having at last to make no more
than a feint of going through their office.
French colonels are brought up in clusters,
and go through their bowing with a finished
grace. Enter profusely the gold dolls, bre-
thren of the cloth: and when envoy meets
envoy, then comes the tug of wrist and in-
dustrious shake of welcome. The heads pie-
nipoteutial keep jerking downward towards
each other with' the spasmodic motion of robins
and canaries slaking their thirst. I am told
that both these motions, in proportion to their
length, are demonstrations of extravagant diplo-
matic affection.

Liveried retainers in the uniform (temporarily
I suspect, for a reason to be mentioned pre-
sently), come struggling by, freighted with a cool
load of ices, and cut their bright way through.
The ices are fashioned into pleasing configura-
tions of plump yellow pears and scored tortoise
backs. More perilous is that heap of bonbons,
macaroons, and such toothsome delicacies, piled
high upon a tray, in a slippery and uncertain
cohesion, borne also by a daring menial into the
very thick of the crowd. Broad hands are
plunged into the dainty heap, and return with a
rich booty. It seems to me that each succulent
item is detached according to the delicate mani-
pulation which can alone secure success at the
exciting sport of Jack Straws. How the whole
was not overthrown and swept overboard by re-
dundant cuffs and flaps, strewing the carpet
with luscious debris, is to me a source of the
strangest speculation.

In this fashion, then, is the noble baron
at home until close upon midnight ; the poly-
glot company, remaining firmly compact, eddy-
ing and fluctuating, and at the same hothouse
temperature, until that hour when it begins to
dissolve.

There remains only this pregnant fact to be
appended by way of moral. The noble baron has
a book in which you are invited to subscribe
your name (not without a certain overstrained
courtesy and anxiety on the part of the book-
holders) : with a view, it is to be presumed, of
his knowing who had done him the honour of
waiting on him. With another view, also : to
be discovered betimes on the morrow

Certain gentlemen in shabby cloaks, and very
shabby cocked-hats, will come round officially
to your hotel, and send up by waiter their desire
that you would enrich the hand that last night

S resented the ice, hat, or coat. These are
ucal or baronial menials : so we think we must
not wound their nicer feelings by a poor hono-
rarium. But this is pure weak-mindedness, and
a mistake. Any humble offering will suffice.
Date obolum ! Two Pauls, say, and you will have
their prayers. But I think it is not handsome

on the part of the noble baron at least not
conducive to the honour of the noble nation he
represents.

STOMACH FOR STUDY.

IT would be a good thing for the taught, if
teachers fairly understood that, among the young
always, and among the old most commonly, the
relation of ten hours' learning to five hours' learn-
ing is not as ten to five. We understand that
Mr. Edwin Chadwick has been engaged lately in
researches among teachers and scholars in na-
tional schools, factory schools, and elsewhere,
which, when their results are detailed, will de-
monstrate what reason alone might suffice to es-
tablish as a truth, that the children of the work-
ing classes who study books only for three or
four hours a day and give the rest of their time
to play and active labour, have brighter wits and
more true knowledge than those who are at
school both in the morning and the afternoon,
and spend their evenings m preparing lessons.
Employers of intelligent labour in the manufac-
turing districts have discovered the superiority of
half-time scholars. In the agricultural districts,
let a boy work half tlie day at school and half
the day in the fields, and he brings energy of
health to studies never followed with a jaded
mind, while he has time enough out of school
for the digestion of his mental food, and it be-
comes, not a weight to be borne on his mind's
back, but part of its life and growth, source of
new strength. A boy's or a girl's body thrives
by food given at about four hour intervals, and
tiie mind only is made sickly by incessant stuff-
ing! Intellectual growth depends not upon
ijuantities devoured, nor very much on the sort
of nourishing and wholesome food that may be
taken, but on that strength of the digestive
power which is certainly destroyed by gluttony.
" I read fourteen hours a day," said a proud
working student to a famous scholar. " Indeed,
sir!" was the reply; "and pray when do you
think ?"

The practical issue of Mr. Chadwick's in-
quiries is to show that without laying any more
bricks upon bricks, we can almost double the
school accommodation, while we improve the effi-
cacy of instruction for the masses. Grant that
three hours a day of energetic study in the school-
house, with the hour or two of home preparation
it demands, gives to a child's brain as much of
that particular form of diet as it can digest, and
we throw open the national schoolroom or the
factory school every day to two bodies of
scholars. A hundred may be taught where there
was only space for fifty, and at the end of the
year the hundred will have sounder knowledge,
brighter wit, and, at the same time, healthier
frames, than would have been given to the fifty
with cramped bodies and crammed heads.

Many teachers, we know, honestly believe
that the young mind has no digestive power;
that its stomach is, so to speak, a sack of un-
limited size and elasticity which is to be stuffed
with knowledge, likely or not at all likely to be

CbrliD1ckn.]

ALL Till: YKAR ROUND.

C0etotr, IMA.]

wanted as provision for the voyage of life after
the age of fourteen, sixteen, or twenty. They
look upon leaeliin^ as the provisioning of some
newly-built ship for a lout,' passage, or the coal-
iug of a steamer; and even then there are some
have sueli faith in old stores or in workrd-
out mines, that they will mix their supplies
largely with wormeatWJ l)iscuit, and pour in
more slate than roal, to bo thrown overboard as
soon as the good ship has discharged her pilot,
and is fairly tossing on the open sea.

In childhood' and in age there is, as to the
mind, too little practical distinction made be-
tween feeding and working. The body's power
of strengthening itself by the assimilation of food
has understood limits, a"nd its power of putting
out the strength so got is known to be a great
deal less limited. A man who eats for two hours
works for ten. The swallowing of facts by the
mind is as the swallowing of food by the body.
Reading, repetition, learning by rote, are but
means to an end, and the end to which they are
a means is not the mere power of vomiting forth
again what has been taken in. The mental di-
gestion of the young is naturally very energetic.
Hear a child besieging those about it with its
endless Why? and How? and wonder at the
blindness of men who think that dogmatic au-
thority is the best help to the growth of its
understanding, and that it suffices to reply to
those questions with, Because I say it, ana As I
say. Ihe spirit of independent research, of end-
less inquiry and comparison, leading to innu-
merable shrewd little conclusions, is tne process
of digestion in the child's mind. The combative
argumentative temper of the boy and girl, so
prompt to question all that is presented to it, is
a sign of healthy hunger in the brain, not to be
checked as presumptuous challenging of the au-
thority of elders, but to be encouraged as a
means of building tip the strong life of the mind.
Is it not notorious that in schools and families
this habit of constant questioning by the young,
is often forcibly repressed because it becomes so
direct and searching, or so wide in its range, that
the elder to whom appeal is made, if it be bis
rule, or her rule, fairly to meet every inquiry,
may many times a day have no better reply to
give than, " I don't know " F

It is a miserable vanity that shrinks from
uttering that little "I don't know ;" vanity
founded on the meanest estimate of the infinity
of knowledge. There was a time when a few
bookshelves would hold the written record of
all that men knew; now, it would take a life
to learn all that is known and thought about
a single subject. The new degrees of Ba-
chelor and Doctor of Science at the London
University are founded upon the understand-
ing that even of the imperfect knowledge
man has of each small branch of the study of
nature, one branch alone can be mastered tho-
roughly by one mind. It is not even considered
to be m the power of one man to master, as it
stands, the whole science of chemistry a science
still in its infancy : the doctor of chemical science
may be an inorganic or an organic chemist, he

cannot be both. In the commonest truths lie
ofien the deep.-st of unfathomed mysteries. Is
the child, then, to be brought up in the persua-
sion that his fattier or his schoolmaster can
answer every question if he will, but is unwill-
ing to be teased too much ? Wholesomer teaching
no youth ever gets than when the person who is
held to be the wisest, and who is most ready to
guide with his knowledge, is found daily, and as
it were hourly, pointing to the vast regions of
knowledge and thought which are beyond even
his vision with the honest " I don't know," which
makes the way straight for pursuance of inquiry.

Centuries ago, Roger Bacon declared one of
the chief hindrances to increase of sound know-
ledge was the prevalent willingness of men to
receive credit for knowing that of which they
indeed were ignorant. Honour be to " I don't
know " in the schoolhouse ! If the teacher be
only reasonably wise, and answer questions of all
sorts to the best of his ability, never affecting
knowledge that he has not, rather proud than
ashamed to guide those who learn from, him by
the honesty with which he confesses ignorance
when he is ignorant, he will be in the eyes of
the young about him a true Solomon. It
is amazing that men who have been boys,
who have been to school and shared with the
race of boys clear-sighted ridicule of affectation
in their rulers, can suppose that their own airs
of infallibility, maintained by more or less sup-
pression of inquiry, are as against the same race
a successful fraud upon intelligence.

Whatever goes into the brain ought to be
properly debated there, that is to say digested.
Together with the time for swallowing the
daily bits of knowledge, should go a longer time
for their conversion into the material of thought.
The process is one that may be almost left to
nature. In youth it begets infinite research into
the experience of others, and in age it goes on
silently. At each period the process is the same ;
the best attainable experience of others is sought,
and compared. The young can only appeal to
those about them and work upon oral testimony;
the old seek information of the best attainable
authorities by questioning their books. At every
age the vitality of the whole process depends
upon that quiet turning over of facts and reflec-
tions in the mind. Perhaps even the mental state
known as "wool-gathering" in men who study
much, is as truly a result of the process of diges-
tion in the mind as the bodily torpor sometimes
following a full meal is associated with the
labours of the stomach.

If these be truths, it is not hard to see how
possible it is that three hours a day spent in the
mere feeding on facts may be of six times more
value than six hours so spent, if the facts learnt
in the shorter time be fairly dwelt upon during
the intervals of feeding. The medical student,
even in the strength of his youth, is made to
feel tiiat three lectures a day that is to say,
a three hours' supply of naked facts are as much
as ne can honestly digest ; more work than they
afibrd to his mind is cram, for which though it
may make a prize animal of him and get iiim

44 [October 20, 18600

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

famously through two or three years of compe-
tition he is in the end weaker of wit. The
scholar who is crowding information into his
head all the day long, is of no use to his fellows
except as a compiler, and he compiles badly;
while the scholar who spends only a few hours
a day in the acquisition of fresh knowledge, and
gives all the rest of his time to fair bodily and
mental exercise, can get through twelve, or at a
pinch, even sixteen hours of the mental work
by which his fellows are most truly benefited.
The distinction is a wide one, in mind as in
body, between feeding that supports and in-
creases the strength, and the real use and exer-
cise of the strength so maintained. There are
plenty of books printed by men who throw their
time away on each extreme. Some cram, their
brains but never use them; others use their
brains but never feed them.

The hurt of competitive examinations among
students, and especially among students who
have passed their boyhood, is, that they are too
commonly made tests rather of memory than of
intelligence. They are based on the long accepted
dictum that young people have not to think, but
to fill their minds with facts taken for granted.
Whoever can show recollection of the greatest
number of such facts, or of the reasonings of
othei people, which he has been taught in the
same manner to take without question and re-
peat by rote, is the prize wit in whom examiners
delight : though they know well that memory is
no sign of intelligence, and has indeed not sel-
dom been found strong where the higher powers
of the mind are undeveloped. But the compul-
sion to remember or be plucked, is at this day
forcing teachers and learners to feel that there
is no time for the deliberate study which aims
only at producing vigour of intellect. The
thing wanted, is power to turn facts to good ac-
count, not transfer of the facts themselves in a
great heap into the mind out of the books in
which they can be kept on a shelf ready for use
as easily as drugs in jars. We make a doctor
of a man by teaching him to use drugs, not by
forcing him to carry them about upon his back.
Examinations of students, as they are com-
monly conducted, have their good side, but
their bad side is that they offer premiums rather
upon repletion than on power. It is a vile
comparison, but not entirely an untrue one, to
compare them with a trial of bodily strength, in
which, instead of a fair test of the power of
endurance in running, leaping, hurling, wrestling,
every candidate should be required to cram him-
self till he could cram no more, and then, basins
being set before the competitors, the praise
were to be to him who cast up most.

Much that we have here said, may be illus-
trated by the unexpected success of a system of
instruction founded without any particular re-
ference to views like these. The secretary of a
great educational institution in the heart of
London saw outside its doors of an evening
young men set free from hours of business in
government offices, counting-houses and else-

their own education if they could ; and within
the building he saw all appliances for systematic
education locked up in deserted lecture-rooms.
He urged his views on the proper authorities,
and so it came to pass, four or five years ago,
that the evening classes at King's College were
established. The success of the experiment has
far exceeded every expectation. loung men,
generally between the ages of twenty and thirty,
flock to the classes, in numbers rapidly increasing
session after session, and, after the routine work
of their day, apply themselves for one or two,
seldom for so much as three hours, to the re-
ception of direct teaching. This involves, of
course, the application of spare time to inde-
pendent preparation and reflection, but until
last year the college itself was thrown open
only for two hours on five evenings, as now only
for three hours in five evenings of the week,
and they suffice. The students in these classes
face the lecturers with an energy of thoughtful
work, and make advances upon which nobody
had calculated when the plan was first esta-
blished. Where there was one class receiving
two lectures a week upon one branch of study,
there are now four classes, or even six. In four
years there has been fourfold increase of the
classes first established ; and new classes for the
study of Natural Philosophy, of Political Eco-
nomy, of Italian, and so forth, have been de-
manded. Of each subject there is elementary
teaching, and in most there is a demand also for
the highest forms of knowledge. There are
students of mathematics busying themselves
with the differential calculus, and the abstruser
refinements of that science ; there are students
of English, studying difficult, problems of philo-
logy, and creating out of their own healthy
spirit of inquiry a demand for the addition that
has just been made to the department of an
Anglo-Saxon class. The evening classes have in
fact outnumbered other departments of the col-
lege, and have become an evening college in which
men, somewhat older than those who attend in
the morning, work as occasional students at par-
ticular subjects, or, as regular matriculated stu-
dents, don the cap and gown, go through full
courses of study, earning college distinctions, and
obtaining at Burlington House all being done
during the spare time between hours of office
work their University degrees. The high
average of power shown by these men, and their
unfaltering attention, are, of course, owing in
some measure to their greater age and to the
common bond of earnestness implied in the fact
that each of them has paid his own money, out
of his own earnings, for the information he re-
ceives. It is said to be a literal fact that during
these four or five years in a department which
last winter numbered five hundred and fifty
students, no class has once been disturbed by
active thoughtlessness or the most distant ap-
proach to misconduct.

Assuredly, these good results depend in a
great measure upon the fact that there is brought
into every class-room, freshness of attention.

where, willing to carry on steadily the work of | The pouring in of information and suggestion

Charlei Dlkni.J

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October*), I960. J 45

lasts for three hours at most ; few attend more
than two classes on one evening ; and there are
no lectures at all on Saturday. All information
goes, therefore, only to the satisfying of a healthy
appetite, and (here is ample time for each meal
of study to be digested^ properly, before the
iu'\t is taken. The eight or ten lectures a week
thus actually give more of sound training to
those who attend them, than they would have
had from attendance upon eight or ten lectures
a day.

CITY OF FLOWERS, AND FLOWER
OF CITIES.

OUR readers have recently had daguerreotyped
for them a portrait of " Rome the Eternal" by a
pen skilled to reproduce every outline of form,
and each light and shade of character visible
there to an observant eye. The present writer
can, from his own personal knowledge, offer an
independent testimony to the accuracy of the
picture drawn by his unknown fellow-contri-
butor to these columns. It was the perusal of
that truthful description which suggested the
desirability of placing before the English public
an equally truthful, and, as far as his powers
will permit, an equally accurate presentation of
another Italian city ; not being induced thereto
by any pretension of producing a "pendant" to
the former canvas, but by the consideration that
a comparative estimate of the leading Italian
cities, and especially of the two to which we are
here referring, is, at the present moment, and
under the circumstances which are on the eve
of being completed, a matter of urgent and im-
portant interest.

The kingdom of Italy will shortly take its
place among the members of the European
family of nations. There is still room for the
speculations of politicians as to the more or less
of difficulty and struggle which may precede
and attend the birth of the new kingdom, and
for dissertations on the greater or less amount
of ill will and jealousy with which the new
comer will be regarded by several of its elder
sisters. But, doubts as to the safe delivery of
this new birth of time are already out of date.
Like it or dislike it who may few or many
lives, and little or much sacrifice and suffering
as the achievement may cost Italy will shortly
be an independent and united nation under the
constitutional sceptre of Victor Emmanuel, first
King of Italy. And this kingdom of Italy will
have a capital. And the choice of this capital
is a matter of infinite importance to Italy, and
of no small interest to Europe. Absolutists
and friends native and foreign of the fallen and
falling tyrannies which divided the peninsula
among them, are already speculating eagerly on
the consequences of discord on this point, which
they deem must needs arise from the selfishness
and want of patriotism of the different cities,
each wont to lead the life of a capital, and each
worthy of being the capital of a nation. They
will be disappointed. They may dismiss all hope
of seeing Italy risk the loss of all she has gained,

and all she so dearly prizes, by suicidal quarrels
on any such subject. There will doubtless be
differences of opinion on the point, and there
will be need of mature consideration (though
much has already, it may be observed in pass-
ing, been given to the subject by several of
the leading minds in Italy) ; but there will be
no quarrelling.

It may be considered that, numerous as are
the cities which might, from their former rank
and importance, fairly make pretension to supre-
macy, the choice, in fact, lies between Rome
and Florence. Turin would prefer to be itself
the capital of Italy. But if this cannot be (and
even the Torinese themselves feel that it can-
not be), then Turin would prefer that Florence
should be raised to the vacant throne. Pre-
cisely similar sentiments prevail at Milan. The
question, in short, maybe assumed to be narrowed
to a choice between the Eternal City and the
City of Flowers. Let us examine a little, their
comparative claims.

Those of Rome appeal irresistibly to the
sympathies of imaginative minds nourished on
classical associations and reminiscences. There
is also, of course, a class of persons to whom
the ecclesiastical supremacy of papal Rome will
seem to constitute a claim to civil pre-eminence.
But, sentiment of this kind is very much more
common northward of the Alps than in Italy;
and it is assuredly not on such grounds that
the Italians will choose their new capital. The
Rome which exercises a potent spell by the
greatness of its name on the imaginations of
many Italians, is not papal, but imperial and
pagan Rome: the Rome which once boasted
itself the capital of the civilised world. And it
is hardly necessary to expend a word in pointing
out how little papal Rome, especially the papal
Rome of the nineteenth century, has in common
with the mighty "nominis umbra" which ex-
ercises this fascination; or to insist on the
absurdity of proceeding to the eminently prac-
tical business of selecting a capital for the young
nation under the influence of a sentimental en-
thusiasm not only so empty, but so utterly de-
lusive. The practical ana insuperable oujec-
tions which exist to making Rome the capital
of the new constitutional monarchy may be
briefly stated.

It is, and, as far as can be at present foreseen,
it is likely for some time further to remain, the
residence of the Pope. And this fact alone is
felt by the great majority of Italians to be an
absolutely fatal objection. Those who bear in
mind the nature of papal influence, its modus
operaudi, and the impossibility of suddenly eject-
ing it from the old paths, will comprehend at
once the insuperable nature of the difficulty,
which would alone be sufficient to decide the
question, if it were seconded by no others.

But in the next place the climate of Rome
is a fatal objection to it. What would be
sai>l of the wisdom of wittingly selecting for
the capital city of a great nation, a spot in
which, during six months ot the year, none save
natives acclimatised from their infancy can re-

46 [October 20, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

main without danger to life ? And this when
the most effectual means for welding together
in one homogeneous whole, the different peoples
of the Italian family will consist in the con-
course at the capital which the necessities of
representative government occasion and pro-
mote ; when the sole agency by which all that
is best in each of the widely differing races of
the peninsula can be selected and preserved,
and all that each has of bad can be diminished
and eradicated, will be the social mixing in the
capital arising from those necessities, and the
active propagandism of ideas and habits which
a society so constituted in the capital would ex-
ercise in the remotest corners of the kingdom.

Either of the .reasons above stated would
amply suffice for setting aside the mere poetical
claims of the great "nominis umbra," which has,
at all events in our own day, so balefully over-
shadowed all that has stagnated and rotted
beneath its upas-tree shelter. But there are
others which will suggest themselves readily
to the readers of that picture of the Eternal
City above referred to, and which may be further
illustrated by contrasting them with the charac-
teristics of the Tuscan candidate for the promo-
tion.

In the days when every Italian city had an
independent life and social characteristics of its
own, each of the fair sisterhood was familiarly
known by some special epithet appropriated to
it, as compendiously descriptive ot its peculiar
charms and idiosyncrasy. Rome, as all the
world knows, was " the Eternal ;" Naples, " la
bella ;" Genoa, " la superba ;" Lucca, " la in-
dustriosa ;" Padua, " la dotta ;" and Bologna,
"la grassa," &c. And Naples the beautiful,
Genoa the superb, Lucca the industrious, Padua
the learned, and Bologna the fat, were deemed,
not only by their own inhabitants but by the
general consent of Italy, to merit these special
distinctions. And Florence, in many respects
the noblest of them all, what was the peculiar
characteristic of fair Florence? "Firenze la
gentile" was the style and title accorded by
universal consent to the city which historians
have designated as the most republican of re-
publics ; and the qualities expressed by the term
are readily recognised to be especially character-
istic of the " city of fair flowers and flower of
fair cities " by those who know her well. But
the complete sense of the word is not so readily
rendered by any one English adjective as in the
case of the epithets applied to other cities which
have been quoted. The reader will have seen at
once that the word " gentile " is etymologically
equivalent to our adjective genteel. But, apart
from the disagreeable vulgarity which the cant
use of this unlucky word has stamped it with,
" genteel " in its best day only partially con-
veyed the ideas comprised in the Italian word
[' gentile." In the mouth of an Italian the
idea expressed by it includes all the amenities
and agreeabilities, which result from a high state
of civilisation and social culture. It is of all
words that which most completely expresses
what is in truth the especial quality of Florence

and the Florentines, and never was epithet more
happily applied. The population of Florence
does manifest assuredly more than that of any
other city of Italy, perhaps more than that of
any city in the world, the results of long and
highly cultivated civilisation. Of course such a
statement will seem monstrous to Londoners
or Parisians; but I think that, even bearing
in mind all the triumphs of tho&e rival centres of
the civilised world, what I have said may be
maintained. I have not said, be it observed, that
Florence is a more civilised capital than London,
or that a Florentine is a more civilised man.
than a Londoner. Guizot defines civilisation to
be progress ; not badly perhaps. And assuredly
Florence can lay no claim to rivalry with the
great centres of movement in that respect. But
she possesses a more universally diffused result
of former high civilisation. Her people are in a
more marked degree the product of a long ances-
try of highly civilised forefathers. The habits
and modes of feeling of the population supply a
curious confirmation of the truth of old Ovid's
dictum,

Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes
Emollit mores, nee sinit esse feroa.

To have well studied the liberal arts softens
the character, and prevents men from being
brutal ; prevents even their descendants for a
long time from becoming so ; for, though the
" faithful " study of art may be more a thing of
the past than of the present in Florence, it is
impossible not to recognise the humanising
effects on this people of a traditional as well as
organic love for, and appreciation of, the beauti-
ful. A Florentine, of whatsoever class, is never
brutal ; he is rarely vulgar. He is often insin-
cere, and not unfrequently dishonest ; for princes
and priests have through many a generation
perseveringly and consistently striven to educate
him to falsehood and fraud. But he is in these
respects assuredly no worse than the popula-
tions of other Italian cities ; similar causes
have, in them also, been at work to produce simi-
lar results. When these causes shall have been
removed entirely, as they have been in great
part removed already, the lapse of one genera-
tion will suffice to efface the consequences of
their evil teaching. But the lapse of many
generations has not availed to destroy the essen-
tially social nature, the love of order, and the re-
spect for law, which have been the product of
those happier previous centuries when each
citizen had his part in the making of the laws he
was called on to obey.

The old civic nurture crops out remarkably
also in that special courteousness and good
breeding which has helped to gain for Florence
the epithet of " la gentile." It is not too much
to say, that when, after having been accustomed
for some time to the manners of the Tuscan
people, one is brought into contact with other
populations, whether Italian or on the northern
side of the Alps, the world seems suddenly to
have become full of angles and roughnesses.
The universal and rarely failing good humour of
the people of Florence contributes much also, it

Cb.fl,. Dlokni. J

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October JO, im] 47

is true, to this result, which is the case to a de-
iiai tlioM; who have never experienced it
will scarcely belicre. This good humour may
he referred by physiologists to climate, food,
race, or whatever cause may to their wisdom
i capable of producing it ; but it is unde-
niably a very valuable portion of a Tuscan man
or woman's iulicritaii

Another mode, in which the fruits of the old
civic civilisation manifest themselves, is in the
lad that crimes of violence we almost wholly
unknown in Tuscany ; with the exception, per-
haps, it ought to be added, of Leghorn, the
peculiar ami mixed population of which, ciiv
places it in u category apart from the rest of
Tuscany. This habitual aversion to violence
has beea attributed, very unfairly, to want of
manhood, end-fry, and courage. But such a
taunt is out, of date now. Since Curtatpne,
the Tuscan Thermopylae, and the recent doings
of the Tuscan volunteers in Sicily and Naples,
we shall not hear much more of Tuscan inability
to take a good man's part in the roughest work
that may be needed. Besides, the use of the
stiletto has not generally been held to denote
manliness or courage in the bravo who makes
street corners unsafe in the dark hours. Cowards
cau hate, and can find safe means of gratifying
hat red ; but assassination is as entirely unknown
in Tuscany as open violence.

It is needless to insist at length on the truly
incalculable importance to the future kingdom
of Italy of this deep-dyed, ingrained civilisation
in the people of its capital. We all know how
wide and deep is the influence exercised on the
manners of a nation by those of its chief city,
especially in the case of people ruled by repre-
sentative government. In despotisms, the ca-
pital, with an unhealthy and mischievous action,
attracts to itself and absorbs the best energies
and capabilities of the nation ; and though it is
the cynosure of provincial eyes, it fails, for
want of a reflux of the tide, in exercising a
civilising influence on the provinces. In a re-
presentative government, on the contrary, the
ebb and flow to and from the capital, healthfully
circulates the social life-blood through the
system ; the civilisation of the chief city acts
powerfully on the remotest portions of the body
politic. That Italian manners and social ideas
should be assimilated to those of Florence
rather than to those of Rome, would be worth
to the nation, starting on its path of progress,
a good century of advance.

