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VOL. xxin. 







A Fit* Chunini^tre in ( onettaiitinople, 
Cwbd front Puns, 


Lord Ilardinge, and thp recpnt Victories in Indiat \ . . I 

Origin of the Slory of Bluebe&rd, . . 'By Dr. W. C 130 

The late Isaac D'Israelij Esq. aiid the Genius of Taylor, 

Judaism, .... / , , . $19 

The SearcL after Truth, . . . • . . 

Love'it I >e6ertion, a melancholy Fact. , * . . . 194 

The Child of Genius. ...... ^itf 

fbe Uelurn of the Birda, By Alfred CrowquiU, . 374 

Three Nuns, . . . . .41** 

The Fairy Cup . . . . - &«2 

The Country Towns and Inna of Frajic«. ) ^ . ii|j._.,pi H. 1*3 

A PijK) with the Dutchmen, S u) J. ^uarvei. SSG, 417 

Pan ; a Narrative of Scenes and Adventures on the Banks of the 

Amazon, by J E. Warren, 17, IA9. 239, :i47, 484 

AoOld Man's Recollections of the Fastoral Cantons of Switxerlond. 

Edited hy Mrs. Fercy IJinnett, . . *iS,S66 

i By Mrs. Percy Sinoett, 

The Lucky Grocer, hy Abraham Elder, .... 

'ctts nt Madrid, — The Montpensier Marriage, 

The Six decisive Battles of the World ; by Profeawr Creauy : — 

I. Battle of Marathon, ..... 

II. Defeat of the Athenians at Syracuse, 

III. The Metaurus, ..... 

IV. Arminius's Victory over the Roman Legions under Vanm, 

V. Battle of Toura, ..... 
Vi. Battle of Vttlmy ... . . 

Vint to ilia Highness Rnjah Brooke, at Sarawak, by Peter M'Quhae 
A Sew Vfnr's Eve. . ) n , u i \iri.;*ii 

nc.()l,IMan»n.lhi8GuMU, j By H. J. Wh.tUng, 
Career of the Hero of Acre, ..... 

Captuin Spike; or, 1'he Islets of the Gulf ; by J. F. Cooper. 78, 193,375 
My Birth-dAv Dream, hy Edward Kenealy, LL.B. . . , t>H 

Government Plan of Defence for the Country, by J. A. St. John, , 89 
A Visit to the liaunt of a Poetess, t hy the Author of " Pad- 102 
Difficulties iu a Tour to Wiesbaden, S diaua," . , . 18^ 

The Reverie of Love, "] . . . . 1 10 

The Water-Lily, I By Cuthbert Bede, .114 

The Praises of Colonos, J . . 639 

A Ramble along the old Kentish Road from Canterbury to London, 111, 266 
Memoir of Beethoven, by Miss Thomasina Ross, . . IM 

Song, . . . . .124 

Characteristics of the Poet Gray, by E Jesse. . . . 133 

Summer SketcJies in Switxerlaod, by Miss Costelio, . 150, 258 

What Tom Pringle did with a £100 Note, ... 167 

The Heiress of Budowa, a Tale of the Thirty Veara* War, .174 

What can Sorrow do.** . . 191 

The Postman, by H. R. Addison, . .201 

The Two Pig", a Swinish Colloauy, by W. E. Burton, . 216 

Anne lioleyn and Sir Thomaa Wyatt, .... 233 

Sir Magnus and the Sea-vr itch. . . ... 246 

The Two FuneraJa of Napoleon, , i u ■> i. _* i» _. 270 

Battery Brown; or, The Privateer's Carousal. S **>* ^**^^ Postans, ^^^ 
Hoax of the Shakspeare Birth -houM!, and Relic Trade at Stratford on 

Avon, by a VVarwickshire Man, .... 279 

Mrs. Alfred Augustus Potts; a Tale of the Influenia, by Mrs. Frank 

Elliott, ........ 289 

Viata* Dinners, and Eveoingt, at the Quai D'Orsay, and at Neuilly, 2£»7 





















The Yankee amongst the Mermaids, by a Capo Codder, . 303 
St. George and the Dragon. The true Tale divested of its tradi- 
tional Fibs, by Percy Cruikshank, . . . .311 

Alival, and Sir Harry Smitii, by Charles Whitehead, . . 317 

The Minstrel's Curse, ....... 321 

Literarv Notices, ....... 323 

KiDff Mob ; the last Days of the French Monarchy, by Mrs. Romer, 325 

Kirdjali, the Bulgarian Bandit. A Tale by Thomas Shaw, . . 327 
" Are there those that read the future f" by the Author of '< The Ex- 
periences of a Gaol Chaplain/' .... 340,465 

The Rise and Fall of Masanieiloj by the Author of " The Heiress of 

Budowa," ....... 352 

Narrative of the Wreck of the Archduke Charles, by a Naval Officer, 392 

The eventful Days of February 1848, in Paris, by an American Lady, 408 

Scenes from the last French Revolution, I . . . 422 

Republican Clubs in Paris in 1848, . i By the Fl^eur in Paris, 505 

I By 

Republican Manners, . . J ... 512 

Pnnce Metternich, ..... 431 

T*he Career of M. Guizot, . ) ^ j ^^ , 435 

France and her National AssembUes, 5 ^^ '^^^^ "^*™* • 615 
The Isles of the Blest, . . . . . .455 

Literary Statistics of France for Fifteen Years, .... 456 

Robert Kmmett and Arthur Aylmer ; or, Dublin in 1803. By the 

Author of " Stories of Waterloo," .... 470, 551 

The Hospital of the San Spirito at Rome, a Narrative of Facts ; by 

E. V. RippingiUe, . , . . . . 477 

Charles Kdwara Stuart ; or. Vicissitudes in the Life of a Royal Exile ; 
by the Author of " The' Military Career of the Earl of Peter- 
borough ,'' ......'. 492 

Welcome, sweet May < . . .514 

Some Chapters of the Life of an Old Politician, . . . 515 

Biographical Sketch of L. £. L. . . . . . 532 

The Legend of fair Agnes, from the Danish of Ochlenschl^ger, . 535 

Gaetano Donizetti, ....... 537 

Memoirs and Anecdotes of the Eighteenth Century . . 559 
Notes of an Excursion from Lisbon to Andalusia and to the Coast of 

Morocco, by Prince Lowenstein .... 568 

The Career of Louis Philiupe as a Sovereign . . 590 
A Journey from Shiraz to tne Persian Gulf, with an Account of Gazelle- 
Hunting on the Plain of Bushire, by the Hon. Charles Stuart 

Savile ........ 595 

She 's gone to Bath, by Greensleevcs .... 605 

The German's Fatherland ...... 634 

Danish Seaman's Song ...... 640 


Portrait of the Right Hon. Visoount Hardinge, 

The lucky Grocer, ..... 

Portrait of Beethoven, ..... 

Tom IVingle requested to keep his hands to himself, 

Portrait of Isaac D*Israelij Esq. 

The Yankee amongst the Mermaids, 

POTtrait of Majoivgeneral Sir Harry G. W. Smith, Bart. G. C 

„ Mods, de Lamartine, 

„ Mona. Guizot, .... 

n Prince Metternioh, 

gg Xfc S. id,, > . . * , 

10 J)(MB!ietti 

» ^llhabMn ..... 




BY W. C. TATLOn, LL. D. 

Henry, Viscount Hardinge, one of the most ilistingiiishGd of 
the companions of the immortal Welling^ton, is the grandson of Ni- 
cholas HarJinjie, long the chief clerk to the House of Common'^, 
and eminently distinguished for his attainments in constitutional law. 
His father waa the late Rev. Heury Hardinge, rector of Stanhope, 
Durham, a clergyman highly respected for his unaff*ectcd piety and 
benevolence. As Henry was a younger son advantage waa taken of 
his family connections to obtain him a commission in the array at a 
very early age. But, notwithstanding the temptations that beset 
youth under such circumstances, he devoted himself earnestly to 
learn the duties of his profession, and acquired such proficiency that 
he soon attracted the favourable notice of his superiors. His name 
was first brought prominently before the public in connection with 
that of the lamented General Sir Jolm Moore, on whose sUitT he 
served during the memorable campai^ which ended in the disas- 
trous retreat to Corunna, and the glorious victory which threw 
a gleam of brilliancy over the close of a period of loss and suffering. 
Captain Ilardinge was standing near Sir Jolin Moore when that ge- 
neral wu struck by a cannon-shot. It was to Hardinge, who at- 
tempted to remove his sword, that the dying hero addressetl the 
energetic words, " It is as well as it is ; I had rather it should go out 
of the field with me;" to the fiame gentleman, and to Col. Anderson, 
Sir John Moore expressed his satisfaction at falling as became a sol- 
dier on the field of victory, and hia pathetic hopes that his country 
would do him justice. 

Af\er the death of Sir John Moore, Captain Hardinge became 
still more intimately connected with Sir Arthur Wellusley— the im- 
mortal Wellington. He served under him during the whole of the 
peninaulnr war, and at the battle of Waterloo, where Sir Henry 
Hardinge. who had received the order of the Batli for his meritori- 
ous career in Spain, had the misfortune to lose an arm. To write 
the history of this portion of Sir Henry Hardinge's military career, 
would be merely to repeat the narrative of campaigns which are or 
ought to be familiar to every Englishman. During tlie entire 
period Sir Henry was so identified with his illustrious chief that it 
St scarcely possible to dissever his achievements from those of Wel- 

Soon af\er the conclusion of the war (Nov. 1821), Sir Henry 
Hardinge married Lady Emily Vane, daughter of Robert, the first 
Marquis of Londonderry, and relict of John James, E«»q. About 
Uie same time he entered into political life, and was known as the 
sincere friend rather than the partisan of the Duke of Wellington. 



He has held the offices oP clerk of the ordnance and secretary- at- var. 
he was also during a brief but a very troubled and important period, 
secretary for Ireland. In this last-named post he displayed admi- 
nistrative talents of the highest order ; uniting to firmness of pur- 
pose the most conciliatory habits and demeanour, so that he won not 
merely the respect but the regard of his most inveterate political 
opponents, it was for thef^e qualities that he was selected to fill the 
high office of governor-general of India at probably the moat critical 
period in the history of our empire in that country which has occur* 
red since the days of Warren Hastings. 

So very little of the real state of India is known to the general 
public, and particularly of the relations between tlie British govern- 
ment and the independent native powers, that it will probably he 
no unacceptable service if we briefly state the rise and progress of the 
Sikhs from tlieir first appearance as a sect to the time when they 
ventured to compete with the British for supremacy over India. 

The Sikhs first appeared about the middle of the seventeenth cen- 
tury as a sect professing principles of peace and submission, not un- 
like those of the people called quakers; their tenets were a mixture 
of Hindooism and Mohammedanism, and exposeil them to the per- 
secutions of the bigots of both these creeds. In the later age of tht 
empire of Delhi these persecutions were so severe that the patience 
of the Sikhs was worn out ; they took up arms in their own defence, 
and very soon rivalled their oppressors themselves in violence and 
cruelty. As the great Alogul empire crumbled to pieces, the parta 
of which it had been composed began to assume the various fi»rnit 
of barbarous independence ; the Sikhs grouped under manj' differ- 
ent leaders, formed a confederation of chieftaincies called Mistih in 
the country, which, from being watered by the five branches ol' the 
Indus, bears the name of the Pun}-dh or " land of five waters ; 
other Misuls were established on the east side of the Sutlej, wh<» 
were sometimes in alliance with the chiefs of the Punj-ab, but who 
also sometimes formed a confederacy of their own. 

About the commencement of the present century the Sikhs ofthfl 
Punj.ab were united into one monarchy by Runjeet Singh, one of 
the most able and enlightened despots who lias appeared in modem 
Asia. His monarchy was called the kingdom of Lahore, from tht 
name of its capital, but it also retained its geographical name of the 
Pnnj.ab. Having established his power firmly at the west side of 
the Sutlej, Runjeet Singh cast a covetous eye on the possessions of 
the Sikhs at the eastern side of the river; but these had in the 
meantime been taken under the protection of the British, and Hun 
jeet could only gratify his ambition at the hazard of a perilous war. 
The recent overthrow of the great Mahratta powers by the English 
arms quite daunted him, and he entered into a treaty with the Bri 
tish authorities on terms mutually advantageous to both parties. 

One of the most common calumnies against the British adminis- 
tration in India is that ambition has ever been its chief motive, and 
that it has sought by secret, and not very honourable means, to sap 
and weaken the strength of native states in order to render theni 
easy of conquest. The course of policy pursued towards Runje 
Singh is a triumphant refutation of thta libel. Kvery possible ai 
was given him in consolidating and strengthening his kingdom at 
Lahore; he was encouraged to introduce discipline into his army; 



D(l order into his government. It was the object of the English to 
lise up a strong native state on the north-western frontier, which in 
ftst ages had been the high-road for the plunderers and conquerors 

Hunjeet Singh had acuteness to discover the vast superiority 
rhich troops derived from European discipline ; he, therefore, en- 
;i^ed in his service several officers whom the downfall of Napoleon 
ttd left destitute of employment ; several of these were soldiers of 
reat merit, and, under their training, the Sikhs became if not equal 
t» our sepoy regiments, infinitely superior to the rude militia of the 
Mtive powers. 

Restricted by his dread of British power from seeking an extcn- 
Bon of dominion eastwards, Runjeet Singh turned his arm^ north- 
Irards and westwards, taking advantage of the distracted condition 
Df Afghanistan to wrest frutn that monarchy some of its fairest pro. 
rinces, including the beautiful vale of Casnmerej whose name la so 
Belebrate<) in oriental poetry. 