A consideration of the causes of this supe-
riority of the Tuscan civilisation has also an im-
portant bearing on the question in hand. We
are told much of the grand memories and asso-
ciations connected with the great name of Rome.
If by these are meant the old classic glories of
republican and imperial Rome, the well-known
topics of the great historians and poets whose
works form the earliest and unforgotten associa-
tions of the schoolboy days of all educated
Europe, then one has to observe simply that
those pagan times and that society are so far
removed as to exercise no sort of influence

on the Roman world of the Christian period ;
removed, not only by distance of time, and
diversity of religion and civilisation, but cut
off from all connexion with modern Rome
by the great cataclysm of the barbarian irrup-
tion. Even were it not so even were there
unbroken continuity of the old civilisation-
even granting that the eloquence of an honour-
able member for Syracuse, or for Susa, might be
warmed by the consciousness that he was speak-
ing on the spot where Cicero spoke even then
it would be questionable or rather it would
not be a question at all whether it would be
desirable to inspire Italy's Re galantuomo the
honest king with ideas drawn from the exem-
plar of Augustus ; to hold up to the national
guards, the praetorian guards as a model ; or to
encourage the senate to gather its precedents
from the traditions of the senators of the em-
pire.

But if, on the other hand, those who invoke
these " mighty memories" are thinking of any
period in the history of papal Rome, or of any
of the " glories" of the " capital of Christen-
dom," it must be replied that, even admitting
it to be a moot point whether the influence of
the vast system whose centre and head were at
Rome may not have been, at certain epochs
and in certain respects, more beneficial than
harmful to Europe, it assuredly was never any.
thing to Italy but a fountain-head of barbarism,
and an obstacle to every principle of civilisation.
While civism at Florence was laying down the
deep foundations of the principles of modern
liberty, feudalism and sacerdotalism at Rome
were engendering and perpetuating the most
unimprovable barbarism, and educating the
people to a savagery which no after time has
yet availed wholly to efface. Turbulence and
violence were then universal throughout Italy ;
but in Florence, the violence and the turbulence
were the struggles and the stumblings of a
people painfully striving to accomplish the high
and arduous feat of orderly self-government:
while the turbulence and violence at Rome were
due to the imbecility of a galling yet undis-
puted despotism, and the anti-social excesses of
ruflkn barons. The violences of Giano della
Bella were the throes attending the birth of
principles and ideas yet fruitful in the popular
Florentine mind. The excesses of the Orsini
and Colonna were the brutalising assertion of
the supremacy of lawless force fruitful this
also, even to the present day, in the popular
mind at Rome.

There are several other reasons for selecting
the city of flowers, and flower of cities, as the
Florentines love to call their gentile Firenze,
to be the future capital of Italy. These, though
they may appear to many to be more weighty
grounds of choice than that which I have been
insisting on, may be stated more compendiously.
To my own mind no consideration is of greater
importance than the admitted and special cha-
racteristics of the population.

Of all the cities on which the choice conld
fall, Florence is the most central. It is true

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October 30, I860.]

that if the number of miles from the foot of the
Alps to the toe of the boot were measured,
Rome might be found nearer to the middle of
such a line. But, if the centre of the popula-
tion, instead of that of the soil be sought and
it is of course this which is required Florence
would be found to come nearer to the require-
ment. All the miles to be travelled by the re-
presentatives of the kingdom in coming to their
parliamentary duties, would be fewer if the ca-
pital were at Florence than if it were at Rome.

In the next place, Florence is very favourably
placed in a military point of view. It is from
its position more secure from a hostile coup de
main than any of its rival sisters. And to many
minds, this will appear not the least of its nu-
merous advantages.

Then again, in point of climate and sanitary
considerations, it fairly bears the bell among all
the first-class cities of Italy. The death rate
is more favourable than in any of them ; and
the medical statistics indicate, with regard to all
the great classes of disease which chiefly shorten
and destroy life, that the prevalence of them in
Florence is below the average.

There still remains to be mentioned one of
the most important considerations ; many people
will say, the most important of all. If Italy
wills to be a homogeneous and united nation, it
is exceedingly desirable that it should have a
homogeneous and single language. Few, per-
haps, save those who have dwelt much in Italy,
are aware of the degree to which the want of
such a language extends. It is not merely that
the Piedmontese, the Lombard, the Venetian,
the Bolognese, and the Neapolitan populace
speak all of them dialects mutually unintelligible,
and all equally unlike the language of Italian
literature ; but even the educated classes in all
these districts often are unable, and always are
unwilling, to use any but their own provincial
speech.

" You have had a great treat," said I once to
an Italian friend in Paris, who had been sitting
at dinner by the side of a very distinguished
exile, and talking all the time as fast as their
tongues could go, "you have had the great
treat of a good bout of Italian talk." " Much
better than that," was the reply, " we have been
talking Milanese." The true delight of these
two compatriot exiles meeting on a foreign soil
was to hear the dear abominable jargon which
brought back to their recollections the drawing-
rooms and promenades of Milan.

It is needless to spend a word in insisting on
the supreme importance to the newly-born
nation of putting an end to this diversity of
tongues ; the importance of it to the literature,
to the forensic and legislative eloquence, and
even to the social progress, of the nation. And
it is equally unnecessary to point out the well
of pure and undefiled Italian. Lombards, Ro-
mans, Neapolitans, all consider themselves co-
heirs of the Tuscan literature. But if Dante

is to be an Italian ^and not a Tuscan glory, the
" bel paese ove il si suona" must not be confined
to the banks of the Arno. In fact, Florence is,
and indefeasibly must be, the intellectual, lite-
rary, and educational capital of Italy. And
how far more completely and efficiently it could
exercise its functions as such for the 'benefit of
the nation, if it be also the political and social
capital, must be evident to every one.

Finally, there is one other consideration, which,
though of less political or social importance than
those which have been spoken of, is yet worthy
of being taken into account. No city in Italy
unless it be poor, hapless, lone Venice has
such a provision of public buildings as Florence.
And they, indeed, are stored with associations
which may be invoked to some good purpose. If
there is on the face of the earth one spot which
more than another may be deemed the veritable
cradle of modern European liberty, it is that
noble old " Hall of the Five Hundred," in the
Palazzo Vecchio, at Florence. Should that be
selected as the chamber of meeting of a new
Five Hundred, chosen from all Italy to uphold
the principles once maintained there by five
hundred Florentine citizens, there would hardly
be among them a " soul so dead" as not to feel
his patriotism exalted and his eloquence warmed,
by the mute witnesses looking down on him from
the pictured walls which have re-echoed the brave
words of so many generations of free citizens.

It would be tedious to enter on a long cata-
logue of the noble edifices, such as any capital
in Europe might be proud of, which adorn every
part of Florence. Those who have ever seen
them will admit, not only that their abundance
is such as to offer ready provision for well-
nigh every need of the chief city of a great
people, but what is of more consequence that
the style and character of their architecture is
such as worthily to represent the grand and
severe majesty of a free people.

Nature and art, past history and present con-
venience, agree in designating the city of flowers
and flower of cities, Firenze la gentile, as the
capital of Italy. There is good reason to be-
lieve that most of the best heads and most in
fluential men in Italy have come to the con-
clusion that such is the case. There can be no
doubt that if the question were to be settled
after the fashion of the election of the Greek
general of old, by the majority of second votes of
all the candidates, fair Florence would come out
of the scrutiny without a black ball.

Now ready, price 5s. 6d., bound in cloth,

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ALL THE YEAR ROUND,

Containing from Nos. 51 to 76, both inclusive.

Volumes the First and Second are to be had of all
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Published at the Office, No. 26, Wellington Street, Strtind. Printed by C. WHITINO, Beaufort House, Strand.

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ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

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WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

79.]

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1860.

[PRICE Id.

A DAY'S RIDE: A LIFE'S ROMANCE.

CHAPTER XIII.

BREAKFAST over, I took a walk through the
town. Though in a measure prepared for a
scene of unbustling quietude and tranquillity, I
must own that the air of repose around far sur-
passed all I had imagined. The streets through
which I sauntered were grass-grown and un-
trodden; the shops were but half open; not an
equipage, nor even a horseman was to be seen.
In the Platz, where a sort of fruit-market was
held, a few vendors of grapes, peaches, and
melons sat under large crimson umbrellas, but
there seemed few purchasers, except a passing
schoolboy, carefully scanning the temptations in
which he was about to invest his kreutzer.

The most remarkable feature of the place,
however, and U is one which through a certain
significance has always held its place in my
memory, was that, go where one would, the
palace of the grand-duke was sure to finish
the view at one extremity of the street. In
fact, every alley converged to this one centre,
and the royal residence stood like the governor's
chamber in a panopticon gaol. There did my
mind for many a day picture him sitting like a
huge spider watching the incautious insects that
permeated his web. I imagined him fat, indo-
lent, and apathetic, but yet with a gaoler's in-
stincts, ever mindful of every stir ana movement
of the prisoners below. With a very ordinary
telescope he must be master of everything that
went on, and the humblest incident could not
escape his notice. Was it the consciousness of
this surveillance that made every one keep the
house ? Was it the feeling that the " Gross
ogliche" eye never left them, that prevented
men being abroad in the streets and about their
affairs as in other places ? I half suspected this,
and set to work imagining a state of society
thus scanned and scrutinised. But that the
general aspect of the town so palpably pro-
claimed the absence of all trade ana industry,
I might have compared the whole to a glass
hive ; but they were all drones that dwelt there,
1 here was not one " busy bee" in the whole of
them.

While I rambled thus carelessly along, I came
in front of a sort of garden fenced from the
street by an iron railing. The laurel, and ar-
butus, and even the oleander, were there, grace-

fully blending a varied foliage, and contrasting
in their luxuriant liberty so pleasantly with the
dull uniformity outside. Finding a gate wide
open, I strolled in and gave myself up to the
delicious enjoyment of the spot. As I was de-
liberating whether this was a public garden or
not, I found myself before a long, low, villa-
like building, with a colonnade in front. Over
the entrance was a large shield, which on nearer
approach I recognised to contain the arms of
England. This, therefore, was the legation,
the residence of our minister, Sir Shalley
Doubleton. I felt a very British pride and
satisfaction to see our representative lodged so
splendidly. With all the taxpayer's sentiment
in my heart, I rejoiced to think that he who
personated the nation should, in all his belong-
ings, typify the wealth, the style, and the
grandeur of England, and in the ardour of this
enthusiasm I hastened back to the inn for the
despatch-bag.

Armed with this, and a card, I soon presented
myself at the door. On the card I had written,
" Mr. Pottinger presents his respectful compli-
ments, and requests his excellency will favour
him with an audience of a few minutes for an
explanation."

I had made up my mind to state that my
servant, in removing my smaller luggage from
the train, had accidentally carried off this Foreign-
office bag, which, though at considerable incon-
venience, I had travelled much out of my way
to restore in person. I had practised this ex-
planation as I dressed in the morning, I had
twice rehearsed it to an orange-tree in the
garden, before which I had bowed till my back
ached, and I fancied myself perfect in my part.
It would, 1 confess, have been a great relief to
me to have had only the slightest knowledge of
the great personage before whom I was about
to present myself, to have known was he short
or tall, young or old, solemn or easy-mannered,
had he a loud voice and an imperious tone, or
was he of the soft and silky order of his craft.
I'd have willingly entertained his " gentleman"
at a moderate repast for some information on
these points, but there was no time for the
inquiry, and so I rang boldly at the bell. The
door opened of itself at the summons, and I
found myself in a large hall with a plaster cast
of the Laocoon, and nothing else. I tried several
of the doors on either side, but they were all
locked. A very handsome and spacious stair of

VOL. rv.

50 [Octobers?, 1SCO.]

ALL THE YEAR KOUND.

[Conducted by

white marble led up from the middle of the hall,
but I hesitated about venturing to ascend this,
and once more repaired to the bell outside, and
repeated my summons. The loud clang re-echoed
through the arched hall, the open door gave a
responsive shake, and that was all. No one
came ; everything was still as before. I was
rather chagrined at this. The personal incon-
venience was less offensive than the feeling how
foreigners would comment on such want of pro-
priety, what censures they would pass on such
an ill-arranged household. I rang again, this
time with an energy that made the door strike
some of the plaster from the wall, and, with a
noise like cannon, " What the hangman" I
am translating " is all this ?" cried a voice
thick with passion ; and en looking up I saw a
rather elderly man, with a quantity of curly
yellow hair, frowning savagely on me from
the balcony over the stair. He made no sign
of coming down, but gazed sternly at me from
his eminence.

"Can I see his excellency the minister?"
said I, with dignity.

" Not if you stop down there, not if you con-
tinue to ring the bell like an alarm for fire, not
if you won't take the trouble to comeup-stairs."

I slowly began the ascent at these words, pon-
dering what sort of a master such a mau must
needs have. As I gained the top, I found myself
in front of a very short, very fat man, dressed
in a suit of striped gingham, like an over ple-
thoric zebra, and "wheezing painfully, in pail
from asthma, in part from agitation. He began
again :

" "What the hangman do you mean by such a
row ? Have you no manners, no education ?
Where were you brought up that you enter a
dwelling-house like a city in storm ?"

" Who is this insolent creature that dares to
address me in this wise ? What ignorant menial
can have so far forgotten my rank and his insig-
nificance ?"

" I'll tell you all that presently," said he ;
" there's his excellency's bell." And he bustled
away, as fast as his unwieldy size would permit,
to his master's room.

I was outraged and indignant. There was I,
Potts no, Pottinger Algernon Sydney Pot-
tinger on my way to Italy and Greece, turning
from my direct road to consign, with safety a
despatch-bag which many a less conscientious
man would have chucked out of his carriage
window and forgotten there I stood to be in-
sulted by a miserable stone-polishiug, floor-scrub-
bing, carpet-twigging Hausknecht ! Was this to
be borne ? was it to be endured ? Was a man
of station, family, and attainments, to be the
object of such indignity ?"

Just as I had uttered this speech aloud, a very
gentle voice addressed me, saying :

"Perhaps I can assist you? Will you be
good enough to say what you want ?"

I started suddenly, looked up, and whom should
I see before me but that Miss Herbert, the beau-
tiful girl iu deep mourning that I had met at
Milford, and who now, in tiie same pale loveli-

ness, turned on me a look of kind and gentle
meaning.

"Do you remember me?" said I, eagerly.
*' Do you remember the traveller a pale young
man, with a Glengary cap and a plaid overcoat
who met you at Milford?"

" Perfectly," said she, with a slight twitch
about the mouth like a struggle against a smile.
" Will you allow me to repay you now for your
politeness then? Do you wish to see his excel-
lency?"

I'm not very sure what it was I replied, but I
know well what was passing through my head.
If my thoughts could have spoken, it would have
been in this wise :

" Angel of loveliness, I don't care a brass far-
thing for his excellency. It is not a matter of
the slightest moment to me if I ever set eyes on
him. Let me but speak to you, tell you the deep
impression you have made upon my heart ; how,
in my ardour to serve you, I have already been,
involved in an altercation that might have cost
me my life; how I still treasure up the few
minutes I passed beside you as the Elysian dream
of all my life "

"I arn certain, sir," broke she in while I
spoke I repeat, I know not what " I am cer-
tain, sir, that you never came here to mention
all this to his excellency."

There was a severe gravity in the way that she
said these words tliat recalled me to myself, but
not to any consciousness of what I had been
saying ; and so, in my utter discomfiture, I blun-
dered out something about the lost despatches
and the cause of my coming.

" If you'll wait a moment here," said she,
opening a door into a neatly furnished room,
" his excellency shall hear of your wish to see
him." And before I could answer, she was
gone.

I was now alone, but in what wild perplexity
and anxiety ! How came she here ? What
could be the meaning of her presence in this
place ? The minister was an unmarried man, so
much my host had told me. How then reconcile
this fact with the presence of one who had left
England but a few days ago, as some said, to be
a governess or a companion ? Oh, the agony of
my doubts, the terrible agony of my dire mis-
givings ! What a world of iniquity do we live
in, what vice and corruption are ever around us !
It was but a year or two ago, I remember, that
the Times newspaper had exposed the nefarious
schemes of a wretch who had deliberately in-
vented a plan to entrap those most unprotected
of all females. The adventures of this villain
had become part of the police literature of
Europe. Young and attractive creatures, in-
duced to come abroad by promises of the most
seductive kind, had been robbed by this man of
all they possessed, and deserted here and there
throughout the Continent. I was so horror-
stricken by the terrors my mind had so suddenly
conjured up, that I could not acquire the calm
and coolness requisite for a process of reasoning.
My over-active imagination, as usual, went oil'
with me, clearing obstacles with a sweeping

Chxrle* Dkkeiu.]

ALL THEYI m

[October 17. 1800.] 51

stride, and steeple-chasing through fact as though
it were only a gallop over grass land.

"Poor ^irl, well miub; you look confused
and i ::.,' mo ! well might the

flush (if shame have spread o?er your iieck and
shoulders, and well might you have hurried
away froui the presence of one who had known
you in the days of your happy innocence !" I'm
not sure that I didu't imagine I had been her
playfellow in childhood, and that we had been
brought, up from infancy together. My mind
then addressed itself to the practical question,
"What was to be done ? Was I to turn my head
away while this iniquity was being enacted?
was I to go on my way forgetting the seeds of
that misery whose terrible fruits must one day
be a shame and an open ignominy ? or was I to
arraign this man, great and exalted as he was,
and say to him, " Is it thus you represent before
the eyes of the foreigner the virtues of that
England we boast to be the model of all morality ?
Is it thus you illustrate the habits of your order ?
Do you dare to profane what, by the fiction of
diplomacy, is called the soil of your country, by
a life tliat you dare not pursue at home ? The
Parliament shall hear of it, the Times shall
ring with it ; that magnificent institution, the
common sense of England, long sick of what is
called secret diplomacy, shall learn at last to
what uses are applied the wiles and snares of
tliis deceitful crait, its extraordinary and its pri-
vate missions, its hurried messengers with their
bags of corruption "

1 was well " ino my work," and going along
slappingly, when a very trim footman, in a nan-
keen jacket, said :

" If you will come this way, sir, his excellency
will see you."

He led me through three or four salons hand-
somely furnished and ornamented with pictures,
the most conspicuous of which, in each room, was
a life-sized portrait of the same gentleman,
though iu a different costume now in the Wind-
sor uniform, now as a Guardsman, and, lastly, in
the full dress of the diplomatic order. I had but
time to guess that this must be his excellency,
when the servant announced me and retired.

It is in deep shame that I own that the aspect
of the princely apartments, the silence, the im-
plied awe of the footman's subdued words UD he
spoke, had so routed all my intentions about
calling his excellency to account, that I stood
iu his presence timid and abashed. It is an
ignoble confession wrung out of the very heart
of ray snobbery, that no sooner did I liud my-
bcfore that thin, pale, grey-headed man,
who, in a light silk dressing-gown and slippers,
sat writing away, than I gave up my brief and
inwardly resigned my place as a counsel for in-
jured innocence.

He never raised his head as I entered, but
continued his occupation without noticing me,
muttering below his breath the words as they
fell from his pen. " Take a seat," said he curtly,
at last. Perceiving now that he was fully aware
of my presence, I sat down without reply. " This
bag 'is late, Mr. Payuter," said he, blandly,

as he laid down his pen and looked me in- the
face.

" Your excellency will permit me, in limine,
to observe that my name is not Payntcr."

"Possibly, sir," said he haughtily; "but
you are evidently before me for the nrst time,
or you would know that, like ray great colleague
and friend, Prince Mettcrnich, I nave made it a
rule through life never to burden my memory
with whatever can be spared it, and of these
are the patronymics of all subordinate people ;
for this reason, sir, and to this end, every cook
in my establishment answers to the name of
Honored my valet is always Pierre, my coachman
Jacob, my groom is Charles, and all foreign mes-
sengers t call Pavnter. The original of that
appellation is, I fancy, superannuated or dead,
but he lives in some twenty successors who
carry canvas reticules as well as he."

" The method may be convenient, sir, but it
is scarcely complimentary," said I, stiffly.

"Very convenient," said he, complacently.
" All consuls I address as Mr. Sloper. You can't
fail to perceive how it saves time, and I rather
think that in the end they like it themselves.
When did you leave town ?"

" I left on Saturday last. I arrived at Dover
by the express train, and it was there that the
incident befel me by which I have now the
honour to stand before your excellency."

Instead of bestowing the slightest attention
on this exordium of mine, he had resumed his
pen and was writing away glibly as before.
"Nothing new stirring, when you left ?" said he,
carelessly.

" Nothing, sir. But to resume my narrative
of explanation "

" Come to dinner, Paynter ; we dine at six,"
said he, rising hastily; and, opening a glass
door into a conservatory, walked away, leaving
me in a mingled state of shame, anger, humilia-
tion, and, I will state, of ludicrous embarrass-
ment, which I have no words to express.

"Dinner! No," exclaimed I, "if the alter-
native were a hard crust and a glass of spring
water ! not if I were to fast till this tune to-
morrow ! Dine with a man who will not con-
descend to acknowledge even my identity, who
will not deign to call me by my name, but only
consents to regard me as a pebble on the sea-
shore, a blade of grass in a wide meadow ! Dine
with him, to be addressed as lr. Paynter, and
to see Pierre, and Jacob, and the rest of them
looking on me as one of themselves ! By what
prescriptive right does this man dare to insult
those who, for aught he can tell, are more than
his equals in ability ? Does the accident and
what other can it be than accident of his station
confer this privilege ? How would he look if
one were to retort with his own impertinence ?
What, for instance, if I were to say, ' I always
call small diplomatists Bluebottles; you'll not
be offended if, just for memory's sake, I address
you as Bluebottle Mr. Bluebottle, of course ?' "

I was in ecstasies at this thought. It seemed
to vindicate all my insulted personality, all niy
outraged and injured identity. "Yes," said I,

52 [October 27, I960.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

"I will dine with him; six o'clock shall see
me punctual to the minute, and determined to
avenge the whole insulted family of the Paynters.
I defy him to assert that the provocation came
not from his side. I dare him to show cause
why I should be the butt of his humour, any
more than he of mine. I will be prepared to
make use of his own exact words in repelling
my impertinence, and say, 'Sir, you have ex-
actly embodied my meaning; you have to the
letter expressed what this morning I felt on
being called Mr. Paynter; you have, besides
this, had the opportunity of experiencing the
sort of pain such an impertinence inflicts, and
you are now in a position to guide you as to
how far you will persist in it for the future.' "

I actually revelled in the thought of this re-
prisal, and longed for the moment to come in
which, indolently thrown back in my chair, I
should say, "Bluebottle, pass the Madeira,"
with some comment on the advantage all the
Bluebottles have in getting their wine duty
free. Then, with what sarcastic irony I should
condole with him over his wearisome, dull
career, eternally writing home platitudes for
blue-books, making Grotius into bad grammar,
and vamping up old Puffendorf for popular
reading. "Ain't you sick of it all, B.-B.?" I
should say, familiarly ; " is not the unreality of
the whole thing offensive ? Don't you feel that
a despatch is a sort of formula in which Madrid
might be inserted for Moscow, and what was
said of Naples might be predicated of Norway ?"
I disputed a long time with myself at what pre-
cise period of the entertainment I should un-
mask my battery and open fire. Should it be in
the drawing-room, before dinner ? Should it be
immediately after the soup, with the first glass
of sherry ? Ought I to wait till the dessert,
and that time when a sort of easy intimacy had
been established which might be supposed to
prompt candour and frankness ? Would it not
be in better taste to defer it till the servants
had left the room ? To expose him to his
household seemed scarcely fair.

These were all knotty points, and I revolved
them long and carefully, as I came back to my
hotel, through the same silent street.

CHAPTER XIV.

"DON'T keep a place for me at the table
d'hote to-day, Kramm," said I, in an easy care-
lessness ; " I dine with his excellency. I couldn't
well get off the first day, but to-morrow I pro-
mise you to pronounce upon your good cheer."

I suppose I am not the first man who has de-
rived consequence from the invitation it has
cost him misery to accept. How many in this
world of snobbery have felt that the one sole
recompense for long nights of ennui was the
fact that their names figured amongst the dis-
tinguished guests in the next day's Post ?

" It is not a grand dinner to-day, is it ?"
asked Kramm.

" No, no, a merely family party ; we are very
old chums, and have much to talk over."

" You will then go in plain black, and with
nothing but your ' decorations-.' "

"I will wear none," said I, "none; not
even a ribbon." And I turned away to hide the
shame and mortification his suggestion had pro-
voked.

Punctually at six o'clock I arrived at the
legation ; four powdered footmen were in the
hall, and a decent-looking personage in black
preceded me up the stairs, and opened the
double doors into the drawing-room, without,
however, announcing me, or paying the slightest
attention" to my mention of " Mr. Pottinger."

Laying down his newspaper as I entered, his
excellency came forward with his hand out, and
though it was the least imaginable touch, and
his bow was grandly ceremonious, his smile was
courteous and his manner bland.

"Charmed to find you know the merit of
punctuality," said he. "To the untravelled
English, six means seven, or even later. You
may serve dinner, Robins. Strange weather we
are having," continued he, turning to me ;
" cold, raw, and uncongenial."

We talked " barometer" till, the door opening,
the maitre d'hotel announced, " His excellency
is served ;" a rather unpolite mode, I thought,
of ignoring his company, and which was even
more strongly impressed by the fact that he
walked in first, leaving me to follow.

At the table a third " cover" was just being
speedily removed as we entered, a fact that
smote at my heart like a blow. The dinner
began, and went on with little said; a faint
question from the minister as to what the dish
contained and a whispered reply constituted
most of the talk, and an occasional cold recom-
mendation to me to try this or that entree. It
was admirable in all its details, the cookery
exquisite, the wines delicious, but there was an
oppression in the solemnity of it all that made
me sigh repeatedly. Had the butler been serving
a high mass his motions at the sideboard could
scarcely have been more reverential.

"If you don't object to the open air, we'll
take our coffee on the terrace," said his excel-
lency ; and we soon found ourselves on a most
charming elevation, surrounded on three sides
with orange-trees, the fourth opening a magni-
ficent view over a fine landscape with the Taunus
mountains in the distance.

" I can offer you at least a good cigar," said
the minister, as he selected with great care two
from the number on a silver plateau before him.
" These, I think, you will find recommendable ;
they are grown for myself at Cuba, and pre-
pared after a receipt only known to one family."

In all this there was a dignified civility, not
at all like the impertinent freedom of his manner
in the morning. He never, besides, addressed
me as Mr. Paynter ; in fact, he did not advert
to a name at all, not giving me the slightest
pretext for that reprisal I had come so charged
with ; and as to opening the campaign myself, I'd
as soon have commenced acquaintance with a
tiger by a pull at his tail. We were now alone ;
the servants had retired, and there we sat,

Char!,-, Dirk.,,. ]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October Z7, !

silently smoking our cigars in apparent ease,
but, one of us at least, in a frame of mind the
very opposite to tranquillity. What a rush and
conflict of thought was in my head ! Why had
not she dined with us ? Was her position such
as that the presence of a stranger became an
embarrassment P Good Heaven ! was I to sup-
pose this, that, and the other? What was
there in this man that so imposed on me that
when I wanted to speak I only could sigh, and
that I felt his presence like some overpowering
spell? It was that calm, self-contained, quiet
manner cold rather than austere, courteous
without cordiality that chilled me to the very
marrow of my bones. Lecture him on the
private moralities of his life ! ask him to render
me an account of his actions ! address him as
Bluebottle!

" With such tobacco as that, one can drink
Bordeaux," said he. " Help yourself."

And I did help myself freely, repeatedly. I
drank for courage, as a man might drink from
thirst or fever, or for strength in a moment of
fainting debility. The wine was exquisite, and
my heart beat more forcibly, and I felt it.

I cannot follow very connectedly the course of
events ; I neither know how the conversation
glided into politics, nor what 1 said on that
subject. As to the steps by which I succeeded
iu obtaining his excellency's confidence, I know
as little as a man does of the precise moment in
which lie is wet through in a Scotch mist. I
have a dim memory of talking in a very dicta-
torial voice, and continually referring to my
"entrance into public life," with reference to
what Peel " said," and what the Duke " told
me."

" What's the use of writing home ?" said his
excellency, in a desponding voice. " For the last
five years I have called attention to what is
going on here : nobody minds, nobody heeds it.
Open any blue-book you like, and will you find
one solitary despatch from Hesse-Kalbbraten-
stadt ?"

" I cannot call one to mind."

" Of course you can't. Would you believe it,
when the Zennger party went out, and the
Schlaffdorfers came in, I was rebuked actually
rebuked for sending off a special messenger
with the news? And then came out a despatch in
cipher, which being interpreted contained this
stupid doggrcl :

Strange that such difference should be
'Twixt Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee.

I ask, sir, is it thus the affairs of a great
country can be carried on? The efforts of
Russia here are incessant: a certain person-
ageI will mention no names loves caviar,
he likes it fresh, there is a special estafctte es-
tablished to bring it ! I learned, by the most in-
sidious researches, his fondness for English
cheese ; I lost no time in putting the fact before
the cabinet I represented, that while timid
men looked tremblingly towards France, the
thoughtful politician saw the peril of Hesse-
Kalbbrateustadt. I urged them to lose no time :

' The grand-duchess has immense influence
countermine her,' said I, ' countermine her with
a Stilton;' and, would you believe it, sir, they
have not so much as sent out u Cheddcr ! What
will the people of England say one of these days
when they learn, as learn they shall, that at this
mission here I am alone that I have neither se-
cretary nor attache", paid or unpaid that since
the Crimean war the whole weigjit of the legation
has been thrown upon me nor is this all, but that
a systematic course of treachery I can't call it
lies has been adopted to entrap me, if such
were possible? My despatches are unreplied
to, my questions all unanswered. I stand here
with the peace of Europe in my hands, and
none to counsel nor advise me. What will you
say, sir, to the very last despatch I have re-
ceived from Downing-street ? It runs thus :

" ' I am instructed by his lordship to inform
you that he views with indifference your state-
ment of the internal condition of the grand-
duchy, but is much struck by your charge for
sealing-wax.

" ' I have, sir, &c.'

" This is no longer to be endured. A public
servant who has filled some of the most respon-
sible of official stations I was eleven years at
Tragotfr, in the Argentine Republic ; I was a
charge at Oohululoo for eight months the only
European who ever survived an autumn there ;
they then sent me special to Cabanhos to nego-
tiate the Salt-sprat treaty ; after that "

Here my senses grew muddy : the grey dim
light, the soft influences of a good dinner and a
sufficiency of wine, the drowsy tenor of the mi-
nister's voice, all conspired, and I slept as
soundly as if in my bed. My next conscious
moment was as his excellency moved his chair
back, and said,

" I think a cup of tea would be pleasant ; let
us come into the drawing-room."

FIVE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

HOUSES AND MODES OF LIVING.

TO-DAY you who are, let us suppose, a pro-
vincial, and I, your London cicerone will re-
visit some of the places which we passed yester-
day,* and inspect such houses as may be unoc-
cupied. The street by Oldbourne is perhaps the
most healthy and pleasant, being situated on an
eminence overlooking the gardens of Ely House
and the fields of Iseldune. As we walk thither
we may put you in possession of such informa-
tion as may be needful for your guidance before
making an agreement with the landlord of the
house you may intend to rent.

By a recent civic ordinance, tenants at will,
whose rent is under forty shillings yearly, must
give their landlords a quarter's notice to deter-

' See number 76, page 608. At page 609, line 32,
there is an error, which we take this opportunity of
correcting. Instead of " 136( , some eighteen rears,"
the | a -sage should have stood, " 1377, some few
weeks before the close of the reign of Edward the
Third,"

[October 27, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR BOUND.

[Conducted by

mine the tenancy. If the rent be above that
sum, half a year's notice is required : neglect of
this provision burden? you with the payment of
rent for the additional quarter or half-year,
unless you can obtain a tenant in your stead.
The same notice is exacted from your landlord
if he desires to oust you from possession, but,
should lie sell the house, the buyer may eject
you at pleasure, unless you have a special agree-
ment to the contrary.

Oldboume-street, to which we are approach-
ing, is in the ward of Farringdone, which is so
extended by the number of houses built without
the walls that there is an intention shortly to
petition parliament to divide it into two wards
one within and one without. The houses to
which we most commend you are newly built, a
little higher up the lull than Thavie's Inn. This
first one may be had at a rent of eighty shillings
yearly. It is substantially erected, aiid finished
with much care. The party-walls and chimneys,
in conformity with the Assize of which we told
you, are of freestone, brought, as it seems, from
Maidenstone in Kent : they are sixteen feet
high and three feet thick. The paint on the ash-
laring is gaudy in your eyes, no doubt, but
is commonly employed with us, whose atmo-
sphere being freer from smoke and many other
vapours, agrees with bright colours better than
yours. The mortar is of lime mixed with sand
or broken tiles. The framework built upon the
walls, and the gables, both front and back, are
of wood, whitewashed with plaster of Paris. The
roof is tiled and pitched high, so that rain may
readily fall into the gutters at the side. The
windows in houses of this description are not
always glazed as here ; but, of late, glass has
been largely imported from Flanders, Normandy,
and Lorraine, and the glaziers now constitute a
mystery, or distinct trade.

If you happen to be acquainted with the
principles of architectural construction, you will
conclude, from the external appearance of the
house, what is the fact, that the chief mechanical
powers in use amongst you as the crane and
lewis, for example are familiar to us. The
numerous improvements made in the science
of building are almost confined to the elabo-
ration of machinery for obtaining increased
expedition.

Let us now enter the house and see the plan
of it. We first come to the vestibule leading
to the hall, or sitting apartment. The latter, you
may see from, the single chimney, is one room,
although divided into two by a wooden parti-
tion. Both are of good size, as houses run with
us, though eight feet in height may be thought
low. The floors are well planked, and, as
well as the wainscoting, are ot Norway fir. In
houses of a better class than this, designs of
figures or flowers are generally painted on the
wainscoting. If you object to the aspect of
these whitewashed walls, you ca.\ easily drape
them with hangings, as we commonly do. Tliat
floriated ironwork on the lock of the door is of
excellent workmanship. We obtain most o.f our
iron from Spain, though there are extensive

bloomeries in the Forest of Dean, and at Fur-
ness in Lancashire. These aumbries, or, as you.
would call them, cupboards, are formed by
means of arches in the wall, which, in accord-
ance with the Assize, do not exceed a foot in
depth.

On the right of the vestibule we come to the
kitchen, which doubtless strikes you as strangely
and inconveniently constructed. In houses of
this description, and, indeed, in many of the
better sort, it is usual to leave the kitchen un-
covered, so that the smoke from the grate in the
centre and the vapours of cooking may have free
exit. This, of course, is objectionable in rainy
weather, and we are beginning to use roofs and
chimneys, the expense of constructing which
hinders their general adoption. The floor here
being unplanked, the refuse is carried off by this
gutter into a sink outside. The buttery (the
larder of your country) is on the other side of
the vestibule. The entrance to the cellars is
by the steps outside, in the curtilage or court-
yard.

Let us now ascend by this internal staircase to
the solar or upper chamber. In older houses
than this you will often find the staircase ex-
ternal. The solar, like the hall, is one room di-
vided by wooden partitions. The compartment
that contains the chimney you will of course
make your own chamber. The other rooms, with
central hearths and louvers above, are not so
pleasant. The windows here, you see, are not
glazed, but protected by wooden shutters, and
lattices filled in with canvas. It is not unfre-
quent to glaze the upper lights, and keep the
wooden shutters for the lower. At the back we
look out on the curtilage and garden sloping
down to the houses on the Fleet banks. There
is a well in the former, together with a sink for
refuse water, faced with stone. Our drainage
in London, by the way, though far behind yours,
is not ill managed. Besides private sinks, there
is a common drain in the great streets communi-
cating with the houses. The Thames is happily
little polluted by the discharge of sewage, much
of which falls into the town ditch. There are
strict and continual regulations issued to keep
the highways clear from rubbish, and officers are
appointed by each ward to see that these ordi-
nances are put in force. There are also rakyers,
as we have said, whose duty it is to remove
the garbage to places made to receive it. These
places are periodically cleansed, the contents
being carried away in carts provided by the
City.

You will be glad to know what precautions
we take against peril from fire, and the attacks
of enemies. Certain provisions against the
former are exacted from all builders of houses
in the City such as the construction of stone
chimneys, and the prohibition of thatched roofs,
and ovens placed near timber structures. It is
further demanded of all the holders of large
houses that they keep a ladder or two for the
icscue of their neighbours, and in summer a
largo water-vessel always full. Each ward
is bound to keep ready for use an iron crook,

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October 17, !;.) 55

two chains, and two cords, with which to de-
mdish burning houses; while the bedel of the
ward furnished with a horn to rouse the
neighbourhood.

Against foes from within and without we
have an organised system of protection, not
wholly contemptible, though in no way compar-
able to yours. The curfew bell ordained by
the Conqueror to be rung nightly at eight
o'clock, still duly sounds from the City
churches; alter which hour no person with
amis or without a light ought to be found
abroad. A regular watch is kept in each ward
by the alderman and certain members of the
wardmote on horseback. To prevent thieves
escaping pursuit, bars and chains arc placed
across the streets, especially those leading to
the river. The gates, as we told you yesterday,
have their daily and nightly guard. On certain
festivals in the summer there are goodly mus-
ters of the City watch, who, arrayed in bright
armour, and carrying lighted cressets, march
through the chief streets; their fellow-citizens,
to do them honour, garnishing the houses with
oil-lamps hung round with green boughs and
flowers, the evening concluding with oonfires
and open-air banquets, where all passers-by are
invited to make merry.

As the house pleases you, we need not seek
further. Your outlay in the matter of furniture
need not be large, as our modes of life are
simple. We have no " marts" as you have, but
you must employ a carpenter to make each
article as you want it. for the hall you will
require a table, either dormant (that is, fixed)
or on trestles. By the hearth you may have
two or three fixed chairs, and a few benches
ad stools. Carpets are not in use, save at
court and in great houses, but we strew the
floors with dry rushes in summer, and green
fodder in winter, for covering the benches,
you may hare osier mats or cushions. For the
solar you will require some tester-beds, each
consisting of a bench to support the mattress,
and a canopy over the head. Mattresses you
can procure of rich stuff, and elaborately quilted,
it' you will. Pillows, bolsters, chalouns (as we
call the blankets made at Chalons in France),
linen sheets, and counterpanes, can be had of
equal costliness, or of more moderate quality
and price. Two or three chests for clothes,
some ewers and basins of earthenware, a
few towels, combs, and mirrors of polished
steel, will complete the furniture of the bed-
clumbers.

For the table you require some wooden
trenchers, and plates, and bowls, either of wood
or earthenware. The latter from its costliness,
is not much used. The wealthy dine off silver,
gilt, and enamelled dishes. Goblets can be ob-
tained of various kinds, from gold, silver, crystal,
glass, alabaster, agate, or cocoa-nut, down to
pewter and wood. None are better than those
which we call mazers, made out of the nuuere
or walnut-tree. A large wooden salt-cellar is
requisite for the centre of the table. Spoons
are commonly made of silver for persons of the

middle class. Forks are in less frequent use,
but can be purchased. It is usual to send the
meat to table on a spit of silver, which is handed
round to the guests, each man cutting off with
his knife as much as he requires. As the
fingers become soiled by this fashion of e,
we commonly have a lavatory in the liall.
Knives may be purchased with silver, enamelled,
or agate handles, and are generally carried about
the person in plain or ornamented sheaths.
Tablecloths and napkins you can procure of
various qualities.

For the kitchen, all the requisite utensils, as
caldrons, dishes, pots, pails, spits, and trivets,
you may buy on Cornehill. Candlesticks are com-
monly made of iron. You will find the wax
candles imported from Paris, called perchcrs,
the best for your own use, tallow being good
enough for household purposes. Soap is much
imported from Spain, but some very good
of a grey colour is made at Bristol. For fuel,
there arc various sorts in use ; consisting of
cither charcoal, seacoal, fagots, brushwood, or
fern.

As to the garden, which you should stock
with the ordinary fruit-trees and vegetables,
you will find the soil favourable, though some-
what moist hereabouts from the multitude of
springs. Your neighbour, the Earl of Lincoln,
manages to derive a considerable income from
the sale of his fruits. Apples of the costard
and pearmain species are common with us. Of
pears we have several kinds the Kaylewell
(wliich you call Caillou), a stewing pear, tk^
Kewl (or St. Regie), and the Pesse Pucelle,
being the best. If you visit Bedfordshire, be
sure to obtain a graft from the Cistercian
monks of Warden, who have a famous baking
pear, called after them. To pears you may add
cherries, peaches, plums, coynea (quinces in
your tongue), medlars, and mulberries. Goose-
berries, strawberries, and raspberries we have
in a wild state, but do not often cultivate.
Chesnuts and walnuts are not unfrequently
grown. Vines demand such a large space and
careful culture that they would be unfit for this
piece of ground. In some districts, as at
leynham and Northflete, in Kent, manors of
the Archbishop of Canterbury, and at Ledbury
under Malveru, a manor of the Bishop of He-
reford, they attain great richness and value.
Of flowers, you should plant roses, lilies, violets,
sunflowers, gillyflowers, or clove pinks, poppies,
and pervinkes (your periwinkles V and enclose
them, as our wont is, in a wattled fence. Of
vegetables, we have cabbages, peas, beans, ra-
diskes, onions, garlic, leeks, sorrel, beet, let-
tuce, parsley, rape (a species of what you call
turnip), rocket, mustard, and cress. Of herbs,
sage, mint, fennel, hyssop, and rue are grown.
If you will, you may set up a beehive, the
honey whcrtl'rom is certain of a purchaser
MBOBg the brewers, who use it for their ale.
Were you not a heretic, we should advise you
to dig and stock a vivary with fish, which, by
reason of our many Church fasts, we cat more
commonly than flesh.

56 [October 27, 1SCO.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

You will be glad of a little information
touching the customs of trade amongst us, and
the best shops and markets at which to pur-
chase. Our ordinary shops, as you may see, are
open chambers on the ground floor. Beneath
them are in some cases sheds for warehouses ;
but to your repositories of stock answer our
shealds (or sheds) attached to the hythes, or
landing-places. There certain public officers,
called scavagers, are in attendance, who take
customs for the stowage of goods in these
receptacles. Besides their shops our tradesmen
have stalls, which in assigned places they are
allowed to keep stationary. Elsewhere they
stand, as you saw yesterday, in the road.
Trades being generally handed down from father
to son, or restricted to a guild, it is usual for
all men of the same calling to inhabit a separate
district. To remedy the evil effects of the mo-
nopoly that would ensue from the restriction of
trades, the authorities are wont from time to
time to publish an assize, or fixed scale of
charges, which no trader may exceed. This
rule applies to handicraftsmen as well as to
dealers. No doubt a certain degree of injustice
is thereby occasioned, but assuredly less than
would fall upon the poorer public if the guilds
were under no control. Before you blame
our system you must be reminded that in
your country a similar restraint is placed upon
the extortion of the drivers of public convey-
ances.

The civic officers exercise the strictest con-
trol over the quality of food and liquors, and the
weights and measures whereby they are sold. It
is the duty of the alderman of each ward to in-
spect the latter periodically, and certify to their
accuracy by affixing his seal. No private and
unsealed vessels, such as the common drinking
cups of the taverns, called hanaps and cruskyns,
or cruses, are allowed to be used as measures.
Wine cannot be sold until scrutinised and gauged.
The bakers have their ovens regularly inspected,
and the bread compared with the assessed stan-
dard. If any one is detected giving false weight
he is pilloried in Chepe for the offence. After
two convictions, his oven is pulled down, and he
is expelled from the trade. The pillory is the
ordinary punishment for selling unsound, imper-
fect, and counterfeit goods of any description,
the articles themselves being not only forfeited,
but burnt.

There is but one more custom of our trade
which it is requisite that you should know,
and that is the franchise of purveyance enjoyed
by the king and certain privileged bodies and
individuals. To form an adequate conception
of it, you must call to mind the condition of
some of your own seaport towns, where, to the
prejudice of the residents, the first supply of
fish is daily bought up by the metropolitan
traders. Here the metropolis and the whole
country are in a similar position, with the ad-
ditional disadvantage of the hardship being
legalised. It is usual for the servants of the
king, and certain spiritual and temporal lords, to
attend the markets between midnight and the

hour of prime (the Church service at six A.M.),
and choose the best articles for the use of their
masters. Public trading is only legal after this
period. Of late years, through the manly oppo-
sition of the Commons, this drawback to our
commercial prosperity has been mitigated to
some extent, and its limits are always guarded
with the utmost jealousy.

Of edibles let us begin with bread. There
are several sorts in regular consumption. The
best white bread we call " demeine," or lord's
quality. The next sort is "wastel," that is,
cake or biscuit bread, which, though good, is half
the price of demeine. A third kind is called
French ; a fourth " puff," from its lightness ;
and a fifth "tourte," or "bis," that is, brown
bread. The leaven employed is also of different
qualities. The loaves, which are circular in
shape, are always stamped with the baker's
private seal a counterpart of which is kept by
the alderman of the ward, who makes a periou-
ical tour of inspection. Mixed flour is often
used in the country especially a combination of
wheat and rye, which we call "mystelon," or
" monk-corn," from its being a favourite food
in the monasteries. It is the same as the maslin
of your country. To prevent fraud, this, and
every other commixture of flour, is forbidden
in London. For a similar reason, the bakers
of tourte bread, which is made of unbolted
flour, are prohibited from making any other sort,
and a converse restriction extends to the bakers
of white bread. The places for the sale of
loaves are public, and it is illegal to purchase at
the baker's oven. Corncmll and Chepe are the
largest markets. Private families, however,
usually buy of the regratresses, women who
regrate, or retail bread from the bakers, and de-
liver it at the doors of their customers. The
profit of these hucksters is limited to the thir-
teenth batch, which they receive over and
above each dozen. You, too, are familiar with
the term " baker's dozen." The bread most
in demand with us is not made in the City,
but at Stratford, and Bremble in Essex, and St.
Alban's in Hertfordshire, whence it is brought
up in carts every morning. The reason of its
popularity is its cheapness two ounces over
London weight being gained in every penny-
worth.

Should you have occasion to buy corn, you
will find the regular markets at Billingsgate,
Queenhythe, Graschirche, and the Friars Mi-
nors' pavement at Newgate. To prevent any
chance of the collision of eager competitors,
certain places are assigned to farmers from
the eastern, and those from the western
counties ; and to prevent fraud, restrictions of
time and place are put upon regraters. There
are millers in the City, should you require their
services. The few sokes still remaining confer
upon the owners a right of multure ; that is, the
exclusive privilege of grinding the corn of their
tenants.

We Londoners eat less flesh than fish, and
pork more than other kinds of meat, but you
will find ample means of gratilying your own

CharleiDlckeni.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October 97, 1800.) 57

taste in this respect. West Smithfield is our
largest cattle market, but for meat you must
go to St. Nicholas flesh-shambles bv Newgate,
or to the Stokkes market near the Poultry.
Beef, mutton, veal, pork, and venisou, may there
be had. If you are a sportsman at home, you
will be horrified to hear that we eat the latter
as often salted as fresh, and pay so little regard
toseason as to kill all the year round, save only in
the fence-month, or fawning-time, which lasts
from fifteen days before to fifteen days after Mid-
summer.

Of poultry and game you will find in our
markets nearly all the kinds prized in your
country turkeys being the chief exception.
"VVe eat also several kinds that you either have
not, or do not value such as peacocks, esteemed
with us a royal delicacy, swans, cranes, herons,
curlews, bitterns, thrushes, and finches. So
with fish. We think delicious several species
which you despise such as whale, sturgeon,
porpoise, grampus, sea-calf, sea-wolf (or dog-
fish as you call it), and conger while we care
very little for your favourite lobsters, crabs, and
shrimps. The chief landing-places for fish are
Queenhythe and Billingsgate, and its regular
markets the Stokkes, Old and New Fish Streets.
From Prussia we import stock-fish, the sale of
which is a special trade. Scotland sends us
salmon and cured cod. There are several regu-
lations of the fish trade, with which it would be
very tedious to acquaint you. One of them only
may be mentioned, as being for the benefit of
the poor ; prohibiting whelks, mussels, and such
common fish from being regrated, so that
the price may not be heightened by a double
profit.

Of minor articles of food you can obtain all
you want at the various markets. Butter we
hold in slight esteem. It is more thin and
watery than that which is made in your country,
so much so that we sell it by liquid measure.
Cheese is made in the country, but also largely
imported by the French and Hanse merchants.
That of Brie is as great a favourite with us as
with you. The French merchants of Amiens,
Corby, and Nesle, also bring us onions and
garlic. You can obtain here most of the com-
mon groceries and spices to which you are ac-
customed : sugar (which we import from Alex-
andria and Sicily), pepper, ginger, canuel (your
cinnamon), caraway, liquorice, mastic, cubebs,
cardamnms, anise, rice, cloves, mace, muscads
(as we call your nutmegs), and olive oil. Salt we
obtain from the Cinque Ports chiefly. Besides
native fruits, you may purchase the following
imports : figs, almonds, dates, raisins, currants,
prunes, damascenes (damsons in your tongue),
and occasionally oranges, and pomegranates.

Wine is the ordinary drink of the middle
classes with us, and is imported in large quanti-
ties from France, Spain, Italy, and Greece.
The sale of sweet wine is a special trade, and
there are only three taverns in the City where it
is allowed to be sold. Of this sort, Malvesie, a
Greek wine (your Malmsey), and Claire, a
French wiiie boiled and sweetened, are chiefly

in demand. Of wines without sweetness, the
white wine of Gascony, the red of Bordeaux,
Lcpe (made in the neighbourhood of Cadiz),
and Rhenish, are much drunk. You will recog-
nise the ordinary wine tavern by a pole which
projects from the gable, and has a bush or
bunch of leaves at its extremity. Ale is sold at
separate taverns. It is made from either
barley, wheat, or oats. Though a favourite be-
verage with us, it may not be to your taste, on
account of its sweetness and heat. Instead of
hops our brewers mingle honey, pepper, and
spices with the malt liquor. As, uniike you, we
prefer new ale to old, it is usual for the cus-
tomer to send his vessel to the brewery at night
and call for it in the morning, that the ale may
have time to work. Cider is made from pear-
main apples, in Yorkshire, Norfolk, and other
counties; mead is a common drink in the
Welsh marches ; but neither is much known in
London.

We must add a few general words respecting
the coinage current amongst us, and the average
prices at which the commodities we have men-
tioned are sold. In theory, our monetary system
is the same as your own, the pound being divided
into twenty shilling parts, of twelve penny-
weights each. In practice, we differ widely, as
our money is thrice as heavy as yours ; we have
no coins answering to your pound and shilling,
and no copper coinage at all. With us, the
pound is of twelve ounces of silver, and equal to
three pounds of your money. We reckou not
only by pounds, shillings, and pence, but by the
mark. No such coin is now in circulation, but
its representative value is thirteen shillings and
fourpence, or two pounds of your money. Our
highest gold coin is the half-mark or noble.
There are also half and quarter nobles of gold.
Besides these, we have the gold florin, so called
from its Florentine coiners, worth about six
shillings (between eighteen and nineteen shil-
lings of your money); the half and the quarter
florin. These pieces, not being thought con-
venient, are being withdrawn from circulation.
The Royal Mint, in the Tower, has also issued
of late years a large silver piece, called, from its
size, a groat (gros), and legally worth fourpence ;
but not being equal in weight to four pennies ster-
ling, the price of commodities sold by it has been
generally raised. The word sterling we derive
irom the Easterlings, or East German traders,
whose money has always been noted for its
special fineness. The silver penny is now about
eighteen grains in weight. We have also the
halfpenny, and quarter, or farthing. Pieces to
that value are now generally coined, but the
broken halves and quarters of pennies were not
long since in common use. Certain foreign
coins still circulate amongst us. The bezant of
Constantinople is no longer to be found, but the
French florin of three shillings and fourpence,
the crown of six shillings and eightpeiice, which,
from the shield on its face, is called a " schelde,"
and the piece of five shillings, termed, from the
Agnus Dei upon it, a " mouton," are legally
current. The Genoese coius known as Jane, or

58 [October27, 1SCO.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

Galley halfpence, and the money of the Counts
of Luxembourg, which we call Lussheburgs, are
not held to belong to our currency. The utter-
ance of several spurious coins, as crocards, pol-
lards, rosaries, staldings, cocodones, eagles,
leonines, mitres, steepings, and black mail, is
prohibited by express statutes.