[ We do not believe that Runjeet Singh ever entertained a hope of 

h time arriving when his armies would be sulficiently organized to 

nneet a British force in the field, and enable him to contend for su* 

nremacy in India ; but there is no doubt that such romantic visions 

Boated before the imagination of some of his numerous sons, many 

of his nobles, and the greater part of bis army. Such men as 

^Urd, Ventura, Aventabile, and the Europeans of high character, 

who had entered his service, laughed such dreams to scorn ; but 

ihey were encouraged by less scrupulous adventurers, who brought 

rilh them to Asia that vulgar spite with which the memory of 

Vaterloo has filled certain classes of Frenchmen, and sufficient evi- 

lence has oozed out to show that Runjeet Singh's friendship for the 

English— the sincerity of which there is no reason to doubt— was 

lot shared by all the members of his court. 

Our space does not allow us to enter into any detail on the cam- 
laigns of Afghanistan ; we can only say that in this war the Sikhs 
Cted as allies of the English, but tnat, with the single exception of 
he Alaha-rajah Runjeet Singh, there was hardly one of the Sikh 
hitfaorities sincerely disposed to afford us honest co-operatiun. The 
disasters of Cabul followed ; thev were calamitous in themselves, 
»ut ihey were infinitely worse in their moral effect by weakening the 
telief in the irresistible prowess of the British, which had spread 
throughout Asia. 

The death of Runjeet Singh let loose all the bad passions and 
jealousies of the Sikhs, which his iron rule had repressed; but for- 
tunately the distractions of a doubtful succession prevented hatred 
ftf the English from becoming a predominant passion, until the 
heroes of Jelallabad had been relieved, and ample vengeance taken 
H>r the iniuries received at Cabul. 

We believe that the hesitation for which Lord EUenborough haa 

too severely censured, arose from a well-grounded fear, that, if 

al Pollock too speedily advanced to rebeve Sir Robert Sale, 

doubtful allies in his rear and on his flank might prove to be 

gerous enemies. 

Lord Ellenborough'a administration in India was marked by the 

uest of Scinde, an achievement of doubtful policy and an acqui- 

of very questionable value. This, however, was not the only 

B 2 



point at issue between his lordship and the Court of Dire 
■was believed in Leadenh&ll Street that Lord Ellenborough naa r>cefi 
seized with an expensive passion for military glory. &"<! the pro- 
prietors, with great unanimity, urged that he should be recalled, 
civilian had been found anxious to provoke war; and this seems 
have sugjiested the opinion that a warrior of established fame wool 
be the best suited to support with firmness the policy of peace. 

Few appointments have been generally more satisfactory than that 
of Sir Henry Hardinge to the government of India in 1845. It was 
ap]>roved unanimously by the Court of Directors, and it was not les« 
loudly praised by the journals in opposition than by those which 
were supposed to be under the influence of the ministry. His cha- 
racter as a statesman was as well established as his fame as a soldier. 
Though a conservative in politics, he was known to be a friend to 
the progressive improvement of humanity, and particularly to the 
extension of sound education and the diffusion of useful knowledge. 
At the time of his appointment, no one believed that there was the 
slightest danger of renewed hostilities in India. The Affghans were 
believed, and with truth, to have received too impressive a lesson to 
provoke British vengeance too hastily ; Scinde, if not a profitable, 
seemed a very secure possession ; and there seemed to be almost 
perfect tranquillity from the Himalayas to Cape Coroorin. Sir 
Henry Hardtnge was not the dupe of these delusive appearances. 
Though immediately after his landing he had devoted his attention 
to the introduction of several valuable administrative reforms, and 
more especially to establishing such a system of education as might 
train the natives of Hindostan in a knowle<)ge of their rights anil 
duties as British subjects, his provident glance foresaw elements of 
coming danger in the disorganized condition of the court of Lahore, 
and while almost everybody else appeared confident of calm, he 
made vigorous preparations to meet a coming storm. 

After a series of sanguinary but uninteresting revolutions, 
crown of Lahore had devolved on Dhuleep Singh, a feeble boy, w 
claims from legiiitiiacy were said to be '^a little doubtful. The B! 
preme power, however, such as it was, belonged to the queen 
ger^ or ranee, a woman of the most profligate habits, and who 
element of policy was to obtain facilities for the indulgence of her 
own depravetl appetites. To learn accurately the course likely tu 
be taken by such an administration was quite impossible, for th^ 
simple reason that no definite course would be adopted by personi^ 
who were not of the same mind for an hour together. Hence the 
account which news-writers gave of the perplexities and confusion 
at Lahore, made many experienced men come to the conclusion that 
no danger was to be dreaded from such distraction. Sir Henry 
Hardinge, however, rightly divined that the distraction itself wul 
the danger, 1 

The court of Lahore was utterly helpless ; but, because it was so 
helpless, it could neither control nor satisfy the army ; and this army 
consisted of more than one hundred thousand men, well-armed, to- 
lerably disciplined, and supplied with a formidable train of artillery, 
amounting to more than two hundred guns. The soldiers also enter- 
tained the most exaggerated notions of their own prowess : because 
they had been disciplined like Europeans, they believed themselves 
fully equal to £uglish soldiers, and far superior to the sepoys. Thei 


religious passions were stimulated by a set of fanatics called Akalees, 
who promised them divine aid against unbelievers; and there were 
European adventurers amongst them, who bad not forgotten the 
love of plunder which they had acquired in the service of Napoleon. 
The leaders of these bands were inspired by the hope of carving out 
independent principalities, as had been frequently done before by 
usurping generaU in India; and if any superior officer had offered 
the counsels of prudence, he would in all probability have either 
been assassinated by his colleagues, or torn to pieces by the multi- 

It is not easy to conceive how the court of Lahore could ever have 
kept this disorganized army in order and obedience. That the court 
aanctioned the invasion of the British dominions has not been proved, 
but neither is there eviiience that any effort was made to prevent the 
movement. It is probable that the ranee and her ministers were not 
anxious to impede an enterprize from which in any event they were 
sure to be gainers. If the Sikhs were defeated, they would be re- 
lieved from the terror of an army which they were at once unable to 
support, and afraiil to disband; if the invasion succeeded, they might 
not unreasonably hope for a share of the spoil. 

8ir Henry Hardinge, having made himself thoroughly acquainted 
with all these facts, saw that the danger of an irruption was immi- 
nent; and not satisfied with issuing orders for proper measures of 
precaution, he quitted Calcutta for the upper provinces, and arrived 
at Umballa on the 2nd of December. Here he received information 
that the protected Sikhs on the east side of the Sutlej were not un- 
likely to countenance and aid the invaders, — a circumstance which 
proved that the danger was more imminent and more extensive than 
had previously been imagined. 

Sir Henry Hardinge probably expected that the Sikh army 
would have broken into marauding detachments, and assailed the 
frontier at different points. No one could have anticipated the simul- 
taneous movement of the entire mass; and it has been plausibly 
asserted that the movement itself was not the result of any deliberate 
plan, but was produced by one of those sudiJen impulses by which 
multitudes are so often propelled to a course of action so united as 
to have every appearance of laboured concert. 

The precautions taken by Sir Henry Hardinge, although made 
under the disadvantage of utter uncertainty of the enemy's move- 
ments, were the best calculated to meet the crisis whicn actually 
arrived. Sir John Littler was stationed with a strong division at 
Ferozepore, in a position sufficiently strong to enable him to resist 
the Sikhs until the main army could be brought up to his relief, 
abould they cross the river in overwhelming force ; or to cut off their 
straggling detachments, if the enemy only appeared in marauding 
parties. In the meantitne, the main army, under Sir Hugh Gough, 
was assembled at Umballa, ready to march, in whole or in part, 
whenever its services were renaired. 

That the march of the Sikns was an unpremeditated movementj 
seems probable, from the information transmitted to head-quarters 
by the political assistant. Major Broadfoot. He sent word that they 
had no intention of moving, at the very moment they were about 
to commence their march. It has, indeed, been said that Major 
Broadfoot was deceived, and much blame has been imputed to the 



new9.department, for not obUuning accurate information. But 
Mouton, a French adventurer then in the Sikh service, declares 
that the march was unpremeditated, inconsiderate, and hurried for- 
ward against the wishes and opinions of most of the officers. 

The Sikhs crossed the Sutlej on the 13th of December, and formed 
an intrenched camp at Fero^eshah. ^louton, who ii not, howerer, 
a very trustworthy authority, intimates that this position was taken 
to facilitate a junction with some discontented misitU of Sikha OD 
the east bank of the Sutlej ; he adds, rather as an ascertained fact 
than a random conjecture, that large masses of the native population, 
from the Sutlej down to the very walls of Calcutta, were prepared 
to join the Sikhs, should they succeed in penetrating into th%M 
country. f 

Although the French writer has greatly exaggerated the amount of 
the general disaflection, there can be little doubt that the events of 
the Afghan war hud produced a deep impression on the Mohamme* 
dan races throughout India, and that many even among thoae sub- 
ject to our sway had hailed the disasters of Cabul as a triumph of 
the crescent over the cross. No Mohammedan has ever forgotten 
that the supremacy of India once belonged to his creed, and many of 
them believe that Islam is yet destined to acliieve another triumph, 
and establish an empire more powerful than that of Delhi in iti 
most glorious days. 

Much exasperation, too, had been caused by Lord Ellenborough's 
bombastic and most imprudent proclamation respecting the gates of 
Somnath. Malimood of Ghuzni is revered as a saint by the Muft- 
sulmans of India; he is considered as the greatest of their ghaaeesi 
or heroes, whose lives were devoted to the extirpation of idolatry, 
and the propagation of the true faith. The removal of one of his 
proudest trophies from his tomb, and the proclamation of the deed 
as an achievement of which the British Government ought to be 
proud, was regarded as a triumph unnecessarily conceded to idola- 
trous Hindooi&m, and an insult wantonly offered to the purer faith 
of the Prophet of Mecca. Sir Henry Hardtnge's judicious and suc- 
cessful eflorts to allay these feelings of irritation, are not less credit- 
able to his character as a statesman, than the management of the 
campaign, to his talents as a military commander. Mouton is pro- 
bably correct in his assertion^ that the Sikhs expected a general in- 
surrection of the Mohammedans throughout India, as soon a» they 
appeared beyond the Sutlej ; but he is unquestionably wrong in hu 
assertion, that tlie disaffection on which they relied generally existed. 
Whatever discontent Lord Ellenborough's imitation of Ossian may 
have produced, had been long since allayed by the discreet and con- 
ciliatory course of policy which Sir Henry Hardinge had adopted^ 
and carried out with success. J 

So soon as the news of the passing of the Sutlej reached head^ 
quarters. Sir Hugh Gough was directed to advance from Umballa, 
and effect a junction with Sir John Littler, at Ferozepore. At Mood- 
kce there was an unexpected battle ^ the Sikhs had advanced to pre- 
vent the junction of the two divisions uf the British forced, and Sir 
Hugh Gough, with his usual gallantry, no sooner found himself in 
the presence of the enemy, than he made instant preparations for 

Some of the Aoglo-Indian journais have blamed Sir Hugh Gough 


u imprudent in ordering thin attack, as the Sikhs were compara- 
tivel}^ frcbb, while the British forces were wearied from their long 
march. But it has been properly replied, that under all the circum- 
stances it was a great advantage to become the a<^saiUnt4. Indepen- 
dently of the great enthusiasm which attack inspires, and the chilling 
tendencies of mere defence, Sir Hu^h Gough'e bold resolution had 
all the effects on the Sikhs of a complete surprise ; they could hardly 
believe their senses uhen they saw the lines of a wearied march 
promptly formed into ardent columns of attack. 

The battle of Moodkee was sanguinary and well contested; among 
the brave who fell was Sir Robert Sale, the hero of Jelallabad^ whose 
loss was bitterly lamented not only by the army but by the nation. 
After a terrific strife, victory declared for the English ; but the 
fatigue of the soldiers, and the shades of night which closed rapidly 
round, prevented the success from being so decisive as it otberwise 
would have been ; seventeen pieces of cannon^ however, remained 
in the po«9essioa of the conquerors. 

Mouton fnfonus us that the Sikhs were not intimidated by the 
result of the battle of JMuodkce, and he even insinuates that the 
event would have been different had not the English bribed some 
unnamed commander to desert his post. Sir Henry Hardinge was 
not elated with the victory ; he saw that danger could only be 
averted by success the most complete, and conquest the most deci- 
sive ; and though he did not interfere with the strategy of the com- 
mander-in-chief, he aided in directing the movements which effected 
a junction with Sir John Littler, preparatory to a decisive attack on 
the entrenched camp of the enemy at Kerozepore. Laying aside bis 
dignity as governor-general, he volunteered to serve under Sir Hugh 
Gough, and took the command of the left wing on the memorable 
21st of December. Mouton informs us that the Sikh position was 
far stronger than the English had supposed; its enormous park of 
artillery was directed by skilful European officers ; it was of the 
heaviest calibre, and the English could only oppose it with a few 
light guns. He also states the number of the Sikhs higher than 
any of the English authorities, bringing it pretty nearly to the pro- 
portion immortalized by the cleverest of recent puns, '* they were 
lix (Sikhs) and wc one (won).*' The battle began in the evening; 
the English. aAer a desperate struggle, effected a lodgment in the 
hostile fortifications, but their tenure of it was uncertain, and the 
iisue more than doubtful, when u tropical night, coming with more 
than usual rapidity, suspended the combat. If Mouton is to be be- 
Ueved, the Sikhs lay down to sleep that night in full assurance of a 
decisive x'ictory on the following morning ; and so far as we can 
comprehend expressions designed to be ambiguous, he and the other 
Europeans shared the same confidence, 

"Victory," said one of the successors of Alexander, under nearly 
limilar circumstances, ''belongs to those who sleep not." That 
night was spent by Sir Henry Hardinge, Sir Hugh Gough, and the 
greater part of the English staff, in visiting the different posts, going 
round to the soldiers in their bivouac, and preparing them for the 
tremendous issue staked on the result of the following morning, 
U'e have heard on excellent authority, which we regret that we are 
not at liberty to name, that Sir Henry Hardinge, on his perilous 
Umr of inspection during this memorable night, was accompanied 



by his gallant son, and that in many moments of danger there was 
a. generous contest between father and son, each anxious to shield 
the precious life of the other at the risk of his own. Shakspeare 
haa preserved a similar instance of paternal and filial aflection in the 
gallant TalboU. 