The values of ordinary articles of commerce
vary greatly within short periods of time, and
you must be guided by the Assize generally an
equitable estimate which is periodically pub-
lished for every trade. You will find, as a rule,
that owing to the difference between our coun-
try and yours with respect to the importation
of bullion, and the supply of commodities, the
command over the latter represented by our
money is fifteen, if not twenty, times as great
as that which you can obtain. Wheat fluctuates
extremely in price, a few years ago having
reached twenty shillings per quarter (of eight
bushels) ; whereas now it is cheap, and will not
fetch more than four or five shillings per quarter
in the country, and five or six shillings in
London. Its average price is held to be six
shillings and eightpence per quarter. Bread, at
the present price of wheat, is sold at the rate of
a halfpenny for a two-pound loaf. A fat ox may
fetch from twelve to sixteen shillings a fat
sheep about eighteenpence a hen twopence
eggs a penny a score. Fish is sold in various
ways, according to its kind. If in large quan-
tities, it may be bought by the basket, each to
contain as much as a bushel of oats. Nothing
varies more in price, as every one knows.
Salmon, from Christmas to Easter, costs half as
much again as after Easter. Mackerel doubles
its price in Lent, when it is much eaten. Oysters
are sold by the gallon, twopence being a fail-
price ; eels by the strike of twenty -five, at the
same cost ; pickled herrings by the score, for one
penny.

Spices and groceries we, like you, sell by the
pound. Sugar may cost from a sliilling to two
shillings per pound, rice three halfpence to two-
pence, almonds twopence halfpenny to three-
pence halfpenny, pepper eightpence to a shilling.
Cloves and saffron, though much used for
flavouring wine and meats, are high-priced, cost-
ing sometimes as much as ten shillings a pound.
Apples sell at a shilling a hundred ; pears, ac-
cording to the sort, from threepence to three
shillings a hundred ; coyncs (quinces), fourpence
a hundred.

The average price of Malvcsie wine is about
sixtecnpence per gallon (of four quarts) ; of
Rhenish, eightpence. The sextary, by which
wine is also sold, contains four gallons. The
pottle, which is a common measure, holds two
quarts. Ale is generally assessed at a penny
to three halfpence per gallon for the best, and
at three farthings to a penny for the second
quality. The fluctuations of the Assize, as re-
spects all these articles, arc of course owing to
a variety of causes, of which war and weather
are the most influential. To fully understand
their operation, you must know the condition of
our agriculture and the extent of our commerce.

For the present you have probably had as much
information as you will be able to digest at one

time.

I SHOULD say whatever significance lies be-
low the fact that an Eternal city must be the
very happy hunting-grounds of the guild of bill-
stickers. They arc the free lances of their pro-
fession. No scowling "Post no bills" or " Defense
d'affieher" warns them off jealously kept premises;
no niggard proprietor shall extend the provisions
of the game laws to his tenements and heredita-
ments, and strictly " preserve" a tempting bit
of wall or virgin corner. They roam hither and
thither wheresoever they list, and coming to a
likely angle (they have a nice eye, and a taste
almost artistic in these matters) or a piece of
unsullied brickwork enjoying a suitable pub-
licity, the artist of the beautiful sets up his
scaling ladder, and spreading his adhesive mix-
ture, affixes his little proclamations deftly. I
am sorry to see that he affects no distinction
between premises sacred and profane, decorating
the walls alike of church and palace with the
strictest impartiality. With a little attention
to the choice of subject, there might be a cer-
tain discrimination in the distribution of the
notices, for it docs not harmonise with the fit-
ness of things that lost dogs should be pro-
claimed from beside the church door, though
it may be whispered that invitations for lost
sheep to return might suit such a situation with
more appropriateness. It must be said, how-
ever, that they are shut out from the usufruct
of scaffoldings, hoardings, and such enclosures,
and are thus thrown back upon more solid sur-
faces ; but it must be said also, that this is to
be placed to the account of the well-known im-
pediment which once interfered with the dis-
charge of a certain famous salute. Hoarding
at least not of this harmless timber nature is
unfamiliar to Roman street economy.

However this may be, the labours of these
gentlemen seem to be altogether absorbed in
the promulgation of controversial matter. There
seems, at this crisis, to have fallen a perfect
shower of pamphlet hail ; dead walls are gal-
vanised into a certain liveliness and theological
briskness. I come to-day by this palace corner
and find it overlaid with a myriad of these pro-
clamations, all glistening in their new print and
shining paste. Stolid i'aces collect and read,
and a black-robed priest with a hat broad and
flat as an Indian bowl, leans on his ancient
green umbrella, and reads thoughtfully. I see
one take out his book and pencil and make a
note of the price and address, then go his way
briskly. There is surely a " mort" of titles to
pick from, and the most fastidious tasto can
satisfy itself. There is "II Papa," "II R& e
1'ltali'a," besides which shines out in broad black
letters " II sovranta temporale del Papa." Not
far off is "Lo spirituale e il temporale nella
Chiese," and a little to the right, iu suggestive
proximity, is "La Francia, 1'Impero, et il

Charln Dlokent.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

0cto'j7, IMftJ 59

!o." Vast and comprehensive subjects
which would seem to exhaust these uice ques-
tions, and each offered at the humble figure of
twopence-hid fpeiiny ! I come next day by this
familiar corner, uud lind that the wall is still

, [jut the papers arc gone ; at least they are
hidden away uudrr a fresh company of clean
glistening sheets, displaying an entirely novel
and appetising (for such as love the all

. Now I read it " II Congresso c il 1
(this poor name is sadly buffeted in the dust of
the conflict), and M. Villemain's brochure done
out of his heavy French into heavier Italian.
A distinguished nobleman belonging to our
country, I BOO, has been glorified by a similar
compliment: and "Debate in the English
Parliament da Milor Noruianby," swells the
crowded ruck of these lighter squibs. As each
day succeeds, so does a fresh shower come
fluttering down from the clouds ; and as each
day closes, so is it absorbed into that waste-
paper limbo reserved for pamphlets, and news-
papers, and playbills. Doctors of law, canons,
law; crs, prelates, all descend into the arena and
iirniie. their little squibs. Populus rushes and
buys with avidity, and has the whole niceties
of that intricate question expounded for the small
charge of five halfpennies.

\Vaiulerii -g up and down through these Roman
thoroughfares, m which there is inexhaustible
entertainment, I hail a decently stocked shop
with a certain thankfulness. It is a species of
spring in the desert, even though it be but
a poor tenth-class article, stuck with iu-
diffcreut little table ornaments of the Palais
Royal make, only sadly dimmed and of the pat-
tern the season before last. In such a miscellany
there are not many things likely to make you
start, yet when I see three little yellow busts in
a line looking at me steadfastly from the window
of one emporium, I do own to such an emotion.
There is nothing in the fact of three yellow
busts in a line looking out of a window, but
when the centre one proves to be an exact por-
trait of his Holiness Pius the Ninth, and the
one on the right his excommunicated Majesty
Victor Emmanuel, and the one on the left the
eldest but sadly uudutiful sou of the Church,
Napoleon the Third, the combination becomes
suggestive and most significant. I pass and
rqiass the same establishment pretty often, aud
always find the Holy Father supported by this
Royal Peachum and Lockit. I wonder is this
exposition a mere stupidity on the part of the
innocent proprietor, or a bit of sly satire fitted
to the erisis '? More surprising still, where are
the Argus-eyed ? where Manteucci, chief of the
thief-takers, to forbid this unlawful collocation ?
It was thought that when the late Signor
Lablache passed away, Doctor Dulcamara, with

iixirs, nostrums, and carriage, retired from
business. I am very glad to see that this is not
the case. For, coming round by that space in
front of the Paiuheou, whose dark pillars look
&3 though they had been smoked black by lire,
I come upon Doctor Dulcamara, aloft upon his
quaint machine, halt' carriage, half caravan, aud,

by his lusty voice, full of strength and spirits.
Neither have the gaping rustics retired from
business, for here they an; gathered, open-
mouthed, greedy, stolid, and purchasing briskly.
The doctor wears his bright charlatan's robes
of office, and is assisted by a theatrical-looking
young lady, who vuiy be his daughter, but may
more reasonably be presumed to be his slave,
for I should take the doctor to be Eastern in his
tastes and habits. I draw near, and am de-
lighted with his harangue. It is irresistible.
His little bottles go off like wildfire. I draw
near and hear him say : " Friends ! Signori and
Signore ! Might 1 not have been rich, powerful,
flourishing, at this moment, great in the courts
and in the palaces ? but I scorned them all !"
(Orator flings back his arm with much heat and
violence.) "I preferred ay, ten thousand
times preferred" (orator now crouching low
like a cat, and running on hurriedly in a low
guttural aud mysterious tone) "thegratification
of alleviating the sorrows of my fellow-creatures,
soothing their woes, bearing health, life, and
consolation to the sick-b^d of the poor and suf-
fering ! ; ' (Climax is emphasised by a tremen-
dous thump on his breast, and a burst of applause
encourages the production of such noble senti-
ments. Wiping bis brow, orator proceeds.)
" Has not" (this is spoken very slowly and im-
pressively) "uon ha il impero di leFranccsi"
(pause) " di TUTTI le Fraucesi " (protracted
pause, while rustic visages lengthen visibly at
the awfol name), " did he not ofter with Ids ow
hand colla sua raano" (pause, rustics breath-
less), " offer to pin on my oton breast le vuig-
nificcnte decorazione of the Legion of Honour ?
Did not the Empress of the Kussias of all the
Russias? did not the Grand Seignior the

Sultan " (I do not catch the magnificent

offers made by those august persons.) " Ecco !
Behold ! See ! Look on the precious papers !"
(And he drags from his breast a bundle of greasy
parchments with seals dangling from them.)
" Ma non ! Never! never! never!" (This is
spoken with the vehemence of virtue and self-ab-
negation. The parchments are flung back con-
temptuously into an omnibus.) "I have it
here" (thumping his breast violently) " what
repays me for all !" And as I walk away, I see
that the young lady assistant can scarcely meet
the demand for the efficacious bottles.

This little alley takes me away from Doctor
Dulcamara, round by the soot-coloured Pan-
theon, which some way fits into its place as
familiarly and as practically as does the Bank of
England or the General Post Olfice, and leads
me up to the great hostelry, which is, sub
tutela under the protection of the Goddess of
Wisdom, and is christened Minerva. From
Pantheon to Minerva is not so outrageous a
leap ; but it is hard to fathom what special
affinity binds that wise divinity to hotel-keeping.
Had she, indeed, sprung armed from the stomach,

not the brain, of Jupiter but it is not so

written. Unexplained, too, the mysterious law
thai, seems to draw under its roof, clergymen of
all climes and countries, but of one dcnoiuina-

60 [October 27, 1560.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

tion. It overflows with the sacerdotal element,
and ill case of extremity you would be only
embarrassed with redundancy of spiritual aid. I
know also the significance of the two lean sen-
tries at the gate, who, by their lean faces and
coarse grey coats, of the prison or workhouse
colour, hanging on them in bags, and garnished
with pewter buttons, unconsciously resuscitate
the lanky soldier who staggered under a famous
chine of beef at Mr. William Hogarth's Calais
Gate. The potentate they do honour to, has
been whispered of for weeks back, and has
now but newly come. He is at the sign of
Pallas Athene and her wise bird. Rustics
stand about and eye the lean sentries curiously.
Do they remark (as I do, and it is a very
painful eyesore) that the pewter buttons of
this left-hand sentry are buttoned all awry ;
or are they speculating upon this carriage now
driving up, with the four gentlemen in the
French hats inside, and whom lean sentries
(buttoned awry) salute noisily ? Crowd hurries
up in an instant. He that short dark man
of the true French colonel stamp, who
springs out so light, is the general, the fighting
Algerian and famous Legitimist warrior. He
sits in his chamber on that first floor, with
orderlies waiting in the lobby. He has changed
the face of the hotel sacerdotal. He has made
the goddess furbish up her old armour. Staff
officers come and go. Later I see one : tall,
handsome, of good figure, his military frock
fitting him without a wrinkle (it was cut out by
no Roman tailor), mounting his charger in the
court. He looks an earnest soldier, and has
seen fighting ; but I am more struck by a
mournful preoccupied look in his eyes, that
seems to speak of a sad fixity of purpose.
I meet him, now descending the stairs with
a broad despatch in his hand, now clatter-
ing down some narrow street with a mounted
dragoon behind him. But the same stern, sad
fire looks out from his eyes, as he thinks that
perhaps another orderly, in the shape of Atra
Cura, is riding unseen beside. When some one
tells me that this is Colonel Pimodan, chief of
the staff to General Lamoriciere, it much helps
me, and the name passes me by lightly ; but now
the name recurs to me with events of yesterday,
with a suspicion that some presage or presenti-
mentwas workingunder those handsome features.
It seemed an odd conception that fixity of
head-quarters at an hostelry, and setting up the
Horse Guards at the sign of the Dragon. But
they do fierce battle at dinner-time, and are
terrible customers these gentlemen of the staff.
I see them at the daily banquet, sitting, many
together, and victualling on the old anticipating
system so admirably inculcated by the late
Major Dalgetty. There is the old French
officer, whose jaws seem to me to work as by
some artificial mechanical agency, whose per-
formance is something fearful to look at, and
who though he at different occasions has lost
out of his person various teeth, muscles, ten-
dons, and important bones still has apparently
suffered in no respect in the matter of relish

and appetite. It is a marvel to see that ancient
officer chopping and munching his food.

Not many days since, wandering into the
spacious Piazza of Saint Peter's, I found the
fruits of this hostelry Horse Guards already in
full work and vigour. That superb approach
has become a training-ground, and is dotted
over with parties of the lank, lean, Calais Gate
soldiery, at drill. Such poor stuff, such insuffi-
cient food for powder ! great miscellany of
the pewter-buttoned and cold workhouse -toned
grey ! you must first fill in those bags and
wrinkles with good solid meat, before the Al-
geriue can make much of you ! They seem to
me of the same texture and quality as that
notable leg of mutton which Dr. Johnson once
partook of, when coaching it up or down for
Lichfield, and which he vehemently stigmatised
as " ill kept, ill dressed, ill cooked, and as bad
as bad could be." The practice was, I suppose,
no worse and no more awkward than elemental
drilling all the world over. There were the
stiff hands galvanised (palms forward) to the
sides of the human figure; the strained neck,
and the goggling eyes with the alarming stare.
They were at their goose-step, poor boys, and
reflected the gait of that familiar bird very
faithfully. It is curious, certainly, to see an
officer playing drill-sergeant, and stepping back-
wards in front of that doubtful, hesitating line,
which now reels into a concave arc, now wriggles
into a perfect snake. Officer may shout hoarsely
and take measurements with that steel instru-
ment of his, but I suspect it will be long before
he shall work up these raw recruits into good
fighting fabric. If Santo Padre would but come
to that high window yonder, and look down
upon these combative children of his ! It
would not be encouraging.

Writing in the banqueting-chamber of our
hostelry, seated on a sort of steep sliding bank
popularly known as a sofa, I hear the braying
of military music below in the street, and fly to
the balcony. I see a whole regiment of blue-
and-gold men-at-arms defiling under the win-
dows privates, officers, drummers even all
faced and smeared plentifully with gold-lace.
The Palatine Guard, or Loyal Pontifical Vo-
lunteers, all the tailors, hatters, and other
artificers, who have embodied themselves into
this flashy corps. In return for such devo-
tion, the state must, at its own charges, find
them the showiest uniform that can be got for
money. But what rivets my whole attention
is the mounted officer who rides in front: a
youth of not more than three or four-and-
twenty : the most corpulent, plethoric, florid
youth my eye has ever rested on. They have
their music, too, which works obstreperously.
I see that, after office and shop hours, they
delight in showing themselves and their gaudy
clothes at public ceremonies, where they are
treated obsequiously ; and I find the Giornale
di Roma repeatedly complimenting them on
their attendance, in some such form as, "We
observed among the crowd several of the ne\v
Palatine Guard in full regimentals, who have

Charlei Dickens.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

rly seized this opportunity of testifying,"
&c. &c.

Peace be with these worthy fencibles ! There
was some such civic guard once seen on duty
muffled in great-coats, and sheltering themselves
under umbrellas. A languid Neapolitan, sunning
himself on the shore of his own bright bay, has
been heard to excuse himself from fighting, with
this irresistible argument : " What would you
have P Life is very sweet we don't want to
die !" It is not difficult to read in the eyes of
these creatures, so diligent at their goose-step,
future decampment into the open country and
desertion of their general at the first shot.

As I lounge down the long Corso in the
cool afternoon, I hear slow steady tramping
behind, with spur music chinking in proper
time ; and, looking back, I see a different quality
of fighting men. A patrol party of pontifical
men-at-arms coming their rounds, eight or
ten strong, and two abreast strong orpad-
chested men, of fine figure and proportions,
and stepping with a slow, ponderous dignity.
In dress they are the gendarmes of the stage,
who arrest llobert Macaire, with the familiar
white cord epaulettes, and cross-belts, and
cocked-hats. Walk up the street some hundred
feet higher, and there meets them another
party, just- as strong, sauntering by in so-
lemn dead march. These are ticklish days : a
spark may at any moment fall upon the repub-
lican tinder and blow all up. Towards midnight,
when you have passed the band of youths arm-
in-arm, fresh from the pit of the Opera, and
chanting the favourite tenor air in their own
tenor voices, you hear the measured tread of the
patrol draw near, and the company of shadowy
figures, now draped in long pyramidal cloaks that
sweep the ground, pass by sadly, and are gone
into the night. Very peaceful are Roman streets
at such hours. Even the sleeping dogs take
their rest in prodigious numbers, stretched on
the open pathway. It is almost comical to
see the long bodies of these laid out so boldly,
secure of not being disturbed ; for a gentle tole-
ration for the four-footed is one of the redeem-
ing points in the Roman commonwealth. Of a
Sunday morning I have seen a whole congrega-
tion stepping aside respectfully into the road
to avoid inconveniencing a great yellow hound
snoring in the sun on the pathway. Nothing
could be more tenderly gracious than the
manner in which this act of courtesy was
paid, or more delicious than the conscious se-
curity with which the drowsy brute held his
place, blinking luxuriously.

As I look at Roman Piucher snoozing thus of
the Sunday morning, he brings to my mind a
legend a dog legend growiug out of the hu-
mours of the Roman fair. An Irish friend is
returning home cheerfully when it is pretty far
gone in the small hours from that famous ball
at the Princess Piccinino's, and, meeting on his
progress, many dogs of various sizes and breeds,
begins regaling them with bits of biscuit and
other delicacies. To his surprise, on turning
round a corner, he finds himself waited on by a

whole procession a sort of dense company of
irregular light dogs, the spahis of the tribe. All
are expectant, and follow his motions wistfully ;
reckoning on entertainment,. My Irish friend
bethinks him what to do with this miscellany, and
suddenly determines to get as much comedy out
of the situation as possible. He sets off again,
making for the house of a friend whom he loves
not too well, and the irregulars, now swelled by
numerous volunteers, follow closely. Knocking
loudly, he is presently admitted. " Signor is
asleep, just come from the ball." " No matter
business of importance news from England
go and wake." Porter goes up. Irish friend
then enters, and flings biscuit up-stairs. Enters
loudly, and with savage contention, whole troop
of irregulars, hurrying pell-mell up-stairs. Comic
friend then shuts the door, and goes his way.

UNDER THE SNOW.

IN TWO PORTIONS. PORTION THE PIRST.

ALTHOUGH Switzerland is famous, all the
world over, for its lofty mountains, still, in
foreign countries, many lads of my age, and in
my station of life, may not exactly know that
the Jura is a chain of mountains formed by
several parallel chains which extend from Basle,
in Switzerland, quite up to France and a little
way into it, running in the direction from north-
east to south-west. The length of the Jura is
about one hundred and seventy miles, and its
breadth from thirty-five to forty miles. It con-
tains a great number of deep valleys, and several
mountains whose summits are very lofty.

I mention these dry details at the outset,
in order that you may better understand what
happened to me ; for it is, in great measure, the
difference of the height of the mountains which
renders them more or less habitable. The
higher they are, the sharper is the cold there,
the shorter is the summer, the scantier is the
vegetation, and the earlier does the snow cover
it. Some of these mountains are even so lofty
that the snow on their tops is never entirely
and completely melted, but remains in patches
in the hollows. Nevertheless, all the mountains
of the Jura lose their upper garment of snow
every year ; some sort of herbage springs on the
highest summits; at many points they are
clothed with magnificent woods of beech, oak,
and especially firs; whilst other parts afford
excellent pasture-ground, on which very fine
cattle are reared, and particularly oxen, cows,
and goats. Notwithstanding which, these beau-
tiful mountains are scarcely habitable more than
five months in the year, from May or June until
the beginning of October.

As soon as the snows are melted and the sum-
mits arc clothed again with green, our villages,
which are all buut in the valleys or on the
lower slopes, send their herds up the mountain.
This departure is quite a holiday ; and yet we
herdsmen have to spend the whole summer away
from our families, leading a hard-working life
with many privations. We live almost entirely

62 [October 27, ISO).]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

on a milk-and-cheese diet, which we call by a
general name, laitage, having often nothing else
to drink by way of a change but water from the
spring. We spend our time in grazing our herds
and in making those large and handsome cheeses
"Inch are known as Gruyere.

Every herdsman has, up in the mountain, a
chalet, which is a wretched place for human
habitation, although mostly built of stone. It
is roofed with small deal planks called bardeaux;
heavy stones, 'laid in rows upon them, press
them down, and prevent the storms from strip-
ping them off. The interior of a chalet is divided
into three apartments; a well-closed stable or
cow-house, to lodge the cattle at night ; a nar-
row and cool dairy, where the milk is kept in
broad wooden bowls ; and a kitchen, which also
serves as a bedroom, where the herdsman not
unfrequently sleeps on a bed of straw. The
kitchen is furnished with a vast chimney, in
which hangs an enormous caldron, for warming
the milk and helping to convert it into cheese.
As the chalet is our residence the whole sum-
mer long, we are obliged to store it with many
little articles of necessity, to save having to go
down to the valley to fetch them when wanted
unexpectedly.

Our season hardly finishes before St. Denis's-
day, the 9th of October. "We then quit the
mountain, again making a holiday, delighted to
return to our families. But we do not lead an
idle life in the village, any more than we did at
the chalet. We are accustomed to depend upon
ourselves, and are obliged to turn our hands to
everything. We make household utensils, tools,
and furniture; we carve wood into fancy ar-
ticles, which are afterwards dispersed all over
Europe. But, what is of the greatest impor-
tance, the winter allows us spare time for our
education. If the path to the school is not
always open, the children are made to learn
their lessons at home. The art of writing is
not forgotten ; and by reading aloud, we amuse
and instruct others as well as ourselves. It was
a good thing for me that I was so brought up.
If I had not had these resources in my trouble,
I know not what would have become of me.
One thing at least is clear : the journal which
follows could not have existed. Although only
a Swiss country-lad, I have been able to write
some sort of a history. Here it is, as I was
able to note it down from day to day.

November 22. Since it is the will of God
that I and my grandfather should be imprisoned
in this chalet, 1 intend to record in writing what
happened to us. If we are destined to perish
here, our relations and friends will learn how
our last days were spent ; if we are delivered,
this journal will preserve the recollection of
our dangers and our sufferings. It is also my
grandfather's wish that I should undertake it.

The day before yesterday, in the village, we
had been expecting my father for several weeks
past. St. Deiiis's-day was over ; all the herds
had come down from the mountain together
with their keepers. My father alone failed to
make his appearance, and we began to ask,

"What can possibly detain him?" I lost my
mother three years ago; but my uncles and
aunts assured me that I need not make myself
uneasy ; that probably there remained some
grass to be eaten, and that was why my father
kept the herd a little later np the mountain.

At last, my grandfather became alarmed. He
said, " I will go myself and see why Franjois
does not come. I shall not be sorry to see the
chalet once more. Who knows whether I shall
be able to visit it next summer ? Will you like
to come with me ?"

It was the very request I was going to make ;
for, as 1 have no mother, we are almost always
together. We were soon ready to start. We
mounted slowly, sometimes following narrow
gorges, sometimes skirting the brink of deep
precipices. About a quarter of a league before
we came to the chalet, I was attracted by
curiosity to the edge of a very steep rock. My
grandfather, who had told me more than once
that lie did not like my doing so, hastened for-
ward to pull me back ; but a large stone, rolling
backwards as he stepped upon it, caused him to
sprain his foot, and put him to considerable
pain. But in a few minutes he felt better, and
we hoped that no bad consequences would ensue.
With the help of his stout holly stick, and by
leaning on my shoulder, he was able to drag
himself as far as this place.

My father was greatly surprised to see us.
He was busy preparing for his departure; so
that if we had quietly waited at home one day
longer, his arrival would have put an end to our
uneasiness. That very same evening, Pierre
was to set off with the remainder of the cheeses.

After a short repose, my grandfather asked
me, " Are you very tired, Louis ?" The man-
ner in which he made the inquiry seemed to be-
tray some secret intention, and I did not give a
very decided answer. "I was thinking," he
added, "that it might be prudent to send on
the boy with Pierre. The wind has changed dur-
ing the last half-hour, and may perhaps bring
us bad weather in the course of the night."

My father expressed the same fear, and urged
me to follow that counsel.

"I had much rather wait for you," I said.
" Grandfather, with his lame foot, stands in
great need of a good night's rest."

There hung over the lire a boiler which I re-
garded with greedy eyes. My father understood
the signal, and served us some soup made of
maize-flour and milk, which we ate, like soldiers,
all out of one bowl. It was agreed that we
should all go down together next day, which
was yesterday. After which, I went to bed and
fell asleep, without paying much attention to
what was said by my father and grandi'atlier,
who had a long conversation in an. under tone
after their supper.

Next morning I was quite surprised to see
the mountain all covered with while. The snow
was still falling with unusual heaviness, being
driven by a violent wind. I should have been
highly amused, had I not remarked my relations'
anxiety. I was very uneasy myself, when I saw

Cbirlei blckeu.]

ALL THE YEAR HOUND.

COctalrZ7, I

my grandfather try to take a few steps, and drag

!!' along with great diilieult.y, supporting

himself by the furniture and against, tin: wall

Tin- accident of the day before, had caused hi-,

swell, and made it very painful.

" Go," he said. " Lead away the child, before
the snow is deeper. You see it is impossible
for me to accompany you."

" I '.nl. do you suppose, father, I can abandon
you iu that way ?"