The complete annihilation of the Sikh army which terminated 
this contest, can only be described by military historians, because 
it was the triumph of strategy and tactics over unregulated force. 
Let us be just to a fallen enemy ; the Sikhs exhibited as much indi- 
vidual bravery as in the old days of chivalrous warfare must have 
ensured success; they were defeated by generalship rather than by 
soldiery ; even Mouton confesses that the unhesitating confidence 
which the sepoys placed in their leaders^ and the want of faith in 
their generals felt by the Sikhs, was the chief determining cause of 
the final and glorious issue. 

The result of the campaign on the Sutlej w^as more than a victory 
or even a conquest, — it was an utter annihilation of the enemy. 
That mighty army which threatened to change the destinies of Asia, 
cea&ed to exist. What Runjeet Singh had so often predicted when 
urged to make war on the English, was fully accomplished — the 
Punjab lay at the mercy of the conquerors. At this crisis Sir Henry 
Hardingenobl^'j though unconsciously, refuted the French maligners 
of England; while foreign journals were endeavouring to raise a 
popular clamour against the new acquisitions of territory about to 
be added to our empire. Sir Henry Hardinge was providing for the 
independence of Lanore, and exerting himself to secure the future-a 
prosperity of the Punjab under the rule of native sovereigns, " 

So far as wc have been able to learn, the policy adopted by Eng. 
land in the Punjab has been more successful than could have been 
anticipated from the character of those Sikhs to whom a large share 
in the administration has been necessarily delegated. The agricul- 
ture and the commerce of the country were never in so flourislnng 
a condition, and in concluding this rapid sketch, we cannot avoid 
expressing our gratification that the successor of the warrior and 
statesman whose brilliant career we have so imperfectly delineated, 
is a nobleman who, ns President of the Board of Trade, exerted 
himself strenuously to establish the two great principles, that indus- 
try is the only true source of prosperity to a people, and commerce 
the best bond of union between nations. 

Before closing this brief sketch of the brilliant career of the gallant 
chief, whose return to his native land, crowned with victory, is 
hourly expected, it is not altogether irrelevant to draw attention to 
a volume of drawings entitled "Recollections of India," by the noble 
viACount's eldest son, the Hon. Charles Stewart Hardinge. It is one 
of the most picturesque series of drawings of perhaps the most pic- 
turesque countries in the world, and will be prized not merely by all 
Anglo-Indians, but by all who can appreciate subjects so magni- 
ficent, treated with such admirable taste. 


Ai imprudent in ordering this altacki as the Sikhs were compara- 
tively fretih, while the British forces were wearied from their long 
march. But it has been properly replied, that under all the circum- 
stances it was u great advantage to become the assailoiitv. Indepen- 
dently of the great enthusiasm which attack inspires, and the chilling 
tendencies of mere defence. Sir Huffh Gough's bold resolution had 
all the effects on the Sikhs of a complete surprise; they could hardly 
beJieve their senses ivhen they saw the lines of a wearied marca 
promptly formed into ardent columns of attack. 

The battle of Moodkee was sanguinary and well contested; among 
the brave who fell was Sir Robert SaJe, the hero of Jelallabad, whose 
loss was bitterly lamented not only by the army but by the nation. 
After a terrific strife, victory declared for the English; but the 
fatigue of the soldiers, and the shades of night which closed rapidly 
round, prevented the success from being so decisive aa it otherwise 
would have been ; seventeen pieces of cannon, however, remained 
in the possession of the conquerors. 

MoutoQ informs us that the Sikhs were not intimidated by the 
result of the battle of Moodkee, and he even insinuates that the 
event would have been different had not the English bribed some 
unnamed commander to desert his post Sir Henry Ilardinge waa 
not eJated with the victory; he saw that danger could only be 
averted by success the most complete, and conquest the most deci- 
sive; and though he did not interfere with the strategy of the com- 
mander-in-chief, he aided in directing the movements which effected 
a junction with Sir John Littler, preparatory to a decisive attack on 
the entrenched camp of the enemy at Ferozepore. Laying aside his 
dignity as governor-general, he volunteered to serve under Sir Hu^h 
Gougb, and took the command of the left wing on the memorable 

21 81 of December. AIou 

far stronger than the Eni 

artillery was directed 

heaviest caliMl^tod th 

light gu 

any of t 


nx (Si 



ms us that the Sikh position was 

supposed ; its enormous park of 

ropean officers ; it was of the 

uld only oppose it with a few 

ber of the Sikhs higher than 

ng it pretty nearly to the pro-- 

St of recent puns, " they were 

er, under nearly 

jeep not." That 

:h Gough, and the 

"ercnt posts, going 

ing them for the 

following morning. 

'e regret that we are 

.ige, on his perilous 

;ht} was accompanied 



And as he stooped to lift the latch 

A loaf was hidden in the thatch ; 

The pauper tlicn with canting moan 

Bcwail'd hia fate to starve alune. 

No bread, he said, his lips had passed 

Since the day before the lust : 

The sage upraised his hand and took 

The loaf from out its hidden nook 

And held it out before his eye 

A silent prover of the lie. 

Invectives deep the beggar swore. 

And thrust him from hia hovel door. 

Me bit his lip and took his way, 

For yet of truth he 'd seen no ray. 

He sought stern Justice with her scales ; 

To 6nd the truth she never fails. 

Wise men were there to find out lies ; 

Alas 1 the scales were on hor eyes, 

And all their tricks she could not see, 

Lying for hire — a paltry fee, 

To free great rogues who made a flaw, 

And could not lie to please the law. 

A patriot passed with cheering mob, 

He saw 'twas an election job ; 

And yet the patriot promised all 

To stand with them, or with them falL 

Knowing that he was bought and sold 

To party, for some trifling gold, 

He tied the town in sheer disgust. 

And losing all his former trust 

He lay upon a bank to rest, 

Resolved to give up further quest. 

When o'er the little sparkling brook 

A brown young boy, with shepherd's crook 

Approached, and standing by bis side, 

With mouth and eyes both open wide, 

Stared out his fill, then grinned a grin 

To see the taking he was in. 

Here *s one imbued with truth, no doubt, 

I think I here have found it out. 

So thought the sage, his heart was glad, 

So, smiling on the rustic lad, 

He spoke, and said, ** Cumc here, my man; 

Pray answer me, I think you can ; 

Do yuu know truth, and what it is ?'* 

The youth looked sly, he feared a quiz. 

He gnawed his thumb and scratch 'd his ear» 

Then, with a most uncommon leer, 

He said — the young ingenuous youth — 

" Tou are a /holt and thai '« the truth f* 

The sage got up and seized his staff, 

The boy had fled with hearty laugh. 

He said, when reaching home that night, 

" Upon my »oul, that boy was right I" 





I ALWAYS felt a Strong curiosity to learn something about those great 
inland cities of France which maintain a somewhat doubtful and preca- 
rious existence in the public mind, by being set down in the books of 

kgraphers. I had been whipped to learn in my old school a long 
'"paragraph about Lyons, I dare say, ten times over ; and yet, when 
bowling down the mountains in a crazy diligence, at midnight, between 
Geneva and the city of silks, I could not tell a syllable about it. 

1 bad half a memory of its having been the scene of dreadful mur- 
ders in the time of the Revolution, and shuddered at thought of its 
rbloody and dark streets; I knew the richest silks of the West came 
from Lyons, and so thought it must be full of silk-shops and factories ; 
J remembered how Triatam Shandy had broke down his chaise, and 
gone " higgledy-piggledy " in a cart into Lyons, and so 1 thought the 
roadj must be very rough around the city; my old tutor, in his explica- 
tion of the text of Tacitus,* had given me the idea that Lyons was a cold 
city, tar away to the north ; and as for the tourists, if 1 had undertaken 
to entertain upon the midnight in question one half of the contradictory 
notions which they had put in my mind from time to time, my thoughts 
about Lyons would have been more **hipgledy-pig'gledy"lhan poor Sterne's 
post-chaise, and worse twisted than his papers in the curls of the 
chaise-vamper's wife. 

I bad predetermined to disregard all that the tourists had written, and 
to find things (a very needless resolve), quite the opposite of what they 
had been described to be. 

I nudged F , who was dozing in the comer under the lantern, and 

took his Pocket Gazetteer, and turning to the place where we were going, 
read, '' Lyons is the second city of France : it is situated on the lihone, 
near its junction with the Saone ; it ha^ large «ilk manufactories, and a 
venerable old cathedral." We shall see, thought L What a help to 
the digestion of previously acquired information, is the simple seeing 
for one's self I 

The whole budget of history and of fiction, whether of travel -writers 
or romancers, and of geographers, fades into insignificance in compari- 
son with one glance of an actual observer. Particular positions and 
events may bo vivid to the mind, but they can tell no story of noise and 
presence, of rivers rushing, wheels rolling, sun shining, voices talking. 
And why can not these all be so pictured that a man might wake up in 
a far oif cily as if it were an old story ? Simply because each observer 
has his individualities, which it is as impossible to convey to the mind 
of another by writing, as it would have been for me to have kept awake 
that night in the diligeuce, oiXer reading so sleepy a paragraph as that 
in the Gazetteer. 

* Cohortem duodevioesimam Lugduni. Mlitis tibi ht/bemU, relinqui placuiL.— 
Tacitus, lib. r. cap. 64. 



1 dreamed of ailk cravats, aod gnping cut-throats, until F- 

nuHgcd mc in his turn at two in the monung, and said we had goi to 

** I Intel du Nord," I say to the porter who has my luggage on his 
back, and away I follow through the dim and silent streets to where, 
opposite the Grand Thealro, with its arcades running round it, ourybc- 
Uur stops, and tinkles u bell at the heavy doors opening into the court 
of tb« Hotel du Nord, At first sight, it seems not unlike some of the 
Urger and more substantial inns which may be met with in some of our 
inland towns, but in a street narrower and dimmer by half than arc 
AiDortcan slre«ts. Up four pair of stairs the waiter conducts me, in 
bit shirt sImvm, to a snug bedroom» where in ten minutes I am fast 
asloep. The porter goes off satisfied with a third of his demand, and I 
hmvv just fallvn to dreaming again the old diligence dreams, when the 
noise of the rising world, and the roll of cars over the heavy stone 
pavement below, shakes roe into broad wakefulness. 

A fat lady in the office does the honours of the house. Various 
companies arc seated about the salon, which in most of the provincial 
hotels serves also as break fast- room. Yet, altogether, the house has a 
city air, and might be — saving the language, with its mon D/eut^ up the 
tirti pair of tttairs, and the waxen brick tioors, and the open court, a 
New- York hotel, dropped down within stone's throw of the bounding 

Wbito-Bproned waiters, like cats, aro stealing over the stone stair- 
cases, Olid a fox-eyed valet is on the look-out for you at the door. 
There are very few towns in Trance in which the stranger is not de- 
tcctedf and made game of. But what, pray, is there worth seeing, that 
an eye, though undirected, cannot see even in so great a city as 
I^yons 7 

Uesidet, there was always to me an infinite deal'of satisfaction in stroll* 
Ing through a strange place, led only by my own vagaries ; in threading 
long labyrinths of lanes, to break on a sudden upon some strange sight; 
in losing myself, as in the old woods at home, in the bewilderment that 
my curiosity and ignorance always led mc into. 

What on eorth matters it, if you do not see this queer bit of mechan- 
ism, or some old fragment of armour, or some rich mercer's shop, that 
your valet would lead you to ? — do you not get a better idea of the city, 
Its houses, nois«, habits, position, and extent, in tramping off with your 
map and guide-book, as you would tramp over fields at home, lost in 
your own dreams of comparison and analysis ? 

You know, for instance, there are bridges over the river worth the 
Mpoing, and with no guide but the roar of the water, you push your way 
down toward the long, stately quay. The heavy, old arches of stone 
waltowiug out of the stream, contrast strongly with the graceful curves 
of the long bridge of iron. Steamers and barges breast to breast, three 
deep, lie along the margin of the river, and huge piles of merchandise 
are packed upon the quay. 

The stately line of the great hospital, the Hotel Dieu, stretches near 
lialf a mile, with heavy stone front along the river. Opposite is a busy 
Huburb, which has won itself a name, and numbers population enough 
for a city, were it not in the shadow of the greater one of Lyons. 

You would have hardly looked — if you had no more correct notions 

n I — for such tall, substantial warehouses, along such a noisy quay 






deep in the country, after ao many days of hard and heavy diligence- 
riding. Yet here are customs-men, with their swords hung to their beltA, 
uiarcliiug along the walks, as if they were veritable coast-guard, and 
wore the insignia of goTemment, instead of the authority of the city — 
and were in fieArch of smugglers, instead of levying the octroi dues upon 
the corn and wine of the Saone and the olives of Provence. Soldiers, 
too, are visible at every turn, for the people of Lyons have ever been 
disposed to question earliest the rights of the constituted authorities, 
and the liberal government of the charter reckon nothing better preven- 
tive of the ill effects of this prying disposition, than a full supply of the 
small men in crimson breeches, who wear straight, sharp swords upon 
their thigh, and man the great forti6cation upon the bill above the city, 
which points its guns into every alley and street. 

There ia more earnestness in faces in this town of Lyons, than one 
sees upon the Boulevards, as if there was something in the world to do 
beside searching for amusement. There is a half- English, business-look 
grafted upon a careless French habit of life ; and blouse and broadcloth 
both push by you in the street, as if each was earning the dinner of the 
day. fiut the blouse has not the grace of the Paris blouse ; nor has the 
broadcloth the grace of the Paris broadcloth. Both have a second-rate 
air; and they seem to wear a consciousness about them of being second- 
rate; whereas your Parisian, whether he be boot-black to a coal seller 
of the Fanbonrg Si. Denis, or tailor in ordinary to the Count de Paris, 
feels quite assured that nothing can possibly be finer in its way than his 
blouse or his coat. Even the porter cannot shoulder a trunk like the 
Paris porter, the waiter cannot receive you with half the grace of a 
Paris waiter; and the soi-t/isaut grisettes, who are stirring in the streets, 
are as much inferior to those of the Rue Vivieune, in carriage and air, 
as Vulcan would have been inferior to Ganymede as cup-bearer to Jove. 
Even the horses in the cabs have a dog-trot sort of jog, that would not 
at all be countenanced in the Hue de la Paix ; and carters shout to 
their mules in such villainous patoii Li/nmiai$, as would shock the ear 
of the cavalry grooms at the School Militaire. 

Yet all these have the good sense to perceive their short-commga ; 
and nothing is more the object of their ambition than to approach near 
as may be, to the forms and characteristics of the beautiful City. If a 
carman upon the quay oP the Rhone, or the Saone, — which romps 
through the other side of the city, could crack his whip with the air 
and gesture of the Paris postman, he wuuld be very sure to achieve all 
the honours of his profession. And if a Lyonnaise milliner woman 
could hang her shawl, or arrange it in her window, like those of the 
Pljcc Vend6me, or Lucy Hoquet, her bonnets would be the rage of all 
tlie daughters of all the silk mercers in Lyons. 

They have Paris cafes at Lyons, — not, indeed, arranged with all the 
splendour of the best of the capital ; but out of it, you will find no bet- 
ter, except perhaps at Marseilles. Hero you will find the same general 
features that characterize the Paris caf6 ; in matters of commercial 
tr&Dsaction, perhaps the exchange overrules the cafe ; and in military 
affairs, probably the junto of the Caserne would supersede the discus- 
sions at breakfast ; but yet, I am quite assured, that the most earnest 
thinking here, as in nearly every town of France, is done at the cafe. 

The society of the Lyons cafes is not so homogeneous as in their 

>e9 of Paris, f lere, blouses mingle more with the red ribbon of the 



legion of honour ; and a couple of workmen may be luxuriating at one 
table over a bottle of Strasburg beer, while at another a young mer- 
chant may be treating his military friend in the blue frock coat, and 
everlosLing crimson pantaloons, to a piut of sparkling St. Peray. 

The cafe, too, docs not preserve so strictly its generic character, and 
half merges into the restaurant. At any rate, I remember seeing the 
marble slabs covered with napkins at five, and stout men with towels 
under their chins, eating stewed duck and peas. And later in the even- 
ing, when I have dropped into the bright-lighted cafe, just on the quay 
from which the Pepin steamer takes its departure for Avignon, I have 
seen strong meat on half the tables. 

As there is more work done in a provincial city, so we may safely 
presume there is more eating done : my own observation confirms the 
truth. So it is that the breakfast comes earlier, and those who loiter 
till twelve in a Lyons cafe, are either strangers or playactors, or lieu- 
tenants taking a dose of absinthe, or workmen dropped in for a cup of 
beer, or some of those youngsters who may be found in every town of 
France, who sustain a large reputation with tailors and shop-girls, by 
following, closely as their means will allow, the very worst of Paris 

The coffee itself is short, as every where else, of Paris excellence ; 
but the nice mutton chops are done to a charm, and there is so much of 
broad country about you,^ — to say nothing of the smell of the great 
land-watering Rhone at the door, that you feel sure of eating the healthy 
growth of the earth. 

The chief of the Paris journals may be found, too, in the Lyons cafe; 
and what aliment are they to poor provincials 1 It were as well to de- 
prive them of the fresh air of heaven, as to deny them such food; — 
even the gnr^ons would pine under the bereavement. The spiritless 
provincial journals are but faint eclioes of detached paragraphs from 
the capital ; they aid the digestion of the others, not from a stimului 
supplied, but rather as a diluent of the exciting topics of the city. No- 
thing but local accidents, and the yearly report of the mulberry crop 
could ever give interest to a journal of Lyons. In consequence they 
are few and read raruly. Still the provincial editor is always one of the 
great men of the town ; but newspaper editing is on a very different 
footing, as regards public estimation, in France, from that in America. 
And in passing, I may remark further, that while our institutions are 
such, from their liberality, as ought to render thf^ public journal one of 
the most powerful means of induencing the popular niind, and as such, 
worthy of the highest consideration, in view of the opinions promul- 
gated, and the character of the writers, yet there seems to be no coun- 
try in which men are less willing to give it praise for high conduct, or 
reproach for what is base. 

The restaurants of such a city arc not far behind those of Paris, ex- 
cept in sixe and arrangements. Lyons, like Paris, has its aristocratic 
dinner-places, and its two-franc tables, and its ten-sou chop-bouses. In 
none, however, is anything seen illustrative of French habitude, but is 
seen belter at Paris. 

As in the cafes, so you will find larger eaters in the restaurants of 
the provinces; and the preponderance of stewed fillets and roast meats, 
over fries and comfits, is greater than at even the Grand Vatel. You 
will find, too, that many of the Paris dishes, which appear upon the bill 




of the dar» sre oDfortaaatelj iiwiiiMiiit ; bat cf toq oc^er 
will be sore of tbe cKHspMnoaate i w giib «f tfa* oU widim 1 
next uble to joa viA three bfaonng 4im^ten ; fcrif m it 
smack of Pims in ever so a%lrt a JUyn, lie is leefced mdi 
corner of France as one of tkc fwl B MIe boags of the earn. 

It is presnxned — nay, it » ncrcr eve 
&ouled Freochoun, especiaUT ivdi aa ba9* 
that whoever has visited tm idk tdb ham raacked tbe aiow af aA 
ly pleasures ; — that crcry otbcr city, tmd ite 1 
are barbarous in the compariaoiu A IVris to* 
hearts in the proriDce*, as a Paris ai^ynff w 
Paris cobbler make shoes. Xooe harbosr the 
as the womea of tbe provinces ; hxat onlv that ibty bar* I 
Parisians, and vou make frieoda of ibreaab ImdMM^ lad 
shop-girls ; — though their fttendsb^ I on aocrf to mf, is ■• 
against being cheated by both. 

It would be very hard if Lj<aas bad aol its abarv af 
which draw the great world of lookcrv^a, — wbo tnvel to Mctbeai^ 
side and inside of churches and palMO^ bat wbo vaald a af tbirft, «f 
walking out of their b6tel at dinner-tiiMv to try m BMal to waA taa^ 
restaurants, as may be found on tbe square by tbs Htel de 
look the people fairlv in the face. And a ven oaiet aad ' 

is that, upon which the rich black tower of tbe 

TiDeof LfOH 

throws its shadow. Its pavement is 

tall, and wearing the sober dignity of yean. 

their stand in the middle, and toward 

the square, and ladies are picking tbcir way before tJne fiy 

at the sides. 

The proud old bAtel itself is not a b yfldiii ^ to b« 
clock that hammers the hoarv in its dingy, bat riA 
tell strange stories, if it would, of tbe 
its face, in the cruel days of the Directory. ^ 
rife in France than at Lyons ; and the coandl tbat oidcivd tbe 
held their sittings in a little chamber of tbe ansae HIiri de ^Wh, 
windows now look down upon the qniel, gmr eo«it> It 
DOW I you may see a police officer, having iaj abnto tfan 
at the grand entrance is always a eorps of aomem Tvn 
dining figures, that would make tho fortmie of 
still show tbe marks of the thumpin|^ tineB of tfan 
the old story of the viper and the file, for tbe ■tatnca were of broow, 
and guard yet in the vestibule, their fruits ^id flowwr*. 

The fame of the cathedral will draw tbe atrnu g cr on n bn|>>bninrd 
chase of half the steeples in the town ; nor will be be mndi '^^vw uiUid 
in mistaking the church of N<Stre-Dame for the object of bis scanb. 
And abundantly will he be rewarded, if his observation baa not ex* 
tended beyond the French Gothic, to wander at length under the high 
arches of the Cathedral of St, John. Shall I describe it ? — then fancy 
a forest glade — (you, Mary, can do it, for you live in the midst of 
woods) — a forest glade, I say, with tree-trunks huge as those which 
fatten on the banks of our streams at home ; fancy the gnarled lops of 
the oaks, and the lithe tops of tbe elms, all knit together by some giant 
hand, and the interlacing of the boughs tied over with garlands ;— fancy 
birds humming to your ear in the arbour-wrought branches, and the 



gold sunlight streaming through the interstices, upon the flower-spotted 
turf, — and the whole bearing away in long perspective to an arched spot 
of blue sky, with streaks of white cloud, that seems the wicket of Ely- 
sium. Then fancy the whole, — tree-trunks, branches, garlands, trans- 
formed to stone— each leaf perfect, but hard as rock ; — fancy the bird- 
singing the warbling of an organ — the turf turned to marble, and in 
place of flowers, the speckles of light coming tlirough stained glass, — in 
place of the mottled sky at the end of the view, a painted scene of glory 
warmed by the sunlight slreanung through it,— and you have before you 
the Cathedral of St. John. J 

In front of the doors, you may climb up the dirty and steep n11ey« of ■ 
the working quarter of the town ; and you will hear the shuttle of the 
silk-weaveri plying in the dingy houscis, six stories from the ground. 
The faces one sees at the doors and windows arc pale and smutted, and 
the air of the close filthy streets, reminds one of the old town of Edin* 
burgh. The men, too, wear the same look of desperation in their faces, 
and scowl at you, 03 if they thought you had borne a part in the niefiil 
scenes of *94. 

The guillotine even did not prove itself equal to the bloody work of 
that date ; and men and women were tied to long cables, and shot down 
in file ! A little expiatory chapel stands near the scene of this whole- 
sale slaughter, where old women drop down on Ihcir knees at noon, and 
say prayers for murdered husbands and murdered fathers. 

The Rhone borders the city ; the Saone rolls boMly through it ami 
each of its sides are bordi'red M-ilh princely buildings ; and on a fete 
day the quays and bridges throng with the popuJation turned loose, — 
the cafes upon the Place des Cetestins are thronged, and not a sparv 
box of dominoes, or an empty billiard-table, can be found in the city. 

The great Place dc Bellocour, that looked so desolate the morning of 
my arrival, is bustling with moving people at noon< The great bulk of 
the Post Office lies along its western edge, and the colossal statue of 
Louis XIV. is riding his horac in the middla The poor king was dis- 
mounted in the days of Lu LiberU; and an inscription upon the baser 
commemorates what wuuld seem on unpalatable truth, that what popular 
frenzy destroyed, popular repentance renews j — not single among the 
strange evidences one meets with at every turn, of the versatility of the 
Frtnch nation. 

Lyons has its humble pretensions to antiquity ; but the Lugduneneem 
aravi of Roman dale, has come to be spilled over with human blood« 
instead of ink; making fourfold true the illustration of Juvenal: — • 

'* Accipiat, sane raercedrm sanguinis ct sic 
PnllpHt. tit nudiK pri^ftit qui calciliu.s nnft^ieni. 
Aut Lugduncnscni rhetor dicttmia ad ararn.** 

Jdv. All, 1, V. 42,ffiM9. 

There is an island In the river, not far from the city where Ch«rl_ 
magnc is said to have had a country seat ; — if so, it was honourable to 
the old gentleman's tafle, for the spot is as bcautiftil as a dream ; and 
Sundays and fete days, the best of the Lyons population throng under 
its graceful trees, and linger there to sec the ^un go down in crimson 
and gold, across the hills that peep out of the further shore of the 




*■ Rigioiifl iroronuw, auM'arctiiil>l&, tiukiiown, 

in the iplendour of the lolu- znne." MovTOOUf KT. 


BtmoTftl to the Riktoenia de Nazere. — Curious Ktonument. — Channiog OArden,— 

Oiioo Variety of Fruits. — Hinisapple* and B&iianaiu — A dreamy Siota. — 

Tim Uunc in the foreat. — An old Ruin. — A Monkey Adrencurv. 

A rrw days after my arrival at Para, as I was promenading the slreetn 
one DDomiDg, I wa^f suddenly accosted by a familiar voice, and, locking up. 
whom eliould I see but an old scboolnialp of mine, conifortAbly seated on 
the balcony of a large slone house, quietly smoking his fragrant cigar. 