\Ve spent a good portion of the day without
coming to a decision. We had still hopes that
lance would be sent to us from the village.
I said that I was big enough to do without a
guide, and to help my lather to drive the herd.
My representations were of no use ; my grand-
fat her persisted in his resolution. He would
not expose us to danger, by becoming a burden
on us.

.My father insisted, almost angrily. I wept
\\liilc I witnessed the painful altercation. At
last I contrived to put an end to it, by saying,
" Leave me also in the chalet ; you will reach
home all the sooner. You will come back with
sufficient help to fetch us. Grandfather will have
somebody to wait upon him and keep him com-
pany. We shall take care of one another, and
Providence will take care of us both."

" The boy is right," my grandfather said.
" The snow is already so deep, and the storm
so violent, tliat I apprehend more danger from
his following you than from his staying with me.
, Francois, take my stick, it is a strong one
and pointed with iron. It will help you down
the mountain, as it helped me up. Let the
cows out of the stable ; leave us the goat and
all Ihe provisions which remain. I am more
anxious about you than I am about myself."

When my father was on the point of starting,
I gave him a handsome flask covered with fine
wicker-work, which was a present from my mo-
ther, the first time I came up to the chalet. It
contained wine which I had provided for my
grandfather the day before. He pressed me in
his arms.

We drove out the herd, which appeared much
surprised to find the earth covered with snow.
Some of the cows seemed at a loss to find their
way, aud kept running in circles round the
chalet. At List they congregated in a body,
and set off in the right direction. At a very
few paces' distance, both my father and the herd
disappeared, being lost to sight in the wliirls of
snow. When we saw them no longer, my grand-
r appeared to follow them with his eyes.
He leaned in silence against the window, but
his lips appeared to be articulating words ; his
hands were clasped and his eyes raised to heaven.

We were roused from serious thoughts by
the increasing violence of the wind. We
wrapped round by a curtain of thick black clouds,
and nightfall came almost suddenly. .V verthe-
less, our wooden clock had only just struck
three. We had been so anxious all day long,
that we had never thought of taking food, and 1
was dying of hunger. At that moment, I made
grandfather listen how the goat was bleating.

"Poor Blanchettc !" he said. "She wants
to be relieved of her milk. She is calling us to
come and do it. Light the lamp ; we will go
and milk her, and then we will sup."

The wind roared loudly ; it forced its way
under the bardcaux of the roof, making them
rattle ; you would have fancied the whole roof
was going to be carried away.

"Don't be alarmed," my grandfather said.
" This house has resisted many a like attack.
The bardeaux are laden with very heavy stones,
and the roof, with its slight inclination, gives
very little hold to the wind."

When the goat saw us she redoubled her
bleatings ; she seemed as if she would break her
rope to get at us. How greedily she licked the
Cew grains of salt which I offered in my hand.
She gave us a large pot of milk. I stood in
need of it. My grandfather said, as we returned
to the kitchen, "We must take good care not
to forget Blanchette ; we must feed her well,
and milk her punctually morning and evening.
Our life depends on hers."

After supper, we sat down by the fire ; but
the flakes of snow which fell down the chimney
almost extinguished it. A cold draught of air
also descended, and we could only keep our-
selves warm by going to bed, after commending
ourselves, by prayer, to the Lord's protection.

This morning, on waking, I found myself in
complete darkness, and at first supposed that
sleep had left me earlier than usual ; but hear-
ing my grandfather groping his way about the
room, 1 rubbed my eyes, and saw none the
clearer for that. The snow had blocked up the
window.

" The window is low," the old man remarked.
" Besides, it is probable that the snow has been
drifted into a heap on that particular spot ; per-
haps we should not find it more than a couple
of feet deep a few paces from the wall."

" In that case, they will come and help us
out ?"

" I hope so ; but, supposing that we are to
be detained here for any length of time, we must
see what resources we have ; when we have done
that, we will consider how we can best employ
them. The day has dawned, there can be no
doubt ; for the hour-hand of the wooden clock
points to seven. It is fortunate I did not forget
to wind it up last night. We must always be
punctual with Blanchette."

November 23. Yesterday morning, when we
discovered jthat we were more close prisoners
than we were the day before, we were very much
depressed and saddened ; nevertheless, we did
not forget our breakfast and the goat. Whilst
grandfather was milking her, I watched him
closely, with great attention. He noticed it,
and advised me to try and learn to milk, in order
to replace him, in case of need. I made an
attempt, which was clumsy and unsuccessful at
first, especially as Blanchette kept wincing and
shifting her aryand, as if aware of my inexpe-
rience ; but 1 improved greatly after three or
four trials.

When we had taken stock of our provisions

[October 27, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

and utensils, we wished to know what sort of
weather it was out of doors. I went under
the chimney and looked up through the only
outlet which remained open in the chalet. In
a few minutes, the sun suddenly shone upon
the snow which rose around the opening to a
considerable height. I pointed out the circum-
stance to my grandfather. We could exactly
distinguish the thickness of the layer of snow, be-
cause the chimney does not rise outside above
the roof. In fact, there is simply a hole in the
roof, the outside chimney having been blown
down in a storm.

"If we had a ladder," my grandfather said,
" you might get up and disengage a trap which
your father lately fixed on the top of the
chimney, to keep out cold and wet, until the
outer chimney is repaired."

" Never mind the ladder," I replied. " I
saw in the stable a long fir-pole, and that is all
I want. I have often climbed up trees no
thicker than that, and the pole has still its bark
on, which makes it easier to mount."

I set to work, tying a string to my waistband,
to haul up a shovel after I got to the top. I
managed so well with feet and hands, and by
pressing against the walls of the chimney as the
Savoyards do, that I reached the roof. With
the shovel, I cleared away an open space, and
found that there was about three feet of snow
on the roof. Around the chalet it appeared to
me that there was a great deal more. In fact,
the wind had swept it up into a heap ; never-
theless, there must have fallen an enormous
mass ot snow in a very short space of time.
Everything round about the chalet is hidden
under a thick white carpet ; the forest of fir-
trees, which surrounds it in the direction of the
valley, and which shuts in the prospect, is white
like the rest, with the exception of the trunks,
which appear all black. Many trees are crushed
by the weight ; I saw large branches, and even
stems, that were broken into fragments. At
that moment, there blew a strong and bitter
cold wind from the north ; the dark clouds which
it drove before it opened at intervals. Gleams
of sunshine flashed through the openings, and
ran over the field of snow with the swiftness of
an arrow.

The cold began to lay hold of me. When I
tried to describe to my grandfather what 1 saw,
lie heard that my teeth chattered. He told me
to make haste and clear the trap, and as far as I
could reach around the aperture of the chimney.
It took some time, and was hard work ; but it
warmed me. [Following my grandfather's direc-
tions, I passed the string I had brought through
a pulley, in such a way that, by pulling from
below, the trap would open, while its own weight
would cause it to shut. When we had rehearsed
this little manoeuvre two or three times, to see
that it worked properly, I descended more easily
than I had mounted.

My clothes were all wet, and I had no others
to put on. We lighted a bright fire of twigs
ana fir-cones ; and then, lowering the trap and
leaving no more than the necessary space for

the smoke to escape, we spent the greater part
of the day by the chimney-corner, with no other
light than that from the hearth ; for our stock
of oil was very small, and we clearly saw that we
must not expect to quit our prison so soon. We
did not light our lamp till it was time to milk
the goat.

We find it a very unaccustomed and melan-
choly life, to have to drag through a whole day
in this dull manner. Still I think that the hours
would be less wearisome, if we were not living
in a constant state of expectation. It always
seems as if some one were on the point of coming
to rescue us. I mounted a second time upon
the roof to look whether anybody had arrived ; I
incessantly questioned grandpapa. He is in
hopes, he says, that my father reached home
safely; but perhaps the roads are completely
choked by the drifted snow.

At last, after completely closing the chimney
by means of the trap, we went to bed, hoping
that somebody might come to our assistance
to-day ; but this morning we find that, for the
present, the thing is almost impossible. As far
as we can observe, it must have snowed all night.
We had considerable difficulty in opening the
trap to light our fire ; I found two feet of fresh
snow.

November 25. The snow continues to fall
abundantly. I have again had great difficulty
in raising the trap. We think it prudent to
clear the roof of a portion of the snow with
which it is laden. It employed a great part of
the day. I leave under my feet a layer of snow
sufficiently thick to keep out the cold, and I
throw off the rest.

It is some amusement to escape out of my
dungeon for a little while ; and yet, what I do
see is very sad. The inequalities of the ground
around us are scarcely distinguishable ; the whole
landscape is most forlorn. The earth is white,
the sky is black. I have read at school the
narratives of voyages in the Icy Sea and ihe
Polar regions ; I fancy we must be transported
there. But since those wretched travellers, who
suffered so much from cold and incurred such
great dangers, have sometimes returned to their
native land, I hope that we also shall see my
father and our village again.

We are not deprived of every comfort in our
sequestered habitation. We have found more
hay and straw than Blanchette would consume
in a whole twelvemonth for food and bedding.
If she continues to yield us milk, we have in her
a valuable resource. But an accident might de-
prive us of her ; and we were very glad to iind, in
a corner of the stable, a small stock of potatoes.
We have begun to cover them with straw, to pro-
tect them from the frost. My father had packed
the woodstack also in the stable ; but there is
not enough to carry us through a long winter.
We did right, therefore, in thinking of closing
the trap at the times when we have no urgent
need of fire ; as we have reason to fear that our
fuel may run short, it is a good thing to be able
to keep out the cold. Fortunately, the snow,
which imprisons us, also shelters us. I am sur-

Charlti Diektoi.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Octobor r, ineaj 65

prised that we feel the cold so little, buried up
as we are. " That is why," my grandfather ob-
served, " the young wheat gets through the
winter so well.'" We will do the same. We
will lie snug and close all the winter, and in
spring we will put our heads out of the window.
But what a wearisome time we have to get
through till then ; and God grant that that may
be all we have to suffer !

To make up for the wood we have a heap of
fir-cones, which I partly collected myself, to
bum at the village. It is a mere chance they
were not taken there. And in short, if we are
driven to it, we shall not hesitate to burn the
hay-racks and the mangers in the stable. When
it becomes a question of life and death, we must
not look too closely at trifles; we shall be
acting like the navigators who cast their cargoes
into the sea.

Our people had already in part unfurnished
the chalet. What we regret the least, is the
great caldron for making cheese. They have
left us a few necessary kitchen utensils ; and
besides, a hatchet all jagged at the edges, and a
saw which will hardly cut. We have each of
us a pocket-knife. Although our housekeep-
ing articles are very incomplete, we shall manage
to get on with these. We much more regret
the provisions : ours are but scanty. What a
pity we could only find three loaves, of the sort
which are kept for a whole year in the moun-
tain, and which are obliged at last to be chopped
up with a hatchet ! We also found plenty of
salt, a small quantity of ground coffee, five
bottles of old white wine, a little oil, and a small
stock of pork lard.

We have only one bed, but we sleep at our
ease. According to our mountain custom, it is
big enough to hold five or six persons. It stands
in the corner of our only living-room, which is
also the kitchen and the cheese factory. Only
one blanket has been left us ; if it is not enough,
we must make use of hay and straw. " I only
wish," I said, " that I could do as the marmots
do, go to sleep and remain torpid until the re-
turn of spring."

November 26. While examining the state
of our furniture and our provisions, I have
searched into every corner, to see if I could not
find some books. I knew that my father never
went up to the chalet without taking with him a
Bible and several religious books, which he read
to his workmen on Sundays, to supply in some
degree the public service which they attend in
the village. But, apparently, he had sent his
little library away.

We much regretted, in our solitary prison,
not having this means of sustaining and con-
soling ourselves during our long watches. To-
day, having noticed, behind the old oak ward-
robe, a plank which somebody had stuck there
out of the way, I pulled it out, thinking that it
might serve some useful purpose. With it, there
fell down an old dusty book which must have
been lost and forgotten for several years. It
was a Bible.

November 27. Continually snowing ! It is

rare to see so great a quantity fall even at this
season, and on the mountains, in spite of that,
I cannot get over my surprise at my father's
not coming to our assistance, nor can I help
expressing it. Hitherto, mj grandfather has
not allowed me to perceive hit uneasiness ; our
conversation to-day has showt that he is not
less alarmed than myself.

" In fact," I said, " this immense fall of snow
did not come all at once. OL the first, the
second, and even the third day of our captivity,
they might, one would think, hive cleared a
path up to the chalet."

" I am certain," said my grandfuher, "that
Francois has done all he could ; butperhaps he
could not get our friends and neighbours to
share his fears, and it was out of hit power to
rescue us without assistance."

" Do you believe that, if it had been possible
to fetch us away, they would have left us here,
at the risk of finding us dead in the ipring P
Can they be less humane than the penons of
whom we read in the newspapers, who mate the
greatest exertions, often at the peril of their
fives, to save some unfortunate fellow-creiture
who is buried in a mine, in digging a wel, or
under a vault which has fallen in ?"

" I grant, my dear Louis, that our position is
very sad ; but, after all, they know that we are
under shelter, and have some provisions."

We went on for some time in this strah.
When my grandfather was silent, I took he
hands in mine, and said :

" Hide nothing from me, I entreat you. Tell
me, are you not quite as uneasy as I am ? Speak
frankly. I am able to bow with resignation to
the will of God ; I therefore deserve your con-
fidence. Acquaint me with your suppositions,
and do not let me torment myself with my own
alone. I had rather look misfortune full m the
face, and know what you really think."

" Well, my poor boy, I cannot deny that I
fear some accident has happened to your father.
Now it has come to this, I had better tell you
so at once. But, in short, I hardly know what
to think of it ; because, in default of him, other
persons ought to have borne us in mind."

At this, I could restrain my tears and sobs no
longer. My grandfather allowed me to give
way to my grief. The fire went out as we sat
before it. We remained there in the dark, till
it was quite late. My grandfather kept one of
my hands in his, pressing it from time to time.

" I have told you my fears," he said, at last ;
" but do not forget that I still have hopes. We
cannot tell what unforeseen cause may have pre-
vented their coming. All may yet turn out
well. Put your trust in Providence."

December 1. I cannot conquer the terror
which seizes me as I write this date. If some
of the November days appeared so long and
\vcarisome, what will they be this month ? At
least it would be bearable if we were sure this
were the last of our captivity ! But I no longer
dare fix any term to it. The snow is heaped up
to such a height that it, looks as if it would
take the whole summer long to melt it. It is

GG [October 27, ISfiO.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUXD.

[Conducted by

now on a level with the roof; and if I did not
get up every day to clear the chimney, we
should soon be unable to open the trap or to
light a fire.

It vexes me that my grandfather cannot some-
times step out of this confined vault into the
open air. I asked him this morning what he
longed for the most, and he said, "A ray of sun-
shine. Nevertheless," he added, "our lot is
much less wntched than that of very many pri-
soners-, a number of whom have not deserved
imprisonmert any more than we have. Wo
enjoy a certain amount of liberty in our seclu-
sion, and ve find subjects of amusement which
arc not atainable inside the four walls of a
dungeon- we are not visited every day by a
suspicion or cruel or even an indifferent gaoler.
The evils which we suffer from the hand of God
have ne/er the bitterness of those which we be-
lieve ve may attribute to the injustice of men ;
and l.-stly, my boy, we are not hi solitary con-
finement ; and, if your presence here causes me
to fed regret for your sake, which I make no
attenpt to conceal, it also sustains me, and is
almtst necessary to my existence. I do not
thirk you are very dissatisfied with your compa-
nioi; everything about us, even up toBlanchette,
is some alleviation to our captivity, and I assure
you it is not merely for her milk's sake that I
'feel attached to her."

These last words set me thinking, and I pro-
posed to let the poor creature live more in our
company. " She is uncomfortable all alone in
the stable," I said ; " she bleats frequently, and
that may do her harm, and us also. What is
there to hinder us from letting her have a
corner here ? There is plenty of room for all
of' us. She will be much obliged to us for
the honour we do her." I nailed a little
manger against the wall, in the corner where
she would be the least in our way, fixing it
firmly with a couple of stakes ; and, without
further delay, introduced Blauchette into our
sitting-room.

How delighted she is at, the change ! She
does nothing but thank us, in her way. . If it
went on so, she would become fatiguing ; but
when she is accustomed to her novel position,
she will be quieter. At this very moment, while
I am committing these details to paper, she is
lying on some fresh litter, chewing the cud
peaceably, and gazing at me so contentedly that
she seems to guess I am writing her his-
tory. Hitherto, she has wanted for nothing,
and at least there is one happy being inside the
chalet.

December 3. The sunshine to-day attracted
me out on the roof. Cold dry weather has suc-
ceeded to the continued snow-storms. How
my eyes were dazzled by the great white ex-
panse, and how beautiful the forest looked ! I
hardly dared mention to grandfather the de-
light it gave me ; but it suggested that I might
dig away the snow in front of the door, and
make a sloping path upwards from it to the
surface of the snowdrift. I have already sot
to work, and my grandfather will soon enjoy

what he has long been wishing for, a ray of
sunshine.

December 4. My task progresses ; I labour
at it as long as my grandfather will allow. The
idea had struck him before it occurred to me,
and I have scolded him for not communicating
it. He was afraid that the exertion and the
moisture to my feet might do me harm.

Decembers. We can step out of our house;
the path is made ; I have had the pleasure of lead-
ing my grandfather along it, supporting him on
one side. We remained several minutes at the
end of our avenue, which is not long ; but the
day was gloomy, and it made us very sad to see
the black forest, the cloudy sky, and the snow
surrounding us with the silence of death. We
beheld only one living creature, a bird of prey,
which passed at a distance with a hoarse
scream. It flew down towards the valley in the
direction of our village. The pagans would
have derived some omen from it, but we have
no such superstition.

December 9. What a dreadful day ! I had
yet to learn what a hurricane up in the moun-
tains was like. I can hardly describe what
passed out of doors. We heard a frightful
roaring. When we tried to open the door ajar,
the chalet was filled with a whirlwind of snow ;
the wind rushed in with such fury that we had
great difficulty in closing the door again. We were
obliged to drop the trap of the chinwy ; and, be-
sides, it was impossible to light a fire, because the
smoke was continually driven down again. We
ate our milk without boiling it. My grandfather
keeps up my courage by his calm behaviour, as
well as by his grave and pious words. At the
time when one would say that the wrath of God
was hanging over us, he speaks to me of His
compassion and His mercy. On trying a second
time to open the door, we found that a mass of
snow had fallen back upon it, so that we are
completely imprisoned*as before. What I most
regret is my window; it is drifted up again.
Decidedly, as soon as the weather permits, I
will make a fresh attempt to regain a little light
and liberty.

December 11. The cold is much sharper.
Although we are buried under the snow, which
perhaps prevents our hearing the storm, the
frost strikes to our very bones. My grandfather
says that, to be felt so keenly inside the chalet,
the cold must be extremely intense. He
supposes that the wind has changed to the
north.

December 13. I was milking the goat, while
my grandfather lighted the fire. Suddenly, she
pricked up her ears, as if she heard some extra-
ordinary noise. She trembled violently Irom
head to foot.

" What is the matter, Blanchcttc ?" I asked,
caressing her. I could now hear the noises ;
they were low and distant bowlings, which gra-
dually grew louder and louder. We then heard
hundreds of feet pattering on the crisp snow
overhead ; we heard a rusli of animals, a fierce
struggle above us, mingled with horrid cries
that made my blood run cold.

Cbvlet Dickeni.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUXD.

, IMP.) 07

is that ?" I asked, though I knew
v, !i;it it must be, without asking.

" Hush ! The wolves !" said my grandfather
in a whisper, blowing out the light and extin-
guishing the fire. " Keep Blanchette quiet ;
take her in your arms, and give her a little salt
to lick, to keep her from bleating."

PAY FOR TOUR PLACES.

lie a former number of this periodical,* the
present writer endeavoured to illustrate the
great injustice and the evil working of the pw-
chase system in the commissioned ranks of the
British army. Nearfy twenty years' experience
iu the service has convinced him that whatever
other reforms our military organisation has need
of, all changes which leave promotion by pur-
chase part of our army code, are and will be in
vain. Not only is the law which allows an officer
who has a certain sum of money at command to
pass over the head of all those who cannot com-
mand that amount, a standing disgrace to our
service and to onr country, btrt it is the leaven of
evil which lias leavened the whote himp of our
regimental system high and low, from the colonel
to the private.

Take, for instance, the humbler ranks of the
service; what is it that prevents young men of
what may be culled the lower middle class the
sons of small farmers, petty shopkeepers, and
Buch-like from enlisting in our army? Here
and there an individual of this standing may be
found, but seldom or never one who has entered
the army with the intention of making it his
calling for Kfe. How many of this class ever
rise ? How many even hope ever to rise, in the
profession of arms ? Yet, is not an increase of
this class much wanted in our ranks, and would
it not tend to diminish greatly the number of
inmates hi our military prisons, the number of
offenders against military law? Do not this
class flock in thousands to Canada, to Australia,
to wherever English pluck and English strength
are likely to push men on in the world ? How
is it, then, that more of this raw material does not
find its way into our army? The reply is easy;
so plain, that any child may read it. There is
virtually no advancement for our non-commis-
->1 officers to the higher ranks ; and even if
one of that excellent class than which there
does not exist a more praiseworthy set of men in
the world does obtain a commission, he is per-
force obliged to remain in the junior ranks ; for,
without money, there is unless in rare and ex-
ceptional cases no promotion in the fingliah
army.

Like most military men, the writer is pretty
well acquainted with the contents of the Army
List, but from first to last of that compendious
volume, he does not know a single individual
who from the ranks lias risen to be a field-

* See Money or Merit, rolnme in., page 86.

officer. Here and there they might be counted
on one's fingers there exists a captain who was
once a non-commissioned officer, and who, after
obtaining his commission after being 1 purchased
over again and again by his juniors who were
probably not born when lie commenced soldiering
has at hist attained unto the rank of captain ;
only, however, to retire from the sen-ice as soon
as possible, being already too old for active
service of any kind. Of subalterns there are
certainly some two for each regiment is
above the average who have risen from the
ranks; but these, after a few years, invari-
ably become spiritless soldiers and hopeless
men, for they are aware that, not having
money, they can advance no higher in their pro-
fession. In fact, a non-commissioned officer is
seldom promoted until he is an elderly man.
The writer knows a cavalry quartermaster
who enlisted as a private dragoon in 1822;
but was only promoted to be a commissioned
officer thirty-one years later, when he was up-
wards of fifty years of age. If this man, who
saw plenty of active service a quarter of a
century before he got his commission, was fit to
promote so late in life, surely he was so
at an earlier period. Another gallant officer of
his acquaintance who enlisted in 1812, went
through several campaigns in India, but only ob-
tained a commission in the year of grace 1844.
The truth is as the upholders of the pur-
chase system maintain the non-commissioned
officers of the English army, as a body, care
little to be promoted ; for they know full well
that, not having money, they cannot hold their
own in the race for further advancement. Such
a thing as a poor but well-educated young man
enlisting in the English army, and working his
way by degrees through the non-commissioned
ranks until, whilst yet in the prime of hfe, he
attains the rank of field-officer, is unheard of
in our service; were it otherwise, how much
easier would be the recruiting-sergeant's task ;
how much fewer the punishments in our
regiments! At present, a few sanguine indi-
viduals of a better class of life than the ordinary
run of our recruits do occasionally enlist, chiefly
in our dragoon regiments ; but these seldom or
ever remain longer in the service thro they cam
help, for they see how utterly useless it is to
hope for advancement' without money in the
English army.

Our neighbours manage these matters much
better. Very many young Frenchmen, of good
birth and fair education, join the army as volun-
teer recruits, sure that in due time, with good
behaviour, they will rise even to the highest
ranks.

It is not the wish of the writer of these lines
to see the whole British army officered by men
who have served in the ranks. Bat he looks
upon the purchase system as one which must be
abolished before the English military service can
become what it ought to be. All the late rales
and regulations regarding the examination of

68 [October 27, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conductod by

candidates for commissions and for subsequent
promotion, although good in themselves, are
powerless for any real good, so long as money
remains a sine qua non for advancement.

There can be no doubt that if the working of
the purchase system were understood in all its in-
justice by the English public, it would no longer
be allowed to disgrace our service. Amongst
such members of the legislature as have never
held commissions, the subject has been very
little understood hitherto. And, strange to say,
there appears to be amongst civilians of all
classes an undefined idea that, if done away
with, promotion by purchase must be replaced by
promotion by favouritism. It is difficult to say
wherefore this notion has got abroad, unless
it be that the general ignorance which exists
regarding military matters in England has led
men to imagine that one evil cannot be abolished
without a still greater one taking its place. Not,
however, that such would be the case if purchase
gave way to selection ; for, at the present day,
public opinion has so much to say to the acts of
public men, that any undue act of favouritism in
the promotion of officers would most certainly
meet with exposure.

Why imagine that promotion by selection
must necessarily take the place of promotion
by purchase ? There are four large bodies
of English military men, second to none in all
military virtues both in camp and quarters, in
which officers have never yet been promoted
either by purchasing over the heads of their
poorer comrades, or by trusting to the favour of
friends in power. These four are the Royal Artil-
lery, Royal Engineers, Royal Marines, and the
East India Army. In these services and do more
honourable corps exist in the world ? although
officers are selected to fill staff and other situa-
tions according to their merit, yet no man can
supersede his senior in regular promotion, either
by money at his banker's or interest at the Horse
Guards. Why should this rule not be extended
to the whole English army ? If Lieutenant A.,
after seven, eight, or nine years' service, and after
rising to the top of the list of subalterns, is not
fit to be promoted to the rank of captain, be
assured that he is unfit to hold any commission
whatever, and the sooner his services are dis-
pensed with the better for the public that pays
him. The upholders of promotion by purchase
maintain that the seniority system will keep
officers in the junior ranks, owing to there
not being sufficient inducement held out for the
seniors to retire, until they are too old to be of
any good if called into the field. But can this
be said of any one of the four services enumerated
above ? Merely to name these corps is to call
forth memories of wars, and campaigns, and
fights, and battles, and heroic deeds, such as the
world has seldom seen equalled. It would be
impossible to recal an instance in which an
officer of one of these corps has failed in his duty
on account of old age. But the possibility of
such an event would be prevented by obliging all

officers to retire from active service after a certain
age, and to allow them as would be but fair and
just an adequate pension after they retire. Nor
would this be a heavy tax upon the public ; for,
long after an officer is too old for the more active
duties of his profession, he is quite young enough
to superintend recruiting, to look after barracks,
to perform the duties of garrison adjutant, town
major, or commandant of depots, most, if not all
of which are duties now performed by young, or
comparatively young, men, who have interest to
obtain such appointments. Of the field officers,
adjutants, and captains now commanding and
doing duty at the depots in Great Britain cer-
tain never to be sent abroad the great majority
are young, hale men; whereas many officers,
worn down by climate and hard work, are,
and have been for years, doing duty with their
corps in the most unhealthy climates of the
world. Thus, purchase in the English army
does not prevent favouritism existing whenever
it can find a footing in the service.