Il was truly a pleasure thus unexpectedly to meet a fcell-kaotcn /aci* 
in a strange land^ especially when lelon/fing to so generoua a friend, as 
thi5 young man afterwards proved himself to be. 

Shaking mc cordially by the hand, he insisted upon taking us in and 
inlroduciog us to hia father, who was one of the richest and most influ- 
ential men in the city. The old gentleman appeared to bo glad to see 
us, and treated us with a vast deal of politeness. We talked to him about 
America, and Portugal, and Brazil, and he in return told us quite a 
number of interesting stories and incidenta connected with the province. 
He was a Portuguese by birth, but bad been a resident of Brazil for 
vpwards of twenty years. 

As soou as \Ir. Darim (for this was the gentleman's name) under- 
stood that we had come out to Brazil for the sake of our health, and of 
pnrsuiug the study of natural history, he very kindly offered us the en- 
tirtf control of a charming country-seat of his, situated within a mile of 
the city, called *' The Kosccnia de Nazere." As this estate was just on 
ll* borders of the forest, and therefore well located for the collection 
of birds and other natural curiosities, we of course did not hesitate to 
tecept Mr. Darim's noble offer. 

In two or three days, havinf^ made all necessary arrangements, bought 
Wr proTisions, and hired a cook, we took our departure for Nnxere. 

An odd spectacle we presented in walking out to the Uoscenia. We 
M chartered ten or twelve blacks to carrj' out our luggage, each of 
•bom was loaded with some item of provisions or of luggage. One had 
• ttck of beans, another a hamper of potatoes, while a third carried a 
ltr)fe basket of farinha poised upon his head. We ourselves marched 
sloQg in the rear, with our trusty guns mounted on our shoulders and 
W wood-knives gleaming in our hands. 

Scarcely had we proceeded beyond the limits of the city, when we 
•trc encompassed by a strange and magnificent vegetation. Groups of 
ptlm trees, with their tall stems and feather-like hra^ches, were waving 
ni the distance, while plants of curious fonn» and bushea teeming with 
fl«»ers, surrounded us on every side. 

Tl)* scenery of the Largo da Polvei'u (over which we passed in our 
'ttolc) was very picturesque and fine, A row of low cottages ran along 
•«r side, fronted by a narrow walk. These little habitations were te- 
ttated bv blacks and Indians, and hud quite a neat and pretty appear- 
ow*. On the opposite side, at the distance of several hundred yarda, 

VOL. XXIfl. 


para; or. 

ihc forest commenced, doltod here and there along its margin by hnnd- 
somo little cottages peeping from amid the thick foliage around th 

Having crossed the Largo, we pursued our way through a rich de- 
file of shrubbery, until we finally emerged into another beautiful and ■ 
extensive clearing, called the ** Largo de Nazere/* I 

The fifflt object that arrested our attention was an antique-looking 
monument built of wood, standing at the very entrance of the Largo. 
Our curiosity being excited, we inquired of a gentleman who accompa- 
nied us for what purpose it was erected. In reply he told ua the follow- 
ing anecdote : — Many years ago, a certain president of the province, who 
was rambling in the woods in quest of game, hecamc lost in the dense 
mazes of the forest. For three long days he wandered disconsolately 
about, in vain seeking for some avenue by which he might effect his es- 
cape. Nearly famished for want of food, hope had almost deserted him ;i 
when, on the morning of the fourth day, a sound like that of the tink- 
ling of a distant bell broke upon his ear. He listened— again he beard 
that cheerful aoundt more clear and strong, Ue-animated by the musk 
of the bell, he bent his steps la the direction from whence the vieloil^ 
seemed to proceed, for melody indeed it was to him. Pressing on, he 
at last issued from the forebt near the spot where the monument now 
stands ; honce its origin. 

There was quite a number of native dwellings on the Largo, and 
near the centre of it a pretty little church, with a kind of portico built 
out in front. We observed that the natives, whenever they passed this 
church, were accustomed to render deference to it by falling down on 
their knees and crossing themselves. To such an extent, and still great- 
er, is superstition rife in this sun-favoured clime. 

We at length arrived at the stone-gateway of the Rosconia ; a slave 
opened the iron door and we entered, A long avenue, formed by the 
overhanging of the trees on either side, was before ua, through which we 
saw the dwelling-house of the garden, almost concealed by the foliage^ 
standing at the distance of seventy-five or a hundred yards from uSu^ 
The mansion was large, of but onu story in height, covered with earthi^ 
enware tiles, and surrounded by a wide and roof-covered verandah. ■ 

Under the commodious verandah we rented ourselves, and regaled our 
palates with rare fruit plucked fresh from the wcll-loden trees of the 
garden. We then bogan to attend to domestic affairs, and much did we 
feel the want of a nice little Fayaway to take charge of these important 
matters for us. Just as we had swung our hammocks, stowed away our 
provisions, and put our guns and ammunition in readiness for imme<Liate 
use, our cook rang the bell for dinner, 

" Pray, why did she not call you?" methinks I hear some one in- 
quire; well, then, it was because she could not speak Lnglish nor we 
Portuguese, if you must know, curious reader. We were obliged to 
communicate our ideas to her by pantomime ; and it is a great wonder 
to us, now that we think of it, that we ever got anything to eat at alU 
Chico — this, I believe, was her name, at least, we called her so, — 
was an excellent and experienced cook ; but she was a slave, and we had 
hired her from her fair mistress in the city. 

Under the tuition of Chico, and the absolute necessity which there 
was for UB either to speak or to starve, we began to acquire the laogi 
with amazing rapidity, and in the course of a few weeks wc were ak 
carry on quite a conversation with the pretty Indian damsels, who 



visited us at the Ro^cenia. The pounds of the Roscenia were extensive 
and OS enchanting as those of Eden : the ^rdcn was well sDpplied with 
the choicest fniit-trees and with the most beautiful flowers The walki 
were wide and well-gravelled ; on either side of liiem were rows of treea, 
bending over with the weight of their golden and crirnson fruit, thuf 
forming a fairy-like arbour of green throughout the entire avenue. 

The variety of fruits seemed intinite. Here was a little grove of 
orange-trees clustering together; there, a collection of guavaz bacata 
and ruby-tinged cushew-trees tastefully arranged along the walk. 

Dt-doctabic pinc-applea also grow in the garden. This fine fruit it 
called by the natives " anana," It arrives at great perfection in the pro- 
vince, and is justly deemed one of the richest of all tropical fruits. Spe- 
cimens of this fruit have been brought to the Para market weighing 
near twenty pounds. So delicious is its natural flavour, and such its 
sweetness when perfectly ripe, that no sugar is required in eating it. It 
is hardly necesiiary to slate, that it grows by itself on a single stem, sur- 
rounded by a bed of large and 8pear-hke leaves. 

** its luKiouK fruit Anatia reura. 
Amid II curoueC uf spears.** 

Perhaps the most conspicuous vegetable curiosity that grew in the 
garden was the far-famed banana plant. This shrub has been much ex- 
tolled by travellers, and is indeed a blessing to all tropical countries. 
It attainft to the height of from ten to twelve feet, and bears large clua- 
tors of fruit, oftentimes weighing more than fifty pounds. The bananaa 
are of a yellow colour when fully ripe, and are said to possess more nu- 
triment than any other species of fruit. They are prepared in varioua 
modes. Some prefer them roasted; others^ again, cut them into slicea, 
and fry them with butler: but we ourselves loved them best in their 
natural state, with the addition of a little port wine and sugar, as a kind 
of sauce. Eaten in this manner, they arc exceedingly fine. 

Having spent a considerable portion of our first afternoon in ratn- 
bling about the Ruucenia, for the purpobe of making ourselves acquaint- 
ed with the extent and products of our miniature kiiit/ifoni, we relumed 
to the house. Supper was soon prepared for us, on a small table under 
the verandah. It consisted merely of brcadj butter, and chocolate; yet 
our appetites were keen, and we enjoyed the meal a:t well as if there had 
beep a greater variety. After all, pleasure of every description depends 
mainly on the condition and desire of the recipient ; and, as our dt^sireg 
are often artificial, it necessarily follows that the pleasures which de- 
pend upou them are often unnatural and artificial also. 

Having concluded our evening meal, and being rather fatigued wtth 
the exercise we had undergone, and excitemeut we had experienced 
during the day, wc threw ourselves in our suspended hammocks, lighted 
a choice cigar, and took a refreshing siesta. Dreamy visions came o'er 
113. Hero we were at last, in the lovely land we had so long desired to 
see, — sole tenants of an estate, which for beauty and variety surpassed 
any we had ever seen before. True, we were alone, and on the very 
borders of a boundless wilderness ; but, wc soon found sufficient compa- 
nionship in the natural beauties by which wo were surrounded* — iu the 
trees, the plants, the flowers; and, most of all, the joyous, bright-winged 
birds I They chiefly were our solace and delight. Before and around 
us, Nature seemed clothed in her fairest charm?. (Jav flowers bloomed 

c 1 


P.UIA ; OR, 


Bm\A the shrubbery; birila sang and chattered among the Irces ; a soli 
tary cocoa-nut was shaking its plume-Uke branches in the sweet-scented 
breeze, and stood like a sentinel juat before t)ie porch. Our thoughts 
wandered back to our home and friends — far — far away. Could our 
parents but visit us herci but for one short hour, how truly happy woaM 
we be I — with what delight would they enter the iron gateway 1 — how 
fascinated would ihey be with the beauty of the garden I — how like 
Paradise would everything appear I — and, with what ecstasy would we 
receive them \ All this passed through our minds as we lay swinging 
in our hamuiocks, under the tree-shaded verandah of Naze re. 

AwakirjR- from the stupor into which we had fallen, we perceived that 
the sun had jvist gone down, leaving a delicate iinge of gold along the 
western horizon ; the stars were beginning io gleam in the cloudluss sky 
above, and to illumine with a mellow light the. bewitching scenery uround 
us. Silence reigned, giving solemnity to the beauteous scene. 

On the followingmorning wo were aroused from our slumbers at least 
an hour bi'fbre sunrise by the noisy chattering of the birds in the vicinity 
of the iiuuse. We accoutred ourselves speedily in our shootiug cos- 
tumeSf drank a strong cup of coffee, and sallied forth, in company with 
an Indian guide, on our first hunting expedition in a tropical forest. 

We had advanced a considerable distance in the wouds, when the sun 
arose from his golden couch in the east^ and shed a flood of light over 
the sylvau landscape. The dew glittered like jewels on the leaves; in- 
sects began to animate the atmosphere, and gorgeous-plumagcd birds to 
fiy from tree to tree. The path we had taken was extremely narrow, 
and so choked up with weeds and running vines, that we were obliged to 
cut a passage before us with our** tracados," or wood^knives, as we slow- 
ly and cautiously proceeded. These long knives are absolutely indis- 
pensable to one travelling in a Brazilian forest; in fact, everybody you 
meet with, blacks, Indians, women, and children, will be found principal* 
ly to be provided with them. 

Stopping now and then for a moment, to shoot a toucan, or other bril- 
liant bird that attracted our notice, we nt last arrived at an old and di- 
lapidated estate, literaUy buried in the wilderness. Here was a vast 
ruin, of solid stone, which had evidently been once a splendid building, 
of superior architecture. It was overgrown with moss and creeping 
vines, and tenanted only by bats and venomous reptiles ; yet it was 
majestic and interesting even in its decay. Concerning the origin of 
this strange building we were never able to ascertain anything of a SAtis- 
factory nature. Some suppose it was the residence of a certain English 
or Portuguese nobleman, by the name of Chermont; others, that it was 
a kind of fortification ; while many think that it was one of the relig-ious 
institutions of the Jesuits, who were tjuite numerous in the province 
many years ago. But these are nothing more than surmises. The truth 
is, there is a mystery hanging over ti which no one has ever been able 
to unravel, and which will undoubtedly remain a mystery for ever ! Wo 
spent an hour or more in examining the niin, and were rewarded for our 
researches by Bnding several new and valuable shells, which we carefully 
preserved, ■ 

Leaving this place, we next visited the Pedrara, another estate sevcru^ 
miles distant, situated, too, in the midst of the forest. Ilere we found a 
thriving garden, and a pleasant-looking farm-house, the inmates of 
which received us very hospitably. Joaquim, our Indian guide, in con- 



versing with the proprietor of the house, took my gun from my haod, for 
the purpose of poinliDg out to him its various advantages and virtues. 
Id so doing; he carcle&aly raised the bamoit^r, which immediately slipped 
from hib grasp, and the gun, which was well charged at the liine with 
coarse shot, exploded, lodging its contents in the side uf the building, — 
fortunately, however, no one was injured. Soon after this occurreuce, 
which occasioned but Uttle excitement, our kind host placed before us 
several kinds of fruit, aud a bowl of refreshing beverage prepared from 
the cocoa fruit, with which we heartily regaled ourselves. We then 
bade our entertainer and bis pretty daughters ** adeos," and proceeded 
bock towards the Uoscenia. 