In a recent debate in the House of Commons
on the subject of promotion by purchase, a
member, speaking in favour of the system, said
that he could hardly conceive a more discordant
body of men in the world than an English body
of officers in which certain members of the corps
had been selected for promotion over the heads
of others. This may be true enough, and the
argument might hold good, if those who, wish-
ing the purchase system to be abolished, advo-
cate promotion by selection taking its place.
But, has the honourable member ever lived
as the writer has, more than once during his
military career in a regiment, several officers
of which had, for want of means, been super-
seded by their juniors ? If so, he will have
some idea to what length hatred, envy, ma-
lice, and all uncharitableness can be carried by
those who, at other times, are on the best of
terms with each other. Moreover, he most dis-
tinctly asserts that he has witnessed amongst
military men more quarrels and ill will caused by
questions of exchange and promotion by pur-
chase than by any other cause whatever. In one
instance, the junior of his corps purchasing over
the senior major, obtained command of the regi-
ment, and commanded one who had formerly
commanded him. The senior major was a Water-
loo officer, had fought in Spain under Wel-
lington, in India under Gough, and at the Cape
under Smith. He had been thirty years in the
service *w the same corps, and had more than
once led the regiment into action. But he had
not fourteen hundred pounds at his command.
The junior major who superseded him had been,
only ten years in the army, and being but twenty-
six years of age, must have been born four years
after his senior entered the service. But he had
the requisite fourteen hundred pounds.

On another occasion the writer recollects a
corps stationed in India, in which a lieutenant of
seven years' service superseded, by purchasing
over their heads, no fewer than eleven of his com-

Clmrle Dlekent.}

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[ October S7.1MO.J 69

rades, the senior of which had been twenty, and
two others had each been seventeen, years in the
army. Is it to be supposed for an instant that
promotions like these promotions, be it remem-
Bend, which are the legitimate consequences of
the purchase system, and which have only become
more rare in consequence of the casualties in
the Crimea, or in India, but which will return in
plenty in times of peace is it to be supposed for
an instant that such promotions do not cause
ill- blood amongst those who are superseded P

Take three instances all of which the writer
has knowu iu the army in which officers have
been obliged to leave the service. A lieutenant-
colonel commanding a cavalry regiment, lost a suit
in Chancery which had been bequeathed to liim
by his father. To pay all he owed, he sold every-
thing he had in the world, intending to exchange
into a regiment in India, and there live by his
profession on the increased pay which military
men serving in that country receive. This, how-
ever, was not enough for his creditors. His com-
mission was a marketable commodity, and, as
such, they obliged him to sell it and make over
the proceeds to them, leaving himself without
either means or a profession. The second case
was that of a captain of infantry, who had be-
come security for his brother's debts. The
brother died ; there was something or other in-
formal in the life insurance policy with which his
liabilities were covered, and the brother in the
army had to pay the debts, to effect which his
creditors obliged him to sell his commission. The
third instance which the writer recollects was
still more severe, inasmuch as there were three
sufferers, all brothers, all in the army, and all joint
trustees for the property of some orphan rela-
tives. The attorney to whom they entrusted the
business decamped, and to make good what he
had absconded with, all three brothers had to sell
out of the army. In no other profession, or in
no other country, would men have to abandon
their means of living in order to pay even their
own, far less the debts of others.

If commissions in the army are to be had if
promotion in the service is to be obtained by
purchase, let us at least be consistent, and not
allow poor men to mix with the wealthy. Nay, let
us go further than this, and oblige every young
man who obtains a commission to deposit in the
public funds at least enough money to purchase
him up to the top of his profession. Should he
retire before he obtains the rank of lieutcnaut-
coloncl, his money will be returned to him, and
the money of those who take his p'ace will re-
place it. Thus, in any case, we shall be spared
the private heart-burnings, and the national dis-
grace of seeing officers who have money su-
persede those who have none, or who have
little. If, on the other hand, we want our army
to be what it ought, and to be officered by men
who can trust to nothing but professional quali-
fications for their advancement, let us for ever
abolish a system which, to say the best of i f , is
a miserable remainder of corrupt days, when all

public places and posts were bought, sold, and
exchanged for money. If military appointments
are to be sold, why not sell those in the civil
service Treasury and Post-office clerkships,
consul and vice- consulships, custom-house offi-
cers' berths, tide-waiters' situations, and chap-
lains' commissions ? Let one and all be tariffed,
and no promotion take place in any department
unless a certain regulation price is paid for the
advancement. Why should the English army
alone be disgraced by the table of rates, or Prices
of Commissions, which figures at the end of every
Army List ? Let us, at any rate, be consistent ;
and, if we are to have any situations under go-
vernment bought and sold, let all be bought and
sold.

REAL MYSTERIES OF PARIS AND
LONDON.

NOT mysteries of crime ; no account of secret
societies that exist in the heart of London the
Odd-Fellows, the Druids, the Codgers, the
Foresters, the Rum Pum Pas; no revelations
of unknown horrors going on in the innermost
recesses of Paris; no trackings out of hidden
villanies perpetrated in nooks and corners of
that city no one of these things is going just
now to be made the subject of discussion. Nor
are the wonderful mechanical but hidden contri-
vances by which the inhabitants of these two
cities are supplied with gas and water, nor the
secrets of the great sewers, of the Morgue,
of the Dark Arches, to be treated of in this
paper. The shut-un and deserted houses in
Stamford-street, Blackfriars-road, London, again,
it might be legitimately supposed, were likely
to be included in our mysteries of London.
Those houses in rows of two or three together
which no human being ever enters, which are
black and horrible to look at, which have not
one single pane of unbroken glass in any one of
their windows, and the floors of whose rooms
must be covered with the missiles by which
the glass was broken. Those houses are said
to belong to an eccentric old lady. It is a
question whether old ladies, as a class, are to be
trusted with house property. We all remember
that terrible old lady whom we used to be so
afraid of when we were little, who used to live
in the house with the boarded up windows, and
whose hollow-sounding knocker used to be plied
all day by the boy population of the neighbour-
hood. Enough of this old lady, however. The
mysteries proposed to be dealt with are of a
more familiar and less alarming kind than the
Stamford-street houses, but they are none the
less deep and inscrutable for all that.

Now there are some mysteries which I do not
expect to have explained to me. I am content
to receive them, abandoning all hope of compre-
hension. They are too much for me, and I
make no secret that they are so. To this clas?
belongs the mystery of India, This country
seems to consider India, and India alone, as
important. Every family sends some of its
members to India. We fight for India, with

70 [October 27, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

India, in India; we impoverish ourselves (do-
mestically) to pay for the Indian servants who
fan our sons who are slowly dying in India, and
of India. They come back sick, with ruined
constitutions, from India. They contract tre-
mendously expensive habits in India, and cannot
shake them off when they return to the compa-
ratively unimportant mother country. It is no
matter, all must be borne, all must be done, for
India.

Now, one of the mysteries which I do not ask
to have explained to me, and to which I am
wholly resigned, lies in this belief in India. I
cannot understand it. I can comprehend that a
certain number of valuable and desirable articles
come to us from India, but they do not seem
worth all this fuss. One can get through a day
mnguificently, without India. One can eat,
drink, and be clothed luxmiously, without India :
one can be amused without India. It seems to
me that we go through all I have spoken of
above, and a great deal more, for the sake of a
few jewels, a lot of Cashmere shawls which no-
body can afford to buy, and for those everlasting
species concerning the importation of which we
used to learn so much at school. These things
are very important, no doubt, but are they im-
portant enough to produce the sensation they
do? We keep up armies and expend millions for
the sake of some drugs, for wonderful things
called jute, and turmeric, and for Indigo. This
Indigo, by-the-by, is another mystery. What
inconceivable importance seems to attach to
this blue dye! If we supported nature by
dying ourselves blue, if everything we wore were
of a dark-blue tinge, if the whole nation were
dressed after the fashion of the Metropolitan
Police force if all these things were so, we
could hardly make more fuss than we do about
Indigo. The City of London seems altogether
devoted to Indigo, and if you go into the docks
and ask what all the bales of goods contain, the
answer is Indigo, Indigo, Indigo. American
cotton, tea from China, sugar from the West
Indies, these are things the importance of
which one understands, but the degree of sacri-
fice that is cheerfully made for India remains
still a great and terrible mystery.

It is one, however, which I am content to
leave unapproached, and to abandon as one does
parliamentary and pecuniary mysteries, prices of
stocks, the English funds, and other hopeless
matters. But there are some secrets which one
is less resigned about, some riddles which one
is more impatient to solve, some " Mysteries
of London" which it really disturbs one's peace
of mind to have to abandon as inexplicable.

The perfumers' shops ! llow are they kept
up ? In one street in London (it is called
Bond-street), I myself have counted seven large
perfumers' shops, and six more which I do
not take into account because they are hair-
cutting temples as well. Seven enormous old-
established shops, in one street, for the sale of
perfumery! What can this mean? Would not
any one in the world have thought that one
single shop on the scale of a Bond-street Em-

porium would alone have proved enough, not
only for all England, but for all the world?
How few people we know, are perfumed. How
many there are in good circumstances who never
buy a bottle of scent from one year's end to
another, unless it is a bottle of eau-de-Cologne
or lavender-water. Think of these shops, of
Rimmel's in the Strand, of Hendrie's and many
more in Regent-street and elsewhere, is it not
wonderful how they are all maintained ?

But if the perfumers are a mystery of an
unfathomable nature, what shall we say of the
silversmiths and jewellers in Oxford-street?
How seldom people want the wares sold by
these gentry; and when they do want sucii
matters, do they employ a small and unknown
tradesman ? Surely not. When any of our
friends require a silver teapot or half a dozen
spoons, do they not go to Messrs. Hunt and
Roskell, or Mr. Hancock, and buy them there ?
What, then, is the secret of those silversmiths'
shops in Oxford-street, with their windows
full of what appears to represent thousands
of pounds' worth of property ? Perhaps, if you
wanted a sixpenny watch-key in a great hurry,
you might go to one of these glittering ware-
houses; but their proprietors will hardly get
rich upon such dealings. You give these de-
sperate tradesmen a job, only when some emer-
gency obliges you, when that knob on the teapot
lid comes off for the hundredth time, or when
you want a glass to your watch. But who buys
the hundreds of gilt clocks with inaccuracy writ-
ten in legible characters on their faces ? Who
purchases the cheap gold watches, and abandons
his appointments thenceforth for ever ? Who
is in a hurry to possess himself of one of those
silver butter-knives, warranted to cut always
too much butter or too little, warranted also to
swerve wildly away in the winter season when
the butter is hard, and to come out of the
mother-of-pearl handle once every calendar
month without fail ?

These are awful questions, but still more
terrible questions remain. Is it possible that
one of these incomprehensible dealers ever uses
his shop as a blind, and is really engaged in
some nefarious business by which he makes his
living ? Does he steal out in the dead of night
and "engage in body-snatching ? Does he sing
comic songs at a music hall ? Does he lend money
in the back shop on the usual terms " fifty
poundsh down, my dear, and fifty poundsh in
peautiful gilt clocksh, and plated putter-knives"
a loan to be repaid, by the " brisk minor"
who contracts it, with his very life-blood?

At the back of that suburban terrace, in
which it is my fortune to reside when in Lon-
don, is a row of shops which supply the neigh-
bourhood with all the things they want, and in
some cases with a few articles, as it would ap-
pear, which they do not want. In that small
row there are two (and used to be three) enor-
mous medical halls or chemists' shops. Next
to the luxury of a club-house, or of the abode
of a stockbroker on the eve of ruin, comes
the gorgcousuess of those two temples of phai>

Chirlf i Dickon*.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Octobr7.1MO.] 71

macy. You arc bewildered on catering them
by the bla/o of glass and gilding, you are ren-
dered fain! by delicious odours, you are restored
again l>y draughts of iw ilers which

gush forth into long tumblers at the touching
of a spring. Now, how arc these palaces kept
going ? 1 pass them often, but never see any one
making ;i purchase or giving an order. Their
proprietors, too both profoundly miserable
men; one being a specimen of pale misery, and
the other, which is much more terrible, of rosy
misery are for ever increasing their expend i I ure,
and whenever Floridus gets a new scent-bottle
and sticks it, in his window, or a flesh-brusli, or
a galvanic battery, or what not, Pallidus is
obliged to follow his lead, and the next day the
same goods will appear in his shop as surely as
the morning conies round.

Now, the reason why it seems so extraordinary
and mysterious that these two druggists are
able to keep their heads above water is, that it
appears to the writer that every member of his
acquaintance gets his or her medicines either
from Bell and Co., or from Messrs. Savory and
Moore, as the case may be. It is true that on one
occasion, when I had been dining with the Surgit
Amaris, that eminent Greek firm in the City, and
found on my return that Ihad no carbonate of soda
in the house, it is true that I then rushed forth
iu wild haste, and luckily finding it was Satur-
day night that I he emporium of the rosy sufferer
was still open, I purchased an ounce of the
medicine of which my heated frame stood in
need. It is impossible to describe the sensation
made by the giving of this order. A boy,
pining iu secret behind a desk, sprang suddenly
into life, and instantly summoned the great
Floridus himself from the back parlour, where
he was perhaps supping on rose lozenges and
Iceland moss, washed down with soda-water
from the fountain. Both man and boy were
kept in violent commotion for at least ten mi-
nutes, by my order. It was entered in books
double-entered, perhaps the drug itself was
wrapped in paper, ana the parcel so made was
lapped up at the end, thea the soda was shaken
down into the lapped up end, at which point
Floridus made a remark upon the weather, and
I, looking round the shop, and noting its mag-
nificence, hoped that the medicine would not
come to less than fourpence. The parcel was
now lapped up at the Oliver end and shaken
down in turn to that extremity, when Floridus
made a second remark on the weather, includ-
ing the subject of crops, and I, seeing that
anottar piece of magnificent paper was going to
be pressed into the service, began to think that
I should feel miserable if my purchase came to
less than sixpence. When an outer paper,
thick and soft and smooth, was hud upon the
counter, and the already sufficiently protected
soda was placed upon it, I would have given
much to have bcea allowed to clutch my pur-
chase, pay my money, and rush out of the shop.
But this was not to be. New expenses must be
incurred by the firm with which I was dealing,
in supplying me with a coloured wrapper over

all, in vast outlays of sealing-wax, and, finally,
in the addition of an adhesive label, with " Car-
bonate of Soda" engraved upon it iu the best
style of printing. When the miserable Floridus
announced that all this only came to THREE
pence (it would have been a relief if he had
said " thrcppencc"), I felt that men had sunk
into the earth for less offences than I had been
guilty of in making such a purchase.

There are other mysteries of London besides
the chemists' shops. Who finds the money
and delights to spend it that keeps on foot
those newspapers of which we are told authori-
tatively that " they don't pay ?" Who are the
people who are always ready to come forward
witli the means of supporting the insolvent ma-
nagement of a theatre ? Such capitalists are
always forthcoming at a pinch. Where are they
to be heard of?

The print trade, again. Who buys those
proofs before letters which issue from time to
time upon the London world ? How few people
one knows, who purchase prints. In how few
houses do you see them hanging up. Our
friends' walls are not decorated thus : with bad
pictures yes ; but with prints no.

Take the fur trade, again. How is that sus-
tained ? How are expensive premises in fashion-
able situations maintained by selling furs ? It is
a ghastly sight, in the summer months, to see a
heated shopkeeper emerge from the door of his
warehouse and stand by the side of the stuffed
lion, whom the moths are at work at, gazing out
upon the world of London from under his awning !
A fur shop with an awning ! How that shopman
must hate those hot stuffed animals by which he is
surrounded. How glad he must oe that the
moths are slowly sapping away the foundations
of the lion's tail, and exposing the stuffing of
the Polar bear to the eye of the curious.

These are some of the mysteries of London.
There are many more. What do the bakers do
with the rows of loaves which one sometimes
sees round their shelves at the decline of day,
still unsold? What becomes of your unpur-
chased bun ? Who buys the cabbages, gigantic
cart-loads of which are imported into the metro-
polis ? Who ever sees a caobage at table ? Who
ever orders a cabbage for dinner ? Lastly, how
i* the great tailoring firm of Joses and Son, in
whose shop no human being is ever seen how is
that kept up, and in such splendid preservation P

But if these mysteries of commercial London
are profound and hard of solution, what are those
of Paris ? If the whole population of Paris were
supported, fed, nourished, clothed, lodged, and
washed, with jewellery, it would but hardly and
unsatisfactorily account for the number, the in-
calculable number, of the jewellers' shops with
which now more than ever the metropolis of
France is furnished. The Boulevard from one end
to the other is all a-blaze with gold and jewel-
lery ; and as to the Hoe de la Paix and the Palais

lloyal But let us, being on the spot, take

a walk round the enclosure of the Palais Royal,
and note the exact nature of the different em-
poriums which surround this Walhalla of luxury.

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[October 27, 1800.]

The first shop we come to, is one wholly un-
known in our native land ; it is an Order depot,
a little shop, full of bits of coloured ribbon and
medals or grand crosses ; and as everybody in
France is decor6, it is probable that a brisk
business is done in supplying the distinguished
personages who may send round for an order
at any moment, and who may not like to be
kept waiting. Next to the Order depot, there
is a wig shop, and then comes a china gim-
crack shop, and then a jeweller's, and then
comes a slop-shop for ready-made clothes, and
then an opera-glass vendor's, and then a gim-
crack shop, and then a jeweller's, and then
a shop like Mechi's in Regent - street, and
then a jeweller's, and then a jeweller's, and then
a jeweller's, and then a jeweller's, and then
a jeweller's, and then a jeweller's, and then a
gimcrack shop, and then another gimcrack
shop, and then a jeweller's, and then a gim-
crack shop, and then a jeweller's, and then
an opera- glass shop, and after that a gim-
crack shop, and then a jeweller's, and then
a jeweller's, and then a slop-shop, and then
a jeweller's, and then a jeweller's, and then a
jeweller's, and then a jeweller's, and then
a jeweller's and clock shop, and then a
jeweller's, and then a jeweller's. After this,
comes another Mechi shop, and then another
Order depot, and then a jeweller's, succeeded
by an opera -glass shop, a watchmaker's, a
Mechi shop, an artificial teeth purveyor's, a
slop-shop, and then a jeweller's. After this
comes a perfumer's, and then a Mechi shop,
and then a jeweller's, and then a silver-
smith's, and then a jeweller's, and then a gim-
crack shop, and then a jeweller's, and then a
jeweller's, and then a jeweller's, and then a
jeweller's ; a Mechi shop next, a silversmith's,
and then a jeweller's ; and then a photograph
shop, and then a jeweller's; and then a watch-
maker's, and then a jeweller's ; and then a gim-
crack shop, and then a slop-shop. At last
we have been travelling all this time down
one side of the Palais Royal only at last the
cafe at the corner.

Now, is it to be expected that one is to sit
down tamely, under such a state of things as
this? But the worst of it is, that this is not all.
The Rue de Rivoli, which is about two miles
long, is full of jewellers' shops. The line of
Boulevard, which is much longer, glitters again
with jewellers' shops, and in the short space of
the Rue de la Paix there are no less than sixteen
of these Temples of Bewilderment. Fifty jewel-
lers' shops in the Palais Royal, and sixteen in the
Rue de la Paix, and how many more in the
different Passages and the minor streets, besides
the Boulevard and the Rue de Rivoli !

Who can account for the bonbon shops
those palaces almost more magnificent than the
warehouses of the jewellers themselves, those
huge chocolate and sweetmeat deposits, where
bilious women all alike, bilious themselves,

dispensers of bile to others, sit behind coun-
ters in a state of chronic nausea horrible to

think of ? Stay ! A thought ! These retailers

of bile are jewelled, and the retailers of jewels
again are, to a man, bilious. Do the jewellers
and the bonbon vendors mutually support each
other? Do they make exchanges, and swap
bonbons for jewellery, and vice versa ? Unhap-
pily, even this would not account sufficiently
for the difficulty we are considering. If the
bilious women were clothed from head to foot
with gold, and if the jewellers supported life
horrible thought on chocolate drops only, it
still would not account for the phenomena with
which we are puzzling ourselves.

There is one more thing which surely we may
be allowed to class among the mysteries of
Paris. The hidden pecuniary resources of the
men in the blue blouses. The writer of these
words wears a beautiful black coat, but he is
unable to afford himself the luxuries that these
men indulge in. What dinners they order at the
restaurant ! What good places they occupy at
the theatre ! What pleasant drives they take
in open carriages on Sundays !

Now surely Eugene Sue's mysteries of Paris
are trifles to such profound difficulties as are pre-
sented by these commercial riddles. There is one
more, which, applying equally to London and
Paris, may, in conclusion, be whispered in the
reader's ear. In what region of the earth, in
what particular tunnelled-out portion of its
bowels, do those hackney-carriages, whose num-
bers come before the thousands, ply for hire?
Many and many is the time that these weary
bones have sunk upon the sordid plush of your
cab, your remise, or your fiacre, out never to
my knowledge has one of those vehicles rejoiced
in a number even so low as five hundred.
Where does number fifty work, number twenty,
ten, one ? Has anybody ever seen these num-
bers on any hired carriage ? Has anybody ever
inhaled the air (with its combined flavour of
bedding and manure) which the interiors of
all the cab tribes exhibit, and which, if the
earliest numbers have been longest on the road,
must be in great perfection in the individual
specimens here alluded to ?

NEW WORK BY MR. CHARLES DICKENS.

In No. 84 of ALL THE TEAR ROUND, TO BE PUB-
LISHED ON SATURDAY, DECEMBER THE FIKST,

Will be commenced

GREAT EXPECTATIONS,

BY CHARLES DICKENS,

A NEW SERIAL STORY,

To be continued from -week to week until completed
in about EIGHT MONTHS.

VOLUME THE THIRD,

Price 5s. 6d., is now ready.

The right of Translating Articles from ALL TUB YEAB. ROUND is reserved by the Authors.

Publihed at tho Office, No. K, Wellington Slreet, Strand. Printed by C. WUITISO, Beaufort House, Strand.

'THE STORY OF OUR LIVES FROM YEAR TO YEAR." SHAKESPEARE.

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

A WEEKLY JOURNAL.
CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

80.]

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 1860.

[PRICE

A DAY'S RIDE: A LIFE'S ROMANCE.

CHAPTER XV.

ON entering the drawing-room, his excellency
presented me to an elderly lady, very thin, and
very wrinkled, who received me with a cold dig-
nity, and then went on with her crochet-work. I
could not catch her name, nor, indeed, was I
thinking of it; my whole mind was bent upon
the question, Who could she be ? For what
object was she there ? All my terrible doubts
of the morning now rushed forcibly back to my
memory, aud I felt that never had I detested a
human being with the h&te I experienced for
her. The pretentious stiffness of her manner,
the haughty self-possession she wore, were posi-
tive outrages ; and, as I looked at her, I felt
myself muttering, "Don't imagine that your
heavy black moire, or your rich tails of lace, im-
pose upon me. Never fancy that this mock
austerity deceives one who reads human nature
as he reads large print. I know, and I abhor
you, old woman ! That a man should be to the
other sex as a wolf to the fold, the sad expe-
rience of daily life too often teaches ; but that a
woman should be false to woman, that all the
gentle instincts we love to think feminine should
be debased to treachery and degraded into snares
for betrayal, this is an offence that cries aloud
to Heaven !

" No more tea none !" cried I, with an
energy, that nearly made the footman let the
tray fall, and so far startled the old lady, that she
dropped her knitting, with a faint cry. As for
his excellency, he haa covered his face with the
Globe, and I believe was fast asleep.

I looked about for my hat to take my leave,
\\hen a sudden thought struck me. " I will stay.
! will sit down beside this old creature, and, for
once at least in her miserable life, she shall hear
from the lips of a man a language that is not
that of the debauchee. "Who knows what effect
one honest word of a true-hearted man may not
work ? I will try, at aU events," said I, and
approached her. She did not, vis I expected,
make room for me on the sofa beside her, and I
was therefore obliged to take a chair in front.
This was so far awkward that it looked formal ;
it gave somewhat the character of accusation
to my position, and I decided to obviate the
difficulty by assuming a light, easv, cheerful
manner at first, as though I suspected nothing.

" It's a pleasant little capital, this Kalb-
bratenstadt," said I, as I lay back in my chair.

" Is it ?" said she, dryly, without looking up
from her work.

" Well, I mean," said I, " it seems to have
its reasonable share of resources. They have
their theatre, and their music garden, and their
promenades, and their drives to to

" You'll find all the names set down there,"
said she, handing me a copy of Murray's Hand-
book that lay beside her.

" I care less for names than facts, madam,"
said I, angrily, for her retort had stung me, and
routed all my previous intention of a smooth
approach to the fortress. " I am one of those
unfashionable people who never think the better
of vice because it wears French gloves, and goes
perfumed with Ess bouquet."

She took off her spectacles, wiped them, looked
at me, and went on with her work without
speaking.

"If I appear abrupt, madam," said I, "in
this opening, it is because the opportunity I
now enjojr may never occur again, and may be
of the briefest even now. We meet by what
many would call an accident one of those in-
cidents which the thoughtless call chance di-
rected my steps to this place ; let me hope that
that which seemed a hazard may bear all the
fruits of maturest combination, and that the
weak words of one frail, even as yourself, may
not be heard by you in vain. Let me therefore
ask you one question only one and give me
an honest answer to it."

" You are a very singular person," said she,
" and seem to have strangely forgotten the very
simple circumstance that we meet for the first
time now."

" I know it, I feel it ; and that it may also be
for the last and only time is my reason for this
appeal to you. There are persons who, seeing
you here, would treat you with a mock deference,
address you with a counterfeit respect, and go
their ways ; who would say to their selfish hearts,
' It is no concern of mine, why should it trouble
me ?' But I am not one of these. I carry a
conscience in my breast ; a conscience that holds
its daily court, and will even to-morrow ask me,
' Have you been truthful, have you been faith-
ful ? When the occasion served to warn a fellow-
creature of the shoal before him, did you cry out,
" Take soundings ! you are iu shallow water P"
or, " Did you with slippery phrases gloss over

VOL. IV.