As we were sauntering along the arched avenues leading through the 
forest, and listening attentively to tlie notes of curious birds, we heard a 
loud chatteriug in one of the trees over our heads. Looking upwards, 
we perceived two large monkeys on the very top of a prodigiously tall 
tree. No sooner did the animals see us than they hid themselves so 
completely in the thick foliage that it won impossible fur us to dii^cem 
them at all. We fired several shots up into the tree, but without any 
manifest effect. At last our Indian guide, perceiving that all other 
means would be useless, came to the deliberate determination of chmh- 
Utg the tree. Encircling the trunk, like the folds of u serpent, was au 
enormous winding vine, which ran up into the topmost branches. This 
species of vine has been called by travellers " The monkey's ladder." 
Having stripped to the buff, Joaquim look my double-barreled gun in 
h'ta band, and by means of the '* ladder " began to ascend the tree with 
Ute esse and agility of a squirrel. We watched his progress with the 
greatest anxiety, for it appeared to us an experiment hazardous in the 
extreme; but he bravely and uiuibly continued his dangerous ascent, 
uid finally waved his hand in triumph from the summit of the lofty tree. 
Kew difficulties now beset him, — the branches were so closely matted 
Wgether that he was severely scratched by their sharp points, and it was 
Mtfne time before he could get himself and gun in manageable order for 
ittacking the garrulous animals. Succeeding in securing a safe posiiiou 
n a notch of the tree, he got a glimpse of the monkeys, away out on 
the extremity of a long branch, almost hid from view by the thickness 
of the leaves. Raising his gun, he took steady aim, and two startling 
tiports, quickly succeeding each other, broke suddenly upon the stillness 
of the forest- The two monkeys fell, with a heavy crash, lifeless to 
the ground. They were large specimens, of a sUvery-grcy colour. 
Having picked them up, wc waited until Joaquim had descended from 
the tree, and then proceeded on our way. 

Il was mid-day when we reached Nazere. Eagerly we sought the 
cool shades of the Koscenia, and in the evening we refreshed ourselves 
with a delicioiu bath in a neigbbouriug stream. 


'incend and Blario. — Caitigation of a M'oman. — VUltors at Nner*.— Our 

NtighJjoar*. — FeAihere<) rompAninni. — Tam^ Mncnw. — Dppredntinn nf die 
AntA, — A nocturnal Visit from ihera. — The Largo by Moonlighi. 

TaB3tx was a venerable old slave at the Kosccnia, by the name of 

iti, who made himself very useful to us, and added considerably 

amusi'ment, by hU ecceutricities and peculiarities. He had lived 

place for more than thirty years, and was well acquainted with 


para; or. 

every variety of bird, inseot, and reptile, that was to be found in \U vi- 
dnity. Scarcely a day passed by without his brtnj^ng' U9 several sped- 
mens of lizardis, beetles, or centipedcji. The latter are quite nuroerooi 
in the garden ; and I remember one evening that we caught two of tbcM 
mony-lcggcd " aion:>ter8 *' crawling lei^urel) about the 6oor of our alaepk 
ing-apartment* They were at least eight inches in length, and as ugly- 
looking fellows of the kind as I ever saw. We succeeded in capturing 
them by the nid of a long pair of pinchers, and in putting them alive into 
a bottle of alcohol for preservation ; and we have them to this day in 
our cabint't, " BpiritHur* mementos of the past. 

But, to proceed. U seems that old Vinccnti, notwithstanding his aga 
and manifold infirmitirs, had some of the fire of youth still burning in 
his veins. Living with him was a very good-looking mulatto woman, bjr 
the name of Maria, who could not have lived more than twenty-five 
vears at most, while Vinconti himself had seen above sixty. How tba 
old fellow ever prevailed on her, a free woman, to live with him, will 
ever remain to us a sealed mystery. Although they had never bees 
married, yet no Ausband was ever more affectionate than Vinccoti, or 
wife more loving than Maria. The latter was daily accustomed to go to 
the city for provisions, and sometimes she took her place among the 
fruit-vendors of ihu market lu this way she made herself useful to hor 
lord and master, Vincenti. One day, however, she did not return to the 
Roscenia. Old Vinccuti was quite uneai^y, and tliuught somethiug se- 
rious must have happened. A week passed by ; but still uo news from 
Maria. At length, dreadful suspicions began to flash over the mind of 
old Vuicenti, and fierce jealousy to agitate bis miud. One uioruing, as ve 
were sipping our coffee under the veraodah, the shrieks of a woman, u 
if iu distress, fell upon our ears. Suspecting the cause, we rushed im- 
njediately to the little duelling of Vinceuti, aud there found him, *» 
we had anticipated, beatlog Maria, his prodigal mistress, in a most iiu- 
merciful manner. He was furious with anger; but we expostulated 
with him, aud having prevailed on him to dUcontiuue the castigatioB, 
we succeeded in effecting a reconciliation between the parties,— aod 
all this with a scanty knowledge of the language, rendered iutelUgible 
only by the pantomime with which we accompanied it. In a few houn 
Vincent! and hia buxk>m consort were again in fellowship with each other, 
and as happy aud contented as in days of yore. Thus do pleasant caliut 
succeed the 6everc»;t storms I 

TliC visitors to Nazere were numerous, therefore we had no lack of 
society. At the close of every day our hmjters would come in, bringing 
with them singular animals and beautiful birds, which they had killed in 
the forest. Frequently they would ?pend the evening with us, giving ui 
on account of the wonders and curiosities of the surrounding wild woods* 
On Sundays many persons generally came out from the city, and tbi 
military paraded on the Largo in front of the Hoscenia. Our neighbours 
were mostly blacks and Indians. Among the latter, two pretty maidsi 
Mariquiuha and Lorena, were our especial favourites. These wer« 
young and charming mamelukes, or half-breeds, with dark eyes, luxuri- 
ant hair, and hffht-olive complexions. To tell the truth, I believe we 
were principally indebted to tht-iie lovely damaels for the rapid proficiency 
which we made in the laikgunf^e. 

But I must nut forget to meuijon the feathered com|>nuioiis who 
shared with us the pleasures of Nnzerw. These consisted of sevur&l do- 



meftticated parrots, a pair of roseate spoonbills, and a solitary macaw. 
The last-named bird was a very gorgeous fellow, wiih a handsome tail, 
above two feet in length, boautifuUy marked with blue and red. During 
the day he was accustomed to spend many of the hours in rambling 
through the embowered avenues of the garnen, and in climbing sucoes- 
fively the different fruit-trees, which were drooping with the weight of 
their red and yellow fruit. But, whenever he heard our voices calling 
him, he insLintly abandoned the sweetest orange or most delicious guana, 
to make his appearance before us. He was an awkward bird in his mo- 
tions, and occasioned us a great deal of merriment. It was enough to 
dinturb the gravity of a confirmed misanthrope to see our macaw per- 
ambulating by himself around the piazza of Nazerc. 

Whenever the bell rang for either breakfast or dinner, Mr. Macaw 
immediately wended bis way to the banquet-table, and having perched 
himself upon the back of one of the chairs, waited patiently for the ar- 
rival of us — his hnmble servants. In justice to his memory, be it said, 
that be always conducted himself with |)erfect decorum while at table, 
and never on any occasion made any sudden onslaught upon the viands 
which were hud out in tempting array before him. Finally, our long- 
tailed companion died ; and for a time we felt bereaved indeed. 

One day an Indian brought us a live coral snake, the fangs of which 
had been carefully extracted. The reptile was about three feet in 
leugth, and was regularly banded with allernatc rings of black, scarlet, 
and yellow. If the idea of ** beautiful " can be associated with a snake, 
then did this one well deserve the qualification, for a more striking com* 
bioation of colours I think I never saw. For the sake of security, we 
put the animal in a small wooden box, and placed it in one of the cor- 
ners of the room whore we slepU One night, while we were asleep, the 
aoimai forced off the top of tlie box in which he was confined, and, iu 
travelling about, at last found his way into the cook's room. Aroused 
by her screams, we hastened to her apartment, and there discovered the 
cause of her alarm. But the animal had escaped through a crevice in 
the floor, and we never saw his snakeship again. 

We cxperienoed a great deal of annoyance from the ants at Nazere. 
The»e iu^ects swarm in myriads in the forest, and may be seen crawling 
on the ground wherever yuu may happen to be. They subserve a very 
useful purpose in the wise economy of nature, by preventing the natural 
decav and putrefaction of vegetable matter, so particularly dangerous in 
faoywal regioDs; but, al the same time, they are a serious drawback to 
llie praeecutiou of agricultural pursuits, and to the cause of civilization 
n the torrid zone. Flourishing plantations are sometimes entirely de- 
stroyed by these insects; and we ourselves have seen a beautiful orange- 
tree, one day blooming iu the greatest luxuriance, and on the next per- 
fectly leafless and bare I 

Nothing is more interesting than to see an army of ants engaged in 
^tresting a tree of its foliage. In doing so, they manifest an intuitive 
^■iem and order which is truly surprising. A regular Hie is continuaU 
w ascending on one side of the trunk, while another is descending on 
die opposite side, each one of the anis bearing a piece of a leaf, of the 
use of a sixpence, in his mouth. A large number appear to be station- 
ed among the upper branches, for ihe sole purpose of biting off the stems 
of the leaves, and thus causing them to fall to the ground. At the ibot 
of the tree is another department, whose busiuess is evidently that of 



c4i(ting the fallen leaves into small pieces for transpcrtatioo. A long 
proceuion is kept constantly innrching: away towards their settlernent, 
laden with ibc loaves. Verily, wibdum may be Learned even from the ants ! 
Mr. Kidder states that, some years ago, the ants entered one of the 
convents at Maranham, who not only devoured the drapery of the 
altars, but also descended into the graves beneath the 6oor and brought 
op several small pieces of linen from the shrouds of the dead ; for this 
offence the friars commenced an ecclesiastical prosecution, the result of 
which, however, we did not ascertain. Mr. Southey says, in relation to 
these destructive insects, "that having been cDnvicted in a similar suit at 
the Franciscan convent at Avignon, they were not only excommunicated 
from the Uoman Catholic apostolic church, but were sentenced by the 
friars to a place of removal, within three days, to a place assigned them 
in the centre of the earth. The canonical account gravely adds, tha^ 
the ants obeyed, and carried away all their young and all their stores 1"^ 

Conc-crning the ants, however, we have a story of our own to telL 
The occurrence took place at Nazcre, and was in this wise. One night, 
while indulging in delightful dreams, 1 was suddenly awakened by my 
amiable companion, who ai&rmed that something was biting him severe* 
ly — ho knew not what. Being well wrapped up in my hammock, no 
wonder that I did not feel the bites of which he complained. 

In the deep silence of our loncliy apartment we beard distinctly a 
sound like that of a continual dropping of something upon the Hoor. Wo 
were imcertaio from what it proceeded, but I more than half suspected 
the true cause, but said nothing to my companion ; on the contrary, 1 
even endeavoured to convince him that the biting of which he complain- 
ed was only imaginary. The reality, however, of his sufferings made 
him proof agaiust any such conviction, and he forthwith arose and light- 
ed a lamp. Its glimmering rayu shed a feeble light over the apartmen^^ 
but sufficient to disclose a spectacle Euch as we never hope to sec agaiwH 
The Boor itself was literally black with ants; and our clothes, which 
were hanging on a line stretched across the room, were alive with them. 
It wa6 in vain for us to attempt to remove them, so we removed our<il 
selves, and spent the remainder of the night swinging in our hammockll 
under the verandah ! But, we will never forget that night should we 
live an hundred years ! 

Green and golden hued lizards were also numerous at the Roscei 
and we frequently saw them in the midst of the walk, basking in 
warm sunshine, their glowing tiuts rivalling in lustre the bright enam« 
of the flowers. They were innocent creatures, exceedingly timid, ani 
we found it almost impossible to catch them alive. 

On one side of the entrance gate of the garden, was a small " sum- 
mer house," (as it would be called in England or America,) from which 
an excellent view of the Largo was presented. Nothing could exceed 
the romantic beauty of this extensive plot of ground by moonlight I A 
wild forest rises up around ; tall pnUns stand like faithful scotim 
watching orer the lovely scene 1 The little church, solitary and aloi 
seems to fill the mind of the beholder with soti'ma associations ; the l( 
dwelling!) of the natives, shaded by overhanging trees, add to the strange 
ness of the landscape ; and the ** southern cross," gleaming in the clear 
starry firmament above, brings to mind the immense distance of home, 

^ impresses the wanderer with emotions of love and sublimity, such as 
a can adequately describe I 






or TBE 




It is noiiv more than fifty years since/ ^ ^ 

aod in a mood still duller and gloomier than the weather, I found 
DiyiHflf on the shores of the lake of CoDstance. White vapours were 
roiling over the heada of the enormous mosses of rock that rttse like 
mighty walls round the horizon ; the waters of the lake, lathed into 
fury by the gusts of wind, rushed along at their feet towards the 
valley of the Rhine, where they seemed to mingle with clouds as black 
•s midnight, oguiuttt which the clear green colour of the waves in the 
foreground, with their crests of snuwy foam, looked indeacrihably 

The whole aspect of nature was strange and new, and ofTected me 
with a power I had never before felt from external things ; but I had 
Bcaroelj time to wonder at the change, which with magic suddenncfui 
seemed to operate upon my mind, when my carriage rolled over the 
bridge that connects the islund of Lindau with the main land, and the 
walls of the city soon hid the whole landscape frum my sight. 

The castle and the wall called the Heiden Mauer, whose strength and 
thickTiess bid defiance to time, ciirried me back in thought to thme dis* 
taut a^es when the heavy tramp of the imn men of Home first broke 
the siillneM uf the woods in which the yet unnamed lake lay buried. 
But it was not &olittide» nor the gloom of boundlens forests, nor the 
liellowing of the auer-ox and other mighty brutes by wliich they were 
tenanted, nor the cries, scarcely less terrible, of their human inhabitaiits> 
Dor rocks uor glucien;, uur the ice iuid snow of a climate thai appeared 
lo severe when cum]>ared with that of their own glowing laud that 
could turn buck the legions from a settled purp«ise. Under the guid- 
lOce uf Drusus, they fuund their victorious way along the itbine* 
leaving one fortress after another to mark their course, and on the spot 
»hich is now Constance, laid the foundutionn of their Valeria; there 
they built a number of galleys, with which to traverse these unknown 
waters, and soon the dark oJid silent woods that closed it in were 
echoing to the shouts of the first civilised men whose vessels bad 
rippled its surface since its creation. 

Tiberius landed on the island now called Lindau, built a fortress, 
and prepared here his warlike expeditions against the natives of 
Rhoetia, in the neighbourhood of the lake, who hud often rushed down 
from their ujountains upon the fertile and cultivated lands of their 
Italian neighbours. He conquered tliem after a six years' struggle, and 
tlieoce he opened u way through the forest into the heart of Sunbiii, 
where he established his extreme outpost to watch the fierce Alle- 
manni. It was not, however, till the seventh century, that a few 

* Xh« lap«r of fifty, we might aliiioiit say uf five hundred yeait^ hai nmde ru 
Irttls chjingv in the mode of life ia tbese pastoraJ unntuus, thai we appreliend the 
af tbe*e recullecliviis will detract little, if uiylhiug, frum whaterer inlemt 



famitteH begun to settle un the shores of the lake, with a view to gaio 
a 8ub»i«tence by cultivicting the yet virgin soil— The people of 
SchA-ytz, Unterwalden, aud the otlier pastoral cantons that conatitnte 
the very heart and core of Switzerland, sprang originally from a Hhwt 
thrown out by the grand old Sciuidiuavian tree. In a parchment 
preserved at Ober Hasle, in tlie Canton of Berne, there is a record of 
this remarkable immigration. A body of six thousand warlike men 
had bet'H thrown off at a ewarm, Avbeu there was u great fumine, from 
an ancient kingdom far to the nurth, in the lund of the Swedes. They 
divided lhera»elves into three troops, each of which made a league 
among tbemaelvcs to hold together on the land or on the sea, in good 
fortune or bad fortune, in joy or sorrow, in all things great or small 
which God should send them. One of those, under the guidance of 
one SchwitzeruSy after many adventures, reached the upper Rhine, 
" and at lengtli came to a country with high rocks and mountains full of 
yalleys and lakes, which pleased them, for it was like the old country 
from which they had come." 

Here they settled, calling the country Schwitz, from their leader 
Schwitzerua, and felled the forest, and btiilt huts, and kept flocks, 
and tilled the ground, and maintained themselves honourably by the 
sweat of their brow, and kejit foithfully to one another; and their 
children learned Immlicrufts, and grewuji to be men ** great and strong 
like giants." Onr old friend William Tell find his compeers cnme then, 
it uj>|>enrs, of a good family. 

The weather cleared ap hi the Bf^emoon, on the day of my arrival 
fit Lindnn, and 1 crossed the bridge to the Hnvarian shore, which looked 
Terv attractive with its fruitful hills and gardens and vineyards. My 
guide led me to the country-seat of a Lindauer patrician, whence, 
through a telescope, 1 saw plainly, across the lake, the towers of the 
ancient abbey of St. Gal!, und several pretty little towna set like 
gems in the opposite shore. The clouds were now floating in a higher 
region of the atmosphere, and hid none but the loftiest peaks ; and at last 
the sun broke through and 1 had the pleasure of beholding the monn- 
tains of Appenzell, the chief object of my pilgrimage. A tremendous 
storm appeared however to be niging in that elevated district. Some* 
times high ragged peaks would ^eeui to thrust themselves suddenly 
out from amidst the clouds, and the thick veil would sweep off and 
show them covered with glittering ice and snow ; and then, again, it 
would close, leaving the imagination perhaps more excited by these 
stolen glimpses than if the whole of these mighty masses had been 

After a long battle between ran and storm, the sun at length 
obtained the mastery, and, pouring out a flood of light, took possession 
of the whole vast hindscape^ turning, as he set, the surface of the 
lake into a sea of crimson fire. Never bad I seen so magnificent ft 

1 left Lindau on the following morning but the storm and wind from 
the west was still rjging with such violence over the lake, that it >va8 
impossible to go by water to Constance, as I had intended. The beauty 
of the shore, however, along which the road lay, made me ample 
amends for this change in my plun. I was going along the German 
side to Morsburg, now 1 believe in Biiden, from which I could easily 
cross over to Constance. The rood ran sometimes close along the 
margin^ sometimes a little further ofl^, but through com fields, me»* 




dowB, gentle hills clothed with vines, avenues of fruit treesj round 
whiwe trunks the ivy twined its picturesque garlands ; groves of fir, 
pretty villages, and little towns and castles in endless variety ; and 
on tlie opposite bank, tlie bolder fonns of the mountains and the 
distant snoivy peaks proclaimed ihe wonderful land of the Swi&s^ to 
which I was bound. 

I arrived at Mursburg in due time, but not a man could be found 
who would put nie ucriN« the lake, as it would be scarcely possible, they 
said, tu reach Cunstance in safety with this wind, so that I was fain to 
amuse myself for the remainder of the day with looking at the Bi- 
shop's Cabinet of shells ; the Bishop of Constance 1 mean, who has 
his residence here. It is situated upon a high rocky shore which falls 
precipitously to the lake,— here many hundred feet deep,— which, 
while I was engaged with the shells, was dashing furiously against 
the precipice, and tossing its white foam muuy fathoms high, while 
the busum of the water was of a deep blue black. 

From what you know of the enthusiasm n-ith which, at that time of 
niy life, I regarded the form of government and the character of the free 
pastoral peojile of Switzerland, you will easily believe I did not pass 
without emotion the simple wooden bar that marked the frontier of 
the Canton of Appenzell. Hitherto my road had lain, as I have said, 
through corn fields, orchards, mid vineyards ; now there was a striking 
change in the cliaracter of tlie landscape. There was no longer the 
same variety of tint, but hill rose behind hill, in ever bolder outline, 
but clothed in a uniform green colour, varied occasionally bv the dark 
hues of the fir thickets. Single houses built of wood, but with the 
utmost care and neatness, lay scattered about upon the hills, ood could 
be reached by pretty winding paths; they had an air of tranquil com- 
fort as they lay there in that still evening, with the beams of the 
setting sun yet lingering upon them, that corresponded well with mv 
anticipations, and my satisfaction was increased when, on mv arrival in 
the evening twilight at Herisau, the largest and handsomest village in 
the Canton, I learned, that, in a few days, would take place the 
general assembly of one of these little states, with which, as you arc 
aware, resides the sovereign power of the country. 

The Canton of Appenzeil, though regarded us one in the confederacy, 
does, in fact, consist of two separate and independent republics, called 
the Outer and Inner Khudes ; this ^vo^d rhude being, it is snid, a cor- 
ruption of the old German roilc, meaning troop or tribe. The man- 
ner in which this topographical and political separation was effected 
is. i believe, unique in history, and therefore deserves mention. In 
the year 1522, Walter Gliirer, a parish priest of Appenzell, had begun 
to preach openly the doctrines of Zuinglius, the Swiss reformer, and 
had found many zealous supporters ; frum others, however, he met 
with a no leas decided opposiiiun, and soon, in every little village in 
this hitherto peaceful land, were kindled the flames of the gre«U 
spiritual conHagration of the sixteenth century. Instead, however, of 
cutting each other'^i throats in the name of the God of luve and mercy, 
as other more civilised nations did, the^e rude shepherds bethought 
them of another expedient. As soon us it became evident thut their 
differences of opinion could not be reconciled, and that nothing re- 
Qiaiued now but civil war. they said, ''let us divide the land," and the 
proi>o6al was at once received- The Catholic communes or parishes, the Cantons of Lucerne, Schwytz, and Unterwalden, fur arbitra- 


tors; the Refurmers, Zurich, Glarus, and Schaffhausen. Deputtei 
from these six cantons were sent to Appt^nzell, and within a moatti 
after, the Catholics had taken peaceable possession of the interior dis- 
tricts called Inner Rhodes, their reforming 1)rettiren of those which 
lay nuarerto the frontier^ and each little rfpublic had held its general 
assembly) in which the people not only gave their consent to tlie 
arraufrement, but hud even tbo forethought to introduce a clause^ 
stating that the agreement should not necessarily be binding for ever 
on their poiiLerity* but should continue only as long us it should l>e 
desired by both parties. 

The calm rationality and wisdom of this proceeding at a time 
when men's minds all over Europe were a prey to the transports of 
fanaticism, gives these little states, in my opinion^ n claim to attention 
and respect nut to be measured by their geogrunhical extent. It may 
afftfrd also a fact in reply to the often repcatea assertion that a pure 
demi»cracy is uniformly swayed by passion rather than by reason. It wa« 
in thut same century when tlie shepherds of Switzerland gave this 
example of reason and moderiition that the English nation had been 
blown repeatedly backwards and forwards between Catholicism and 
Protestantism, by the gusts of passion in the mind of a brutal despot. 

Rejoicing at the good fortune which had led me tu Apf>enzell at the 
period of the general assembly of the people, the Lamlsgemeine as it 
\n cnlled, I left Herisan on a fine spring morning to take my way to 
the appointed place of meeting, the little town of Appenzell, in Inner 
Uhodes. Light clouds covered the sky, but a soft warm air was blow- 
ing, under whose influence all nature seemed bursting into bud and 
blossom. Far as the eye cnuld reach, hill and valley, and even moun* 
tain, were covered with a robe of liveliest green, and, from the peculiar 
conformation of the country, every step presented the landscape in a 
new point of view. The hills sometimes flowing into each other, 
sometimes suddenly pirting, created an incessant change of outline, 
mass, and surface, which kept the attention constantly occupied. To 
the south rose nuked rucks of a greyish black colour, contrasting 
forcibly with the snowy horns of the Santis. To the east, ihruugh 
breaks in the mountains, r>ccasional enchanting peeps could l>e obt^uned, 
across the bright mirror uf the Lake of Constance to the distant fertile 
fields of Suabia, tioutingin an atmosphere of tender blue, and on all sides 
the view w&s framed in by the shLjrp bold outliue of mountains of 
every variety of shape. 

The road along which I was journeying could onlv be traversed by 
passengers on foot or on horseback, but showed on either side manifold 
traces of the cleanliness, order, industry, and prosperity of the people. 
From time to time, when I was stopping to admire a pretty wooden 
house, or a bright crystal spring that came dancing across a green 
slope^ groups of men would pass with hasty steps, some of whom wore 
a most singular costume, the colour of the right half of every garment 
being white, and of the left black. The composed demeanour of these 
men seemed, however, to indicate that this strange attire was no 
masquerade habit, but had some peculiar significance, and on making 
enquiry, I learned that they were otlicial personages belonging to 
Outer Rhodes, who were going to A])penzen to be present at the Inner 
Rhodes parliament. These are the state colours, the Ap[)enzell arms 
being a black bear in a white 6eld. 

All at once the road, or rather path, made a ateep descent iuto 




ravine, at the bottom of which flowed the clear rapid stream of the 
Urnasch, which rises in the mountnins ou the Tuggeiiburg, aiidfruah- 
inf^ ahtng between very high banks, pours itself into the Sitter. Like 
must niounuin alream8, it sometimes swells tu a torrent, and is conti- 
nually wearing itself a deept^r and deeper bed, which in this part was 
overhung, when I saw it, with broken masses of sand-stone, fringed with 
dark pines ; and I could not help liugt'ring for f^onu' time on the bridge 
tfirawn across the narrow valleys to gaxe upon its picturesque beauty. 

On reaching the right bank, I cuuie in sight of the village of 
Hundwyl, and, from the small numher of whose houses, one could 
litlie imagine to be the largest parish of Outer Rhodes ; but through- 
out the Swiss cantons, wiib very few exceptions, the villages are all 
small, from its being the custom for families of this pastoral people to 
live on their own property ; and to have their house in the midst of 
their Innd, so that the inhabitants of a single parish are sumetimes 
fuund scattered all over a circle of from ten to twenty miles. 

After passing IIundwyI> the way led along the dde of mountains, 
covered with furests, thickets, and meadows, and very sot»n, witliout 
being acquainted with the precise limit between Outer and Inner 
Rhmles, it was easy fur me to perceive that I had passed it. The 
country, the people, and their occupations remained the same, yet it 
was impossible to overlook the dilfercnce between Protestant and 
Catholic Appenzi-U. The fields of the hiiter were not so neat, the 
crops were le^s abundant, the meadows no luuf^er showed that fresh deli- 
cious grctfU which enchanttrd me in tb^ Outer Rhodes ; the houses 
were smaller, pmirer, and I missed everywhere those evidences of in- 
dustry, order, and prosperity so beautifully conspicuous in the little 
twin reimblic, and 1 should soaietinies almost have felt the way tedi- 
ous but for the views which were continually opening to the east, 
where the mountains were sprinkled over with en incredible number 
of habitations giving to the landscape u quite peculiar character. 