74 [\oveinber3, I860.]

ALL THE YEAE ROUND.

[Conducted by

the peril, because it involved no danger to your-
self?"'"

" Would that same conscience be kind enough
to suggest that your present conduct is an im-
pertinence, sir?"

" So it might, madam; just as the pilot is im-
pertinent when he cries out ' Hard, port ! breakers
ahead !' "

" I am therefore to infer, sir," said she, with
a calm dignity, " that my approach to a secret
danger of which I can have no knowledge is
a sufficient excuse for the employment of lan-
guage on your part that, under a less urgent
plea, had been offensive ?"

" You are," said T, boldly.

" Speak out, then, sir, and declare what it
is." '

" Nay, madam, if the warning find no echo
within, my words are useless. I have said I
would ask you a question."

" Well, sir, do so."

" Will you answer it frankly ? Will you give
it all the weight and influence it should bear,
and reply to it with that truthful spirit
that conceals nothing ?"

" What is your question, sir ? You had
better be speedy with it, for I don't much trust
to my continued patience."

I arose at this, and, passing behind the back of
my chair, leaned my arms on the upper rail, so as
to confront her directly ; and then, in the voice of
an accusing angel, I said, " Old woman, do you
know where you are going ?"

" I protest, sir," said she, rising, with an indig-
nation I shall not forget " I protest, sir, you
make me actually doubt if I know where I am !"

" Then let me tell you, madam," said I, with
the voice of one determined to strike terror into
her heart "let me tell you; and may my
words have the power to awaken you, even now,
to the dreadful consequences of what you are
about !"

" Shalley ! Shalley !" cried she, in amazement,
"is this gentleman deranged, or is it but the
passing effect of your conviviality ?" And with
this she swept out of the room, leaving me there
alone, for I now perceived what seemed also
to have escaped her that the minister had
slipped quietly away some time before, and
was doubtless at that same moment in the pro-
foundest of slumbers.

I took my departure at once. There were
no leave-takings to delay me, and I left the
house in a mood little according with the spirit
of one who had partaken of its hospitalities.
I am constrained to admit I was the very re-
verse of satisfied with myself. It was cowardly
and mean of me to wreak my anger on that old
woman, and not upon him who was the really
great offender. He it was I should have ar-
raigned ; and with the employment of a little
artifice and some tact, how terrible I might have
made even my jesting levity ! how sarcastic my
sneers at fashionable vice! Affecting utter
ignorance about his life and habits, I could have
incidentally thrown out little episodes of all the
men who have wrecked their fortunes by aban-

doned habits. I would have pointed to this
man who made a brilliant opening in the House,
and that who had acquired such celebrity at the
Bar ; I would have shown the rising statesman
tarnished, the future chief justice disqualified;
I would have said, "Let no man, however
modest his station or unfrequented his locality,
imagine that the world takes no note of his
conduct ; in every class he is judged by his
peers, and you and I, Doubleton, will as as-
suredly be arraigned before the bar of society as
the pickpocket will be charged before the beak !"

I continued to revolve these and such-like
thoughts throughout the entire night. The
wine I had drunk fevered and excited me, and
added to that disturbed state which my own self-
accusings provoked. Doubts, too, flitted across
my mind whether I ought not to have main-
tained a perfect silence towards the others, and
reserved all my eloquence for the poor girl her-
self. I imagined myself taking her hand between
both mine, while, with averted head, she sobbed
as if her heart would break, and, saying, " Be
comforted, poor stricken deer! be comforted;
I know all. One, who is far from perfect him-
self, sorrows with and compassionates you ; he
will be your friend, your adviser, your protector.
I will restore you to that home you quitted in
innocence. I will bring you back to that honey-
suckled porch where your pure heart expanded
in home affections." Nothing shall equal the
refined delicacy of my manner ; that mingled re-
serve and kindness a sort of cross between a
half-brother and a canon of St. Paul's shall win
her over to repentance, and then to peace.
How I fancied myself at intervals of time visit-
ing that cottage, going, as the gardener watches
some cherished plant, to gaze on the growing
strength I had nurtured, and enjoy the luxury
of seeing the once drooping flower expanding
into fresh loveliness and perfume. "Yes,
Potts, this would form one of those episodes
you have so often longed to realise." And then
I went on to fancy a long heroic struggle between
my love and that sentiment of respect for
worldly opinion which is dear to every man,
the years of conflict wearing me down in health
but exalting me immensely in every moral con-
sideration. Let the hour of crowning victory
at last come, I should take her to my bosom,
and say, " There is rest for thee here !"

" His excellency begs that you will call at
the legation as early as you can this morning,"
said a waiter, entering with the breakfast tray;
and I now perceived that I had never gone to
bed, or closed my eyes during the night.

" How did this message come ?" I asked.

" By the chasseur of his excellency."

" And how addressed ?"

" ' To the gentleman who dined yesterday at
the legation.' "

I asked these questions to ascertain how far
he persisted in the impertinence of giving me a
name that was not mine, and I was glad to find
that on this occasion no transgression had oc-
curred.

I hesitated considerably about going to him.

CbarlM DMfeHM.}

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[ XoTOralxr *, 1810. ] 75

Was I to accept that slippery morality that says,
" I see no more than I please in the man I dine
with," or was I to go coldly on and denounce
this < himself? \Vhat if he were to
say, " I'otts, let us play fair ! put your own
cards on the table, and let us see are you always
on the square? Who is your father? how
does he live? Why have you left home, and
how ? What of that horse you have "

"No, no, not stolen on my honour, not.
stolen !"

" Well, ain't it ugly ? Isn't the story one that
any relating might, without even a spice of
malevolence, make marvellously disagreeable?
Is the tale such as you'd wish to herald you into
any society you desired to mix with ?" It was
in this high, easy, and truly companionable style
that conscience kept me company while T ate
two eggs and a plate of buttered toast. " After
all," thought I, "might it not prove a great
mistake not to wait onnim ? How if, in our talk
over politics last night, I may have dropped
some remarkable expression, a keen appre-
ciation of some statesman, an extraordinary
prediction of some coming crisis ? Maybe it
is to question me more fully about my ' views'
of the state of Europe." Now, I am rather given
to " views of the state of Europe." I like that
game of patience, formed by shuffling up all
the governments of the Continent, and then
seeing who is to have the most "tricks,"
who's to win all the kings, and who the knaves.
" Yes," thought I, " this is what he is at. These
diplomatic people are consummately clever
at pumping ; their great skill consists in extract-
ing information from others and adapting it to
their own uses. Their social position confers
the great advantage of intercourse with whatever
is remarkable for station, influence, and ability ;
and I think I hear his excellency muttering to
himself, ' Remarkable man, that large views

old story, Sic vos non vobis ; and I suppose it is
one of the curses on Irishmen that, from Edmund
Burke to Potts, they should be doomed to cram
others. I will go. What signifies it to me? I am
none the poorer in dispensing my knowledge
than is the nightingale in discoursing her sweet
music to the night air, and flooding the groves
with waves of melody : like her, I give of an
affluence that never fails me." And 90 I set
out for the legation.

As I walked along through the garden, a
trimly-dressed French maid passed me, turned,
and rcpassed, with a look that had a certain
significance. " It was monsieur dined here
yesterday ?" said she, interrogatively ; and as I
smiled assent, she handed me a very small-sealed
note, and disappeared.

It bore no address, but the word Mr. ;

a strange, not very ceremonious direction.
"But, poor girl," thought I, "she knou
not as Potts, but as Protector. t I am not the in-
dividual, but the representative of that wide-
spread benevolence that succours the weak and

consoles the afflicted. I wonder has she been
touched by my devotion ? has she imagined
oh, that she would ! that I have followed her
hither, that I have sworn a vow to rescue and
to save her ? or is this note the cry of a sorrow-
struck spirit, saying, 'Come to my aid ere I
perish' ?"

My fingers trembled as I broke the seal ;
I had to wipe a tear from my eye ere I could
begin to read. My agitation was great, it was
soon to be greater. The note contained very
few words ; they were these :

" Sta, I have not communicated to my
brother, Sir Shalley Doubleton, any circum-
stance of your unaccountable conduct yester-
day evening. I hope that my reserve will be
appreciated by you, and

" I am, your faithful servant,

" MAKTELA. KEATS."

I did not faint, but I sat down on the grass,
sick and faint, and I felt the great drops of
cold perspiration burst out over my forehead
and temples. " So," muttered I, " the vene-
rable person I have been lecturing is his excel-
lency's own sister ! My exhortations to a
changed life have been addressed to a lady
doubtless as rigid in morals as austere in man-
ners." Though I could recal none of the words
I employed, I remembered but too well the
lesson I intended to convey, and I shuddered
with disgust at my own conduct. Many a time
have I heard severest censure on the preacher
who has from the pulpit scattered words of
doubtful application to the sinners beneath ; but
here was I making a direct and most odious
attack upon the life and habits of a lady of im-
maculate behaviour ! Oh, it was too too bad !
A whole year of sackcloth and ashes would not
be penance for such iniquity. How could she
have forgiven it ? what consummate charity en-
abled her to pardon an offence so gross and so
gratuitous ? Or is it that she foresaw conse-
quences so grave, in the event of disclosure,
that she dreaded to provoke them. What might
not an angry brother, in such a case, be war-
ranted in doing? Would the world call any
vengeance exorbitant? I studied her last
phrase over and over, " ' I hope my reserve will
be appreciated by you.' This may mean, ' I re-
serve the charge I hold it over you as a bail
bond for the future ; diverge ever so little from
the straight road, and I will say, " Potts, stand
forward and listen to your indictment." ' She
may have some terrible task in view for me,
some perilous achievement which I cannot now
refuse. This old woman may be to me as was
the Old Man of the Sea to Sindbad. I may be
fated to carry her for ever on my back, and the
dread of her be a living nightmare to me. At
such a price, existence has no value," said
I, in despair. " Worse even than the bondage
is the feeling that I am no longer, to my own
heart, the great creature I love to think myself.
Instead of rotts the generous, the high-spirited,
the confiding, the self-denying, I am Potts the
timorous, the terror-stricken, and the slave."

76 [November 3, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

Out of my long and painful musings on the
subject, I bethought me of a course to take. I
would go to her and say :

" Listen to this parable : I remember once,
when a. member of a phrenological club, a
stupid jest was played off upon the society by
some one presenting us with the cast of a well-
known murderer's skull, and asking for our in-
terpretations of its development. We gave them
with every care and deliberation; we pointed
out the fatal protuberances of crime, and indi-
cated the depressions, which showed the absence
of all prudential restraints ; we demonstrated all
the evidences of badness that were there, and
proved that, with such a head, a man must have
thought killing no murder. The rejoinder to
our politeness was a small box that arrived by
the mail, labelled, ' The original of the cast for-
warded on the 14th.' We opened it, and found
a pumpkin ! The foolish jester fancied that he
had cast an indelible stain upon phrenology,
quite forgetting the fact that his pumpkin had
personated a skull which, had it ever existed,
would have presented the characteristics we
gave it." I would say, " Now, madam, make the
application, and say, do you not rather commend
than condemn ? are you not more ready to ap-
plaud than upbraid me ?"

Second thoughts rather deterred me from
this plan ; the figurative line is often dangerous
with elderly people. It is just as likely she
would mistake the whole force of my illustra-
tion, and bluntly say, " I'd beg to remark, sir, I
am not a pumpkin !"

" No. I will not adventure on this path ; there
is no need that I should ever meet her again,
or, if I should, we may meet as utter strangers."
This resolve made, I arose boldly, and walked
on towards the house.

His excellency, I learned, was at home, and
had been for some time expecting me. I found
him in his morning-room, in the same costume
and same occupation as on the day before.

"There's the Times," said he, as I entered;
" I shall be ready for you presently ;" and worked
away without lifting his head.

Affecting to read, I set myself to regard him
with attention, Vast piles of papers lay around
him on every side ; the whole table, and even
the floor at his feet, was littered with them.
" Would," thought I " would that these writers
for the Radical press, these scurrilous penny-a-
liners who inveigh against a bloated and pam-
pered aristocracy, could just witness the daily
life of labour of one of these spoiled children
of fortune. Here is this man, doubtless reared
in ease and affluence, and see him how he toils
away, from sundown to dawn, unravelling the
schemes, tracing the wiles, and exposing the
snares of these crafty foreigners. Hark ! he is
muttering over the subtle sentence he has just
written: 'I am much grieved about Maria's
little girl, but I hope she will escape being
marked by the malady.' " A groan that broke
from me here startled him, and he looked
up:

" Ah ! yes, by the way, I want you, Paynter."

"I am not Paynter, your excellency. My
name is "

"Of course, you have your own name, for
your own peculiar set ; but don't interrupt. I
have a special service for you, and will put
it in the ' extraordinaries.' I have taken a
little villa on the Lake of Como for my sister,
but from the pressure of political events I
am not able to accompany her there. She
is a very timid traveller, and cannot possibly
go alone. You'll take charge of her, therefore,
Paynter there, don't be fussy you'll take
charge of her, and a young lady who is with
her, and you'll see them housed and established
there. I suppose she will prefer to travel slowly,
some thirty miles or so a day, post-horses always,
and strictly avoiding railroads ; but you can
talk it over together yourselves. There was a
Bobus to have come out "

"ABobus!"

"I mean a doctor I call every doctor,
Bobus but something has detained him, or,
indeed, I believe he was drowned ; at all events,
he's not come, and you'll have to learn how to
measure out ether, and drop morphine ; the
" companion" will help you. And keep an ac-
count of your expenses, Paynter your own ex-
penses for F.O. and don't let her fall sick at
any out-of-the-way place, which she has rather
a knack of doing ; and, above all, don't telegraph
on any account. Come and dine six."

" If you will excuse me at dinner, I shall be
obliged. I have a sort of half engagement."

" Come in about nine, then," said he, " for
she'd like to talk over some matters. Look out
for a carriage, too ; I don't fancy giving mine
if you can get another. One of those great
roomy German things with a cabriolet front, if
possible, for Miss I forget her name would
prefer a place outside. Kramm, the landlord, can
help you to search for one ; and let it be dusted,
and aired, and fumigated, and the drag examined,
and the axles greased in a word, have your
brains about you, Paynter. Good-by." Exit
as before.

OUR ROMAN INN.

OUR inn is eligibly situated ; for it is barely ten
doors down Conductor-street, and not so much
as ten seconds' easy walking from Spanish Place.
When the sun shines out brightly, from no
district does it get its rays reflected back so
cheerfully and with such abundant interest.
The hum and hurly-burly of Saxon voices pass-
ing by, mounts to our windows, for we are in
the heart of the English pale. The welcome
familiar tones of Smith greeting Smith on the
highway, is borne in to us and maketh the heart
glad. The jocund cracking of whips and rolling
of wheels let us know that Smith and company
wife, daughters, and general redundant off-
spring, red book in hand are being borne by.
Coming out from our scarlet chamber, upon the
long balcony which is part of our domain a feat
I indulge in pretty often I look up to the left,
where is a bright snatch of Spanish Place, and

Charlt. Dlekni.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Sorembor 3, ISGOl] 77

see the stone gentleman sitting noseless in
his foot-hath, and spouting water briskly ; be-
hind him the operatic flight of steps and the
crust-coloured church. I look down to the
right, and take in the shining sweep of street,
the jewelling bazaars, and gaudy scarf shops,
and cigar-ana-salt temples, and Cuccioni's mon-
ster photographs hung out, and Achille Rey
and 1m wares reduplicated over and over again,
stretching off to "the Course" yonder. I look
down below, leaning oa the balcony rail, where
my knee brushes the style and titles of Our
Inn embroidered in golden characters, and see
crowns of hats, of familiar British make, flit-
ting by below ; and am very speedily seen
myself Iby the little impish begging woman, who
is at me in an instant with ner " Signoiwno !
Signore^no mio !" I look steadily before me and
do reverent homage to Roman Gunter, whose pa-
lace beards me just opposite. Great is Diana of
Ephesus ! Great is he who sits enthroned yonder
at the Vatican ! but there is one yet greater thau
he : I see "Spillman aine" looking at me in golden
characters, and I say advisedly that Spillman
aine" hath a broader influence than Pio. That
inestimable cook (dinners at fixed prices, and
evening parties supplied) is the true minister of
the interior. My countrymen stand by him
nobly. I am glad I derive a degree of moral
support from being under the shadow of so great
a man, and I shall speak of him by-and-by in a
little detail.

But our great scarlet chamber aud bauquet-
ing-room, so heavy and gloomily aristocratic,
you should see that, to appreciate our inn tho-
roughly. There is a dingy rubicund magnifi-
cence about it that almost depresses. The,, air
seems charged with the fragrance of ghostly
dinners, which it is consoling to know that princes
and other persons of quality have dined of.
Our chairs and furniture are ot the heavy Robin-
son Crusoe model, and when you strain at an
arm-chair, it sticks its limbs firmly into the
carpet and will not move. Our sofas are fear-
ful instruments of inconvenience, about as shal-
low as a ship's berth, their backs developing
into sharp uneasy shoulders, which, by degrees,
project you gradually on to the floor. But then
our gold carvings are miracles of luxuriance aud
artful ramification; and our looking-glasses, not
extensive but well-meaning, do their best; and
our clocks which never go, and gigantic can-
delabra, which arc never lighted, show what
we are capable of, on a great effort, when called
on to put out our strength. Even about our
door dispensation, there is something solemn and
awe-striking ; for it is not ordered with a single
vulgar swinging leaf, butilies open magnificently
witli two folds ; which, being contracted to about
the dimensions of a cupboard convenience, you
are, so to speak, necessitated to fling both open,
and make a species of triumphant entry.

Host Fritz, the Teuton who directs this
establishment, is a pearl of great price; he
furnishes inexhaustible entertainment, and
should really charge himself in tlic bill. He is
iinpayable, as the French put it ; being round

and pluffy, and hooped and braced, like a com-
pact German keg, and I fear is but too surely
marked out for an apoplectic embrace one of
these days. I wonder do the shrieks of laughter,
which his figure waked, still cling, commingled
with the ghostly dinners, to the walls of the
scarlet chamber? Was he not in an eternal
fume ; and as his guests thickened did he not
play the overtasked brain, the overwrought
tissues, on the verge of giving way ? It is
the cabinet minister, the financier, bowed
down with too much mind-work. At such
crises, when pressed with indignant protests
against certain table short-comings, he tosses
his arms wildly in the air, and seems to wave
away the subject frantically, as who should say:
" Beware, beware, incautious strangers ! Harass
not one already toppling on the precipice of in-
sanity ! Have a care ! ye reck not the mischief
ye may do." At times, he appeals to those
better feelings, which somehow find a corner in
the breasts of even aggrieved and outraged
guests. " Have pity," he says, almost weeping ;
" see you not how I am hunted from post to pil-
lar ?" (expressed in corresponding Italic idiom).
"Figaro qua, Figaro la! Ces autres, these
Druses and Maronites, who have no bowels
yes, no bowels 1 may press me and hunt me as
a hare ; but you, you ! That supply of peach-
tart ran out oefore it came down to your turn.
Granted. Those delicate little birds that ma-
dame relishes " (a smile for madame) " fell
short. Granted. The wine is inferior say per-
haps acid. Granted. Well, wait ; only wait, and
you shdl see !" And he waves his hand over his
head with a flourish, which intimates that in the
illimitable perspective are great things. We
look at each other abashed ; we feel that we
have done a mean thing, an unhandsome thing.
It was shabby thus harassing a great man with
our petty gastronomic grievances. But the illi-
mitable perspective never comes. At another
season he is rampant, boisterous, drunken with
success. The guests and guests of quality, too
have been crowding in tumultuousfy, and the
mercury has leaped from Stormy, and Much Rain,
to Very Fair. He is triumphant and walks upon
clouds. He is Inn-keeping Jove, and is gra-
cious : a wave of his hand and all things
shall be as you wish. Trouble yourselves not
what matters money, time, or toil ? It shall be
done. What, ho! within, there! I arrive in
a gush of passengers, the rejected of many
hostelries, and am led away to fourth-class
steerage accommodation, somewhere indistinctly
about the roof. Betimes in the morning I lodge
indignant protest against this treatment, and
find the glass very, very high indeed. He makes
as though he would take me into his bosom :
" Patience, only patience ! BUT" and he lays his
finger on my button with pressure, and looks
round over his shoulders, as though the air
were alive with conspirators " but there is yet
a lit-tle chamber^' (he breaks his sentence up
into mysterious fragments) "not ready now
but will be anon a gallant little apartment
you understand ?" (extra pressure 011 the but-

78 [November 3, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

ton) "unique, matchless, exquisite a gallant
apartment, in fact, that will just suit monsieur."
What the mysterious winks and shrugs that ac-
companied this alluring prospect were meant to
point at I cannot now determine, but I know
they conveyed a sense flattering and self-appre-
ciative. See how fine and exquisitely turned
was the lurking compliment : a hint the mere
breath of a hint that sweets were to the sweet,
and that monsieur would be appropriate tenant
to a "gallant apartment," dainty, airy, and
tasteful. When, therefore, I find it out to be a
poor thing, no more than bare walls, with the
plain Robinson Crusoe furniture, the complacent
unction has been laid so adroitly to the soul,
that I rather chime in with the notion of its
being a gallant chamber indeed.

I find that he looks at things in an eminently
hostelric view, and measures most things by
that standard. He takes -no cognisance of tie old
stones, Circuses, Forums, Capitols, Pillars, and
such-like, in their capacity of old stones ; un-
less, as I suspect, he has a hazy dream of the
Coliseum being one day turned to practical uses,
in the shape of a Grand Hotel of All Nations.
I believe he has but a poor esteem of cardinals,
and even of the Vicar of Christ, such not living
ordinarily at hotels, or otherwise benefiting the
trade. I am sure he cannot see any bearing of
religion upon tables d'hote, and therefore thinks
there can be nothing in it. Towards the latter
days of Holy Week I hear a lady of the Roman
Communion, meeting Host Fritz at the bottom
of the stair, take him solemnly into council, and
ask him touching the fasting ordinances. Of
this special day was there to be abstinence from
flesh meat ? Covers have been laid for an over-
flux of guests, there is a grateful press of busi-
ness, and dinner is fixed an hour later in conse-
quence of the ceremonials. Host Fritz is there-
fore exalted (in the French sense), and is brim-
ming over with enthusiasm and benevolence.
"To be sure!" he exclaims; "at seven precisely
it will be served everything in profusion fish
and meat, meat and fish! Madame can satisfy
herself with both." Alas ! this was not ma-
dame's idea : " Was there permission for flesh
meats ?" " To be sure ! there will be abundance
of everything : there will be meat and fish." "But
is it not a fast day ?" " Well, madame will find
plenty of fish and meat, thank God !" Host
Fritz cannot by any means be brought to grasp
the religious and canonical bearings of the ques-
tion.

Towards six o'clock, when the tocsin clangs
out furiously for the feast a familiar pulling
for the bare life at a rope, as in a church steeple
bedrooms yawn and give up their dead, and
little folding -doors opening suddenly, the white
men come bursting forth with their war-paint on.
The air hurtles with rustling brushing silks as
with the sound of wings. The current has
set in fiercely towards the baked meats that fur-
nish forth the tables. We flock tumultuously
into the scarlet chamber below, and range our-
selves in an orderly manner after the manner of
our tribe on both sides of the table where the

war-feast is to be, eyeing our ivory-handled
tomahawks with a cannibal love. Bovineham,
Bullington, and Company, represent British beef
and dignity, and will presently be awfully low-
ing out orders to scared waiterdom. They
herd together by the true laws of their caste,
and are terrible by combination. They talk
together noisily, and their voices do not keep
tune, though their knives keep time ; their
ladies sit near them, and perform prodigies with
those instruments of table-cutlery. There is
one tremendous Polypheme, who has to play
Sisyphus each time he mounts the stairs, push-
ing a huge abdominal burden before him, and in
whose cheeks mantle all the richer gravy juices ;
him certain free and familiar friends have held
again at the font, and rechristened by the name
of Ursa Major. There is no reason why his
full style and titles should not be Daniel Lam-
bert Shorthorn ; but for all the practical pur-
poses of life, that other familiarity answers
with a delicious expressiveness. Such nomen-
clature is presently enlarged to other objects,
as having a photographic power and brilliancy.
There is the swarthy, black-haired, sparkling-
eyed Spanish gentleman, who sits opposite me,
and rolls those engines of his in a very awful
manner. For aught we know, he may be Don
Gusman Alvarez di Toledo, Grandee and Knight,
with a hat and feather and flowing cloak ready
up-stairs in his mails ; or, he may be a mere
wine-traveller for an eminent house at Xeres ;
but it is more convenient surely to know him
simply as the Hidalgo.

At pur mess, promotion very properly goes by
seniority, not by favour or purchase. The next
in dinner rank gets the step always. Oldest in-
habitant sits at the top, and it is a pleasing en-
couragement to think that, by a steady patience,
and strict and unflagging attendance, you too
may at length reach to that honourable eleva-
tion. There is a certain excitement in this
closing up daily, to fill the gaps in the ranks,
and this sure progress towards winning your
Grade. Oldest inhabitants a bride and her hus-
band linger on with a strange adhesiveness
until the regiment has dwindled to a skeleton.
These, one morning, are discovered to have
passed away gently, and are seen no more. Nor
must I pass by the sallow spade-faced gentle-
man, with the goatish tuft, who is Mr. Stang,
of Noo Yerk, and the " States" generally ; nor
the bloodless, cream-laid lady whose voice jars on
you acutely, and cuts you like a knife, and who is
nasally Miness Stang, also of the Transatlantic
city ; nor the urchin, cur, whelp rebelliously
unlicked who kicks at the wretched Italian
serving-men, and boldly " annexes" chickens
entire ; who bears away the fruits of the earth
to upper chambers privily, and who is known as
Marster Stang, of that ilk. Neque te silebo
nor must we pass thee by unsung, sweet rose of
Sandy Hook, lovely Fanny Stang, between
whose sad sapless cheeks, and startling waist,
which would slip easily through a good-sized cur-
tain-ring, there is but too intimate a connexion.
There are many more elements of our company.

Cliiir!. . l'..'ki-ni i

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

Trips in each day, the bright lady of the violet
robe, whose rich black hair shines and eddies
like a mountain brook; glide in, too, with an
unfailing regularity, tin- cloud of black-robed
sisters, with the single brother to divide among
them, most moping aud melancholy party. I
relish a little at first, the amiable clergyman
(Vicar of Crumpley-in-the-Drains), who has
come put with a stern fixed purpose of doing
the thing thoroughly, who has prepared himself
by elaborate grounding (perhaps grinding) in
the works of the fathers and of the late Ed-
mund Gibbon, Esquire, in Montfaucou, Casau-
bon, Muratori, ana the amusing speculations of
Doctor Adam, author of the well-known Roman
Antiquities. Conscientiously he does his work,
making parochial visits to each object, as he
does to the householders at home in Crumpley-
in-the-Drains. At first I envy him his noble
ardour; 1 feel a burning admiration for the man
who can restore the Forum exactly as that noble
miscellany stood in its first days. But when he
plucks forth his rubicund text-book between
the courses, and sends me across the table a
dry cut of Murray along with a slice of deli-
cate mountain mutton ; and into that sweet fruit
sauce which suits the wild flavour of the boar,
infuses gritty figures as to the height of the
Column of Trajan, with sly allusions to the
Empress Faustina and Cecilia Metella, I begin
to rise in outspeaking protest against the man
and his works and pomps a feeling ere long
nursed into bitter loathing and hostility. He
becomes for me a positive Old Man of the Sea
in the matter of antiquities. He bursts upon
me, from ambuscades of classical-details, nice
speculation as to the site of the temple was it of
the winds ? He balances for me, Nibbi and Vasi,
competent authorities on stones, but leans rather
to the Vicar of Crumpley-in-the-Draius. Junior
old men of the sea, but still diverting, are the
two long gaunt youths with stolid faces and
windmill arms, sent to foreign parts to furnish
their brains with such ideal upholstery as they
can find, and come back, not monkeys, but
Ourangs proper, who have seen the world. They
return every day, bursting with what they have
MVII and heard, and discharge their impressions
across the table, with uncouth signs and loud
hee-haws, much as Caspar Hauser or other wild
man would liav; done. At times, conversation
into hurly-burly and scraps of incongruous
polyglot fly thick :

5, sir ! Mr. Stang, sir ! yew have
seen the Capitol, sir ?"

" Yes, sir ; I were there toe-day !"

" 1 ay-ludr, sir, to the Capitol at Washin'ton

and "

Undercurrent of vicar of Crumpley-in-the-
Drains : " Bones, removed by order of the
Empress Helena, and placed in a marble sar-
cophagus adorned with sculptures, attributed

" Oh, the Poe-ope !" (from the gaunt youths)
" oh, yes, /saw the Poe-ope, and then we went
down into the Ca-ta-co-o-o-mbs oh, yes !"

Bullington (breaking in angrily) : " Tlie

arrangements, sir, were beastly yes, sir,
beastly. Where were the police P This rotten,
degraded "

Vicar of C.-in-the-D. (very softly): "The
whole of the right arm and a great portion of
the left leg have been restored. This exquisite
fragment was found, many "

Elderly Frenchman, who has resided much in
England : " Vis pleshar ! I vill be dere yester-
day."

" Sir ! the whole thing mutt blow up, for "

"As Winckleman says, the ancients never
made "

" Vile soup "

Aud then pushes in an overpowering Babel,
wherein Cecilia Metella, Empress Faustina, Anto-
ninus Pius, Cato the Censor, and Our Minister,
jostle each other in unseemly confusion.

From a little gallery on the stair we may
look down into the hall ; and it is amusing of an
evening, when the lamps are lighted, to lean OH
the rail and look down into the nail, and see the
dramatic business that goes forward. Now, it
is waiterdom clustered very thick, and discussing
a point in their own social economy with much
noise and vigorous action. Now, it is a great
four-horse vetturino just come up from Naples,
and being unloaded. Most picturesque vehicle,
it was signalled long before it came in sight.
Its jingling bells were heard afar off down
the street; the loud sounding whip, and the
" High ! high !" of driver, and the screams of
delighted urchins scampering on in front, all
gave cheerful notice. I look down from the
gallery and see the little piece played. Enter
the dusty travellers, and defile past father,
wife, sisters, children, it may be ; babies, per-
haps ; nurse, very likely ; round whom dance
expectant gnats and midges in the shape of
fluttering waiterdom. Emerges presently, host
Fritz, in character of Inn-keeping Jove, and
anxious interview follows, as to rooms, accom-
modation, and so forth ; waiteriug interest
crowding round with one ear bent inwards with
an eager attention. It is settled ; cloud breaks,
floats up stairs : and then blue-robed porters
file by, oending under heavy trunks. Finally,
enters picturesque postboy, in pale sky-blue
jacket, and silver medallion embroidered on his
right arm, and fanciful hat: and picturesque
postboy has, presently, his hand out and is de-
claiming furiously, and stamping with his jack-
boots, and pointing to the quarter where the city
of Naples may be supposed to lie, and looks
contemptuously at the moneys tendered to him,
asking, I suppose, in his own idiom, " Wot's
this for P And yo* calls yourself a geu'lman!" &c.
Courier, who is on the other side, is frightfully
vehement, stamps too, clenches his hands, mak-
ing as though he would spit in postboy's face ;
points also to the quarter of the horizon where
Naples may be supposed to lie, and turns red
with rage. I feel sure that stilettoes will be
drawn presently, and that the marble floor of
host Fritz will trickle with blood. Astonishing
that host Fritz, who is smoking his cigar tran-
quilly, and the waiting interest standing round

80 [Novembers, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

in a ring, do not interfere. In another second
the courier's hand is raised quick as thought,

and something glitters in it ! Ah !

It is only an extra piece of money, and the
two opponents are embracing they are smiling
and laughing. The little drama is all in the
interest of courier, whose master is looking on,
and who thinks what a treasure of a fellow he
has secured. The storm is lulled, and picturesque
postboy goes on his way rejoicing.

BOUQUET FROM THE BALTIC.

IN the Germania of Tacitus, mention is made
of a northern nation, called the .^Esthyi, and
in very early times the Southern and West-
ern Germans, who were great travellers, gave
the name ^Estier or Eistier to the inhabitants of
the eastern coast of the Baltic. It may be re-
marked that, in the history of Northern Europe,
the Baltic plays a similar part to that of the
Mediterranean in the South.

Not, however, till a comparatively recent date
was it discovered that the name which had been
loosely applied to several races, would be cor-
rectly limited to the inhabitants of that
northern part of the eastern coast which now
forms Revel and a portion of Livonia. The
region, which is bounded on the north by the
Gulf of Finland, on the west by the Baltic,
and on the east by the river Nerowa and Lake
Peipus, has been the residence, from time im-
memorial, of a people of Finnish extraction,
who are proud of their position as aborigines of
their country, and thoroughly aware of the dis-
tinction between themselves and their neigh-
bours. The Esthonian calls his country " Meie
Ma" (our land), and himself " Maa Mees"
(man of the soil), to avert the possibility of con-
fusion on the subject.

Like most northern nations, the early Estho-
nians had a great respect for war, and were dex-
terous in the use of clubs, lances, slings, and
short knives, as weapons of offence. Those who
died in battle were honoured with a funereal
pyre, and their ashes were deposited in orna-
mental urns. As for the profession of piracy,
it was deemed rather estimable than otherwise.

Nevertheless, the Esthonians, though they
shared the fighting propensities of their neigh-
bours, were not an especially warlike people.
While the legends of other Finnish races cele-
brate savage combats and ruthless victories,
those of the Esthonians point to a peaceful, se-
cluded state of existence as the perfection of
felicity. The seat of all their legends is the
eastern part of their country, near Lake Peipus
and the river Embach, or as the natives call it,
"Emmajoggi." This is the laud of antiquity
and wonder.

The origin of the river is itself the subject of
a curious myth. Soon after the earth (which,
as in other systems, is a flat disc) was created,
and the broad heaven with its radiant sun and
glittering stars arched over its surface, the
animals began to disobey the commands of Old
Father, the Supreme Being, and persecuted and

molested each other. Old Father summoned
them all to his presence, and told them that he
had originally formed them for peace, happiness,
and freedom, but that he now found they re-
quired the government of a king, who would
curb their evil propensities. The new monarch
would arrive on the bank of a brook, which must
be dug expressly for his reception, and sufficiently
deep and broad to become the "Emmajoggi" (or
Mother Brook) of smaller streams. The earth
dug up in the formation of the brook was to
stand as a tall mountain, which Old Father
promised to crown witli a wood, as the residence
of the future king.

Obedient on this occasion to the commands of
Old Father, most of the animals set about the
performance of their task. The cock, by crow-
ing, indicated the course which the stream was
to take, and the fox, who followed him, marked
it with his tail. The first furrow was drawn by
the mole, the badger worked underground, the
wolf scraped up the earth with his feet and
snout, the bear carried it away, and even the
birds contributed their assistance.

When Old Father inspected the diggings,
he expressed himself highly satisfied with the
labourers. By way of conferring an appropriate
reward on eaca species of merit, lie decreed that
in commemoration of their dirty work, the bear
and the mole should look dirty for the rest of
their lives, and that the wolf should always
have a black snout and feet in honour of his
raking. Two of the animals fell into disgrace.
One was the crab, whom Old Father missed
from the industrious throng, much to his auger,
as he thought that a creature so liberally pro-
vided with claws had no right to be lazy. The
crab, on the other hand, having just crawled
out of the mud, was much nettled at being
overlooked, and profanely asked Old Father if
he carried his eyes behind him. The punish-
ment of this impertinence was the immediate
transfer of the crab's own eyes to the uncom-
fortable position to which he had lightly re-
ferred. The other offender was a grey-plumed
bird, called by the Germans the " Stutzer "
( fop). This delinquent, instead of taking part
in the work, hopped from bough to bough,
sunning his fine feathers, and rejoicing in the
music of his own song. To the reproof which
he received from Old Father on account of his
rebellious idleness, he pertly answered that he
thought it would be highly discreditable to soil
his beautiful plumage with such dirty work as
digging. His punishment was manifold. His
legs, which had previously been white, and
which he had been unwilling to soil, became
black ; he was forbidden to quench his thirst
with the water of the stream, and obliged to
remain content with the drops that hung upon
the leaves ; he was prohibited from singing,
save on the approach of a storm, when other
creatures got out of the way.

The ends of justice thus answered, Old Fa-
ther filled the new-dug bed with water, which
he poured from a golden urn aud animated with
his breath.

OhwIecUickeac.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Xovembw 3,19(0.] 81

A sort of Northern Apollo, who is named Wan-
nemunna, and is, doubtless, the Wainairoinen
of the Finns, is an important personage in Es-
thoniiiu mythology. According to another le-
gend of the Emmajoggi, the whole human race
and all the animals were summoned to the
mountain formed of the earth thrown up in
the great digging, that they might be instructed
by Wannemunna in the art of song. When
they were all assembled, a rustling sound was
heard in the air, and Wannemunna alighted on
the hill-top, where he smoothed his ringlets,
shook his garments, stroked his beard, cleared
his voice, arid executed on a stringed instrument
a prelude, which was immediately followed by a
song that delighted all hearers, and most of all
the vocalist himself (a state of things by no
means peculiar to Esthonia). The Emmaib'ggi
stopped her course, the wind forgot to blow,
t lie IK MS( s and birds listened attentively : in fact,
all the incidents that usually follow the perform-
ance of an Orpheus took place on this occasion.
But most of the auditors were unable to take in
the whole of what they heard. The trees only
retained the rustling in the air which accom-
panied the musician's descent, and they imitate
it with their leaves to this day. The Emma-
joggi caught the rustling sound of his garment,
and still repeats it in the rushing of her waters.
The harshest notes of the music were retained
by the winds. The singing-birds, especially the
lark and the nightingale, mastered the prelude.
In short, every creature caught something, save
the fish, who carried their eyes, but not their
ears, above the surface of the water, and thus
merely saw the movement of the musician's lips,
without hearing the sound of his voice. Hence,
to the present day, they are dumb, though they
move their mouths. Man alone could under-
stand the whole of Wannemunna's song, as he
sang of the vastness of the heavens, of the
glory of the earth, of the pleasant banks of the
Emmajoggi, and of the destinies of the human
race. And so much was Waunemunna pene-
trated by the beauty of his own performance, that
the tears he shed wetted six coats and seven
shirts completely through. Thus, thoroughly
watered, he ascended to the dwelling of Old
Father, that he might regale him with his music
and his song. Privileged ears may sometimes
hear him even now, as he sings on high, and
from time to time he sends his messages to earth,
that man may not altogether lose the gift of
song. And at some distant day he will come
again to earth, and bestow happiness on Es-
thonia.

What a lovely story would this be were it
not for the unlucky shirts and coats ! But those
who are accustomed to the legends of primitive
races will not be startled by leaps from the sub-
lime to the ridiculous.

Esthonia is not entirely destitute of heroic
legends. The giant Kallewe Poeg is, to all
intents and purposes, an Esthonian Hercules,
immortalised by his feats of strength. As his
name signifies, he was the son of Kallewe, an
ancient deity, who was a mighty ruler in his

time, and who, when he was on his death-bed,
told his wife that after his decease she would
bring forth a son more strongly resembling his
father than two others already in the world.
He would not divide his dominions, but said,
that when his youngest son had grown up, the
right of succeeding to the paternal rule should
be settled by lot. His disconsolate widow dug
for him a grave with her own hands, and raised
over it a heap of stones, on the coast near Revel.

The trial of skill that was to settle the ques-
tion of succession to the dominions of Kallewe
occurred on the borders of a lake near Dorpat.
The three brothers took as many large stones of
equal weight, and threw them in the order of
their ages. The two elder were, of course, de-
feated ny the youngest, and quietly departed,
leaving him on his father's throne. A large block
of granite, split by lightning, and about half as
high again as an average man, is still shown in
the vicinity of the lake as the stone flung by
Kallewe Poeg.

When his land was threatened with an in-
vasion, Kallewe Poeg walked through the great
lake Peipus to fetch planks from the opposite
side, and returned with twelve dozen, though
lie had been put to a considerable inconvenience
by a rough-headed sorcerer, who had blown
upon the waters till they were mountains high,
and nearly reached his waist. As soon as ne
had recrossed, he fell asleep on a hill that is
still known as the " Kallewe Poeg Sang" (bed
of Kallewe Poeg); and while he was in this
helpless condition, snoring so mightily that the
neighbouring mountains groaned, his sword was
stolen by his enemy, the sorcerer, who could
only lift it by means of enchantment, and soon
let it drop into a stream from which he could
not recover it. This sword had been manufac-
tured in Finland by the giant's uncle, who lur-
nished a remarkable instance of the value of
the number seven ; for he occupied seven years
in making the weapon out of seven sorts of iron,
uttered seven magic spells during the process,
and tempered it in seven waters. After a long
search, it was found by Kallewe Poeg, who,
however, left it in the stream, that it might be
wielded by some future deliverer of his country,
to whom it would reveal itself of its own accord.
This extra task accomplished, Kallewe Poeg put
his load of planks upon his shoulders, and when
he had proceeded some distance, was assailed by
three magicians, who pulled up several trees by
the roots, and used them as clubs. The hero
soon put them to flight, being greatly cheered
by a voice which he heard in the forest. This
belonged to the hedgehog, on whom Old Father
had not bestowed a skin, but to whom, out of
gratitude, KallewePoeg gave apiece of his rough
cloak. When shortly afterwards he collected
some sand in this cloak to make a couch, some
of it fell through the hole produced by Ids gift
to the hedgehog, and was sufficient to form a
small mountain. After sundry other adventures
he built for his residence a city on the sea-coast,
and governed the country round. This was the
origin of Revel.

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[Conducted by

While the stories about Kallewe Poeg are
nearly as wild as the legends of the Tartars,
to which in character they are somewhat
similar, they are told with a great display
of geographical accuracy. A high rocky coast
in the neighbourhood of Revel was actually
shown to Dr. Kruse (an antiquary to whose re-
searches in Esthonian tradition we are much
indebted) as the sepulchre raised by the widow
of Kallewe Poeg's father over her departed
husband, and a lake in the vicinity is attributed
to her tears. Near Assama, a town situated to
the north-west of the Peipus, Dr. Fahlmann,
another archaeologist, was shown a marsh and
four pits, the origin of which is thus explained :
Kallewe Poeg, mounted on horseback, was giving
chase to his foes, when his horse, in springing
from one mountain-top to another, took too
short a leap, and fell between them. The body
of the animal, dashed to pieces, formed the
marsh, and the four pits are the prints of his
feet. An awful curse was uttered by Kallewe
Poeg on the occasion of the accident. " Remain
a marsh," he said to the fatal place, " a marsh
till the end of the world, an abode for nothing
but frogs. May man avoid thee and avert his
face from thy hideous form." The exact spot
on the bank of the river Aa is shown, where
Kallewe Poe had a remarkable encounter with
three " iron-clad men." The first of these he
whirled round his head, making a noise like the
wings of a flying eagle, and then stamped him
into the ground, so that he was buried up to his
waist. The second was similarly whirled, with a
sound like that of the wind among pine-trees,
and buried up to the chin. As to the third,
whose whirling could only be compared to a
flash of lightning, he was stamped so deeply
into the earth that only the point of his helmet
was visible.

The angling of Kallewe Poeg in this same
river Aa was on a most magnificent scale. An
ambassador who came to demand his submission
to a neighbouring power, was asked by him to
fetch his staff, which was standing at the river-
side, furnished with a bait for crabs. The staff
proved to be the trunk of a tree, which the
ambassador could not move, but which Kallewe
Poeg pulled up with ease, showing a whole
horse as the suspended bait. The ambassador was
then sent home, with orders to report that the
conquest of Kallewe Poeg would be no easy task.

The time when Kallewe Poeg flourished is re-
garded by theEsthonian peasant as a sortof golden
age. Dr. Kruse saw in a large stone, which
lay near the Kallewe Poeg Sang, the marks of
a colossal finger and thumb, and was told by a
peasant who resided on the spot that these
marks were left by Kallewe Poeg, a good worker
of the land, under whose dominion corn was
abundant, and flocks greatly multiplied. Indeed,
the stone itself was a monument of his beneficent
agency, for it had been flung by him at a wolf
that was carrying off a lamb. Another relic is
the Kallewe Poeg tool (chair), a huge stone,
with an appearance of a back and two arms, upon
which the giant is said to have rested.

So great a hero could not fall by any sword
but his own. When he left his weapon in the
stream, after it had been stolen by the enchanter,
he uttered an imprecation to the effect, that if
ever he who had wop it should cross that
stream, he wished it might cut off his legs. By
" him who had worn it," he meant the enchanter ;
forgetting for the moment that he had carried
the sword himself. As General Damas says:
" Curses are like young chickens ; and aye come
home to roost ;" so when Kallewe Poeg amused
himself one day by walking through the stream,
his feet were so dreadfully cut by the sword that
he with difficulty got out of the water, and flung
himself in agony upon the ground, his groans fill-
ing the whole intermediate space between the
earth and the abode of the gods. He died of his
wounds, and his soul ascended to heaven, but
Old Father was afraid lest such an active hero
might become mischievous if he was not fur-
nished with some employment adequate to his
great powers. He was, therefore, despatched
to the infernal regions, to keep order among the
devils, who had been more than commonly con-
tumacious.

We conclude our series with a charming fable
which we have purposely reserved to the last,
and we tell it literally as it was heard by Dr.
Fahlmann, when an old Esthonian narrated it for
the amusement of his grandchildren :

" Knowest thou the light in Old Father's
halls ? It has just sunk to rest, and where it
went out its reflexion still shines in the sky, and
already is there a bright streak which extends
towards the east, whence in its full magnificence
it will again greet the entire creation. Dost
thou know the hand which receives the sun and
brings her to rest when she has finished her
course? Knowest thou the hand which re-
kindles her when she is extinguished, and makes
her once more begin her heavenly journey ?

" Old Father had two faithful servants of the
race that is blessed with eternal youth, and
when on the first evening light had finished its
course, he said to Aemmerik : ' On account of
thy faithfulness, daughter, I entrust to thee the
sinking sun. Extinguish her, and conceal the
fire, that it may cause no harm.' And when
on the following morning the sun was to renew
her course, he said to Koit : ' Thy office, my
son, shall be to rekindle the light, and prepare
it for its new journey.' Both performed this
duty faithfully, and there was not a day on
which the vault of heaven was without its light.
When in winter the sun reaches the horizon,
she is extinguished at an earlier hour, and in
the morning she later resumes her course ; but
when in spring she awakes the flowers and the
birds, and when in summer she ripens the fruit
with her sultry beams, she is only allowed a
short time of repose, and as soon as her light
is extinguished Aemmerik places her imme-
diately in the hands of Koit, who at once re-
kindles her for new life.

" That beautiful time had arrived when flowers
put forth their colours and their fragrance, and
birds and men fill the air with songs, and Aeni-

durlMDiekcnt.]

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

[November!, 1MO.] 83

merik and Koit looked deeply into each
other's brown eves, and when the fading sun
passed from her hand into his, their hands were
pressed together and their lips met. But one
eye that never slumbers had observed what took
place in the still midnight, and Old Father said,
' I am well pleased with your performance of
your duty, and desire that you should both be
happy ; so take one another, and hold your office
as man and wife.'

"But both replied from one mouth : ' Father,
mar not our ioy. Let us always remain lovers,
for we have found our happiness in wooing, and
our love is now fresh and young.'

" And Old Father granted their prayer, and
blessed their resolve. Only during four weeks
in the year do they both meet at midnight, and
then Aemmerik brings the extinguished sun
to the hand of her lover, the pressure of the
hand and the kiss follow, and Aemmerik's cheek
glows, and its rosy red is reflected in the sky,
until Koit has rekindled the light, and the
golden radiance in the aky announces the ap-
proaching sunrise. And Old Father still ho-
nours the meeting by adorning the fields with
the fairest flowers, and the nightingales in jest
cry to Aemmerik, as she reposes on the bosom
of Koit, ' Laisk tiiduk, laisk tuduk ! opik !'
(Tardy maiden, tardy maiden, night has lasted
too long !)"

POOR MARGARET.
POOR Margaret's window is alight ;

Poor Margaret sits alone ;
Though long into the silent night,

And far the world is gone.
She lives in shadow till her blood

Grows blackened, soul and all ;
Upon her head a mourning hood,

Upon her heart a pall.

The stars come nightly out of heaven

Old darkness to beguile ;
For her there is no healing given

To their sweet spirit-smile.
That honey dew of sleep the skies

In blessed balm let fall,
Comes not to her poor tired eyes,

Though it be sent for all.

At some dead flower, with fragrance faint,

Her life opes like a book ;
Some old sweet music makes its plaint,

And, from the grave's dim nook,
The buried bud of hopes laid low,

Flowers in the night lull-blown ;
And little things of long ago

Come back to her full-grown.

IK r heart is wandering in a whirl,

And she must seek the tomb
Where lies her long-lost little girl.

Oh well with them for whom
Love's morning star comes round so fair

As evening star of faith,
Already up and shining, ere

The dark of coming death.

Bnt Margaret cannot reach a hand

Beyond the dark of death ;
Her spirit swoons in that high land

Where breathes no human breath :

She cannot look upon the grave

As one eternal shore,
From which a soul may take the wave

For heaven, to sail or soar.

Across that deep no sail unfurled

For her, no wings put forth ;
She tries to reach the other world

By groping through the earth.
Twas there the child went underground,

They parted in that place ;
And ever since the mother found

The door shut in her face.

Though many effacing springs have wrapped

With green the dark grave-bed,
'Twas there the breaking heartstrings snapped,

As she let down her dead ;
And there she gropes with wild heart yet,

For years, and years, and years ;
Poor Margaret ! and there she'll let

Her sorrows loose in tears.

All the young mother In her old voic-

Its waking moan will make ;
A young aurora light her eyes

With radiance gone to wreck !
And then at dawn she will return

To her old self again,
Eyes dim and dry, heart grey and dern.

And querulous in her pain.

" We never loved each other much,

I and my poor good-man ;
But on the child we lavish'd such

A love as overran
All boundaries, loving her the more

Because our love was pent ;
Striving as two seas try to pour

Their strength through one small rent.

" For children come to still link hands,

When souls have fallen apart ;
And hide the rift when either stands

At distance heart from heart.
So on our little one we'd look,

Press hands with fonder grasp,
As though we closed some holy book

Softly with golden clasp.

" And as the dark earth offers up

Her little winterling
The crocus, pleading with its cap

Of hoarded gold, to bring
Down all the grey heaven's golden shower

Of spring to warm the sod ;
So did we lift the winsome flower

That sprang from our dark clod.

" Our little Golden-heart, her name,

And all things sweet and calm,
And pure and fragrant, round her came

With gifts of bloom and balm.
And there she grew, my queen of all,

Golden, and saintly white,
Just as at summer's smiling call

The lily stands alight

" To knee or nipple grew the goal

Of her wee stately walk ;
The voice of my own silent soul

Was her dear baby-talk.
Then darklingly she pined and failed.

And looking on our dead,
The father wailed awhile and ailed,

Turned to the wall and said :

" ' 'Tis dark and still our house of life,
The fire is burning low,

84- [November 3, I860.]

ALL THE YEAR HOUND.

[Conducted ty

Our pretty one is gone, and, wife,

'Tis time for me to go :
Our Golden-heart has gone to sleep,

She's happed in for the night ;
And so to bed I'll quietly creep,

And sleep till morning light.' "

Once more poor Margaret arose,

And passed into the night:
Long shadows weird of tree and house

Made ghosts i" the wan moonlight!
She passed into the churchyard, where

The many glad life-waves
That leap'd of old, have stood still there,

In green and grassy graves.

" Oh, would my body were at rest

Under this cool grave sward !
Oh, would my soul were with the blest,

That slumber in the Lord !
They sleep so sweetly underground,

For death hath shut the door,
And all the world of sorrow and sound

Can trouble them no more."
A spirit feel is in the place,

That makes the poor heart gasp ;
Her soul stands white up in her face

For one warm human clasp !
To-night she sees the grave astir,

And, as in prayer she kneels,
The mystery opens unto her :

She for the first time feels

The spirit world may be as near

Her,, moving silent round,
As are the dead that sleep a mere

Short fathom underground.
And there be eyes that see the sight

Of lorn ones wandering, vexed
Through some long, sad, and shadowy night

Betwixt this world and next.

Doorways of fear are eye and ear,

Thr