As I came nearer to the capital of Inner Rhodes, I met a great 
number of the people going to the general assembly, and on all sides 
I could dtstinguiHli them coming dowu the slopes uf the mountains 
towards the same point ; here a man alone, — there, a father with his 
sons ; from another point a whole troop of uld and young, all hastening 
to AppenxelL Every one carried a sword, for, curiously enough, it is 
the law that the men shall come armed. Some carried the weapon in 
the right hand, grasping it by the middle like a stick, und nut one 
made a single step to move out of the way of my horse, so that 1 had 
often to stop and wait till I could tind room enough to ride by. I 
nolictd this as a little trait, marking the ditFerence of character be- 
tween these mountaineers, and any country pe(»ple L had ever seen, 
who were always ready to take off their hats and stand respectfully 
aside to make room for a carriage or a gentleman on horseback. In 
the entire deportment and bearing of these Appeuzellers, in their (irm 
step and free erect carriage, there was an expression of manly self-reli- 
ftnce. — The road, as I approached the scene of action, wns of course 
more and more thronged, and as I gazed with interest at the groups 
of athletic figures which surrounded me, I seemed to see revived 
their valiant forefathers, when they rose up and burst the chains that 
had been laid on them, atid drove the oppressor from their land. 

The open village of Appenzell \va» swarming with people, and 
everywhere was a movement, a thronging busy Ufe, a hua\ \.vV.«£ sXvftX 


^« pcit Cmt; «i4 «M of tke ImiM twta aT Ac 
«Be«tt«it 9jffmtm to tfce bn wWre 1 wm to ato^ 

i-Sifi^ ^?*."^ "^ ^* '" ' *""T» "^ gWa, were all eridenlly-i 
toth rirgdid ayctoibca; but the cattvae af & ma ww «• pecalUr^ 
**?*. *^*"^ • ■•* **■* deacripdao- IVy wuv m ahott >cket bdA. 
»«««, aod tmraen rachuig to the aakl^ btt av abort above^ 
H^a larKe portioo of tbeir linen banc •■&, Md i^ead bad it 
•••■w tbcir broad braoea, tbere vaoJd bava been isuninriit daa^er-« 
<«»« ttppcariag aa true «a« cmieiUs, Sane people, I tun told^ 
imiilu' tbk practice of aUovriog tbe abirt to bug out as a mer^ 
F*^ of dandriam, but I hare aeea it in men m* uld aod cteati)v' 
tbat thia caa hardly be Uie caae^-Wben I entered tlie public rwna. 
<rf U** ino, ttad iaw, aittiag with their hacks lo me. a whole row- 
^ "g*" «s appareotiy in w strange a dishabille, I could bardlT^ 
!■•■*■'• "■> gfarity. Tbe room waa full of womtm and girU, bat 
«• "J*^ ** ••* hit myaelf appeared to regard it a^ ttiilitj peculiaa" 
•^•'•"•i "ay. Ott the contrary, to my fcorprite and murti£cation, I 
^HM that tbe indecorum, or at all ereais the absuxdily^ waa (hougbt 
|i^ ^ ** My aide. I had uftexi noticed aa I rude along {bat a bead luJ 
P*Mitd oat «f a window to Ictok at me, and that immediate!/' 
Uriollvvcd a bant vi laughter. Here, as 1 sat in the apart- 
*f tbe JQti, I p^ceived »ereral of the women and girh glancing 
g^ MM and titt4:ring, v> tlut at Uat I was piqued to enquire tbe cau«e 
i//'lWftr mirths W which one of tbe damaeJa replied with great murete, 
ibtfl H waa " beoauae I looked ao funny ." 

WtMim in Ap{»enz4-ll, itaeems, commanded, that, instead of wearing 
tfn/ilBditpeoaahieft tightlj-buttoned above the hips, one shuold pre- 
■fflt OM'a Mlf in a atate that will re&Uy not bear to be too faithfully 

re&Uy not bear to be too faithfully 

Tbia eoatume ia perba^u the more striking frnin the bright showy 
isobNtf diktdayed in ita rarious parts. The waistcoat is genendly 
aflsrlrt, tiio decorated with many white metal buttons; Uie jacket of 
«Mkje other colour, both contrasting strongly witli the snow-white shirt 
«»d yellow trousers. Many of the gentlemen wore no jacketj and had 
(bair abirt aleeres rolled up above their elbows, displaying to much 
adriBtaip their fine development of muscle. Some of their stalwart 
arms hung down, looking Uke sledge hammers, and it seemed to me 
that those who were possessed of such advantages, had the same seif- 
eanplacent consciousness of them, as our young men sometimes have 
of cravataandmiistachios; and their manner of presenting themselves to 
tbe ladiaa, showed the same easy confidence of nleasiug, that I have seen 
in elided aaloona, on the basis of stars and orders. 

The 6ne snow-white shirt was evidently un article in which they 
laok great pride; it wma only worn, 1 was told, on high days and 
boHdaya, the ordinary one being made of chocked linen ; and tbe fine 
jtBaw tint of tbe trousers is often enhanced by being rubbed over 
with tbe yolks of eggs. Stockings are seldom worn in summer, and 
evm shoes are by nu means " d^ ngueur" 

Tbe women wore fed petticoats and little cKksely fitting bodices of 
dark bloe ot red, nnd puffed out sleeves tied with ribbon bows. The 
■uiority of the peirple were fair, but there were some, whose htiir and 
camplexion, as u ell as their dark sparkling eves spoke of a southern 
^viciB, and tbe whole expresMon of face and 6gure was of quickness, 

Ivity, and iutelligejice. 





Every one who knows anything of London knows where Barbi- 
can is — of course he does. At the end of Barbican is Long Lane, 
din which street there is a Bniull grocer's shop, with its window well 
Ifarnished with bunches of candles, retl herrings, yellow soap^ and 
tobacco. One evening, Mr. Sims, the proprietor, his wife, son, 
daughter, and their man Joe, were regaling themselves in their tiule 
back parlour upon their daily allowance of tea, when, through their 
glass window tuey espied the postman entering the shop. 

" There's somebody wanting immediate payment fur somethingj" 
said Mr. Sims, shrugging his shoulders. ** They always come when 
the till is low- See what it is, Joe." Joe returned wiih a letter, 
" I'll just finish my cup, and take another slice of bread and buttCTj 
before I open it. Them kind of letters take away my appetite." 

At length, with slow and unwilling hands, he took up the letter, 
looked at the direction, and then turned up the seal. ** T and M, 
Yes, a shop seal,— I thought so." 

With a lone countenance he opened it and began to read. As his 
eye glanced auwn the page, his features brightened, and before he 
came to the bottom of the page, a pleasant smile revealed his inward 

" Son^ebody has ordered a whole ham, and promises to pay ready 
money f*" said his son Sam, offering a guess. 

JMr. Sims took no notice of him, but sat thoughtful for a moment, 
and then said, •* Tain't the first of April, is it? No; 'taint dated 
tJie first of April either." He then read the letter over again, and a 
broader grin adorned his countenance. When he had finished it, 
he then deliberately took his wig off his head, and threw it up to 
the cieling, catching it again as it fell. 

" It's very easy,*' said Mrs. Sims, who was not of a very excitable 
temperament, " to throw your wig up to the cieling, as it is only 
seven foot high ; but I really do not see the reason for it/' 

" Read that," said Mr. Sims, throwing her the letter. 

JMrp. Sims read the letter, smiled, and only said " My high !" in a 
tone of astonishment. 

" 1 know what it is," said her daughter Sally : *' cousin Bess has 
got a baby." 

" Fiddlestick !'* said Mrs. Sims. 

" Do you think it can possibly be true?" said Mr. Sims. 

" Read the letter, ma," said young Sam. 

" Read the letter, ma," said Sally. 

'* Please to read the letter, ma'am/' said Joe. 

"i^Iessrs. Tompkins and Muggins beg to inform Mr. Samuel Simi 
that their correspondent in Calcutta has remitted to them the sum of 
eighty thousand pounds, on account oV Mr. Samuel Sims, grocer, 
No. L53, Long Lane, London, being the sum to which he is entitled 
by the will of Mr. Obediah Sims, lately deceased. Messrs. T. and 
M. would be obliged to JVIr. Sims by his calling at their office at his 
earliest convenience." 

*' Mdoey ! money ! BOB^ r cried Mr. 9m, nAfa^ hu luuidi with 
glee, aim] Aeo m uj^y i ng fcn fiagen ^ he maie tWm csack tgam* 

''Iilock't befierea wordoT it," ssid Alrv Son. pnttiiy ber led 
■pon the fi-nder, and nt&ily pehing tlie fire * I m ua S a tbey did 
not tend ;ou a draft fisr the — ww i H nHm the ^BBip <* AMjtate;" 

" WeU, I don't ksiowr n>d Mr. ^hh, acttliiv h» vig straight 
npon hi« bead, *' perfaapa I have bcea makmg ■ fool of lajrself ; but 
bow tboold anj one aboat bere knov that I had a coasn called 
Obediah > If k€ had quite forgotten hixn« I Kipfpoae other people 
have too." 

** Well, if jou think yoa have got a prize,* said Mrs. Sims, incre- 
dolou«lyj *' you bad better go and look aAer it." 

" It 's worth looking aAer," said Mr. Sims ; '* and. though I may 
be laughed at, I won't lose it for want of asking for it'* 

Air. Sims put on his hat, and went to the door of the shop, then 
stopped as if in doubt. He then returned^ hung up his hat, and sst 
down again. 

" Xo/' said he, " I could not stand iL There will be four-and- 
twenty clerks at their desks all of a row ; and when I ask for my 
monej, they will all begin a-laiighing, and say, ' Here 's Sammy Sims* 
who sells red herrings, cume to a^k for eighty thousand pounds !"* 

" I wish I was in your shoes," 6aid Joe ; " nobody should laugh 
at me. I would first show them the seal. — * In that the seal of 
the 6rm, eh ? If they said ' yes,' I would show them the direction. 
* Is that the writing of any of the firm, eh?' If they said 'yes/ 1 
would show them the signature. * Is that signature correct, eh ?' 
If they said * yes' again, I would say, • Then I will trouble you tor 
the small amount. " 

Mr. Sims cUpned Joe on the back, and said, "Joe, you ares 
trump ! Come along with me/' 

They sallied forth together. The seal waa correct, the hand-writ 
ing correct, the signature all right. 

" I will give you a draft for the amount directly," said one of ihe^ 
partners. " It will, however, be necessary that some one should iden- 
tify you. It's rather a considerable sum. 

" A consideralile sum ! " said Joe. " I should rather say it wai." 

" I can identify him," snid mie of the clerks: "that's Jemmi 
Hiras. I have of\rn been in hU shop, when I was at school. 
waA a notpd hoimr for olicitmpnne." 

Thr pnrtnt'r took n iminll ulip of |^>aper, and wrote something on 
and gave it to Kims, and then turned to his other business, agaii 
adding up figuri'N in n huge book. 

Mr. Sims slooii ull astonishment for some lime, with his paper iiJ 
his hand ; for he wnn not awnre of the facility with which large] 
»uni» ehiinge ownem in the city. At length he said to Joe in ij 
whisper, " It's a rum go." 

•' Wrrry rum." siiid Jih*. 

^'resenllv otm of the clerks, seeing their distress, explained 
A tiiat ihe jispcr was a (Ira*\ upon their bankers, who, upon 
'ntNlion ol ihr urtlcr, would hand ihtm over the money. 
Irtntl us <iver the m(intf> I" re|>c«teil Mr, Sims, with a smile ; 
•ui' time he gave Joe a private dig in the ribs with his thi 



They went to the bankers, and presented the check. The banker 
Jooked at the check, and said^ " How would you like to have it ? " 
If it had been a dral\ for thirty shillings, he could not have treated 
it with ^ealcr indifTerence. 

Mr. Sims stared at him for a moment, for he almost thouglit that 
he was in a dream, and then said, " Gold, — in gold; I would like to 
take it in gold !" 
" Have the goodness to step this way/* said the banker. 
They followed him up stairs to a little dingy-looking room, with 
an old table in it and two chairs; and producing a large key. he 
opened an iron door in the wall which opened into a small vaulted 
room with chests upon the floor, and some bundles of papers and 
odd-looking tin boxes upon the shelves round the wall ; and taking 
out another key, he opened an iron chest that stood in the corner. 

"Lord have mercy on us !" said Joe, involuntarily, " it 's full of 

"That's only twenty thousand," said the banker, smiling. "It 
occupies too much time to count them: we will weigh them out to 
you," pointing to a copper shovel and a pair of scales, 

" Joe took up one handle of the box, and lifted it, to try the 
weight, shook his head, and looked at Sims. Sims tried a handle, 
shook his head, and looked at itye. 

" A rum go/' said Joe, " to be carrying this home through the 

"Anxious furniture for our bsck-parlour, Joe." 
" And, besides/' said Joe, " you would be awaking some fine 
morning with your throat cut. There are fellows in London that 
can smell out gold through a brick wall." 
Sims scratched his head, and looked serious. 

" We shall be happy to take charge of it for you," said the banker, 
"and you can draw for any amount you like whenever it suits you/* 
" An ! that would be a prime way of doing it/* said Joe, who ap- 
peared to be struck by the novelty of the contrivance. 

Sims assented, but observed that he would like to take a small 
sample home to show Missis. 

"What think you of fifty pounds ?" said Joe; "to take it home 

a/i in one lump— Goshins ! how it would make them open their eyes." 

The banker drew out a draft for Sims to sign, and then counted 

Mit the money, which Sims deposited in the pocket of his small 

hea, carefully buttoning it up. 

Now, Joe/' said Sims, in a whisper, as they emerged into the 
street, " keep carefully on my money side." And thus they threaded 
Uicir way homewards, keeping carefully in the centre of the road- 
wmy, and avoiding the contact of every foot passenger as if he had 
the plague. 

*• I never was afraid of having my pocket picked before this day," 
MMxd old Sims. 

Street after street they passed, Sims looking anxious and serious. 
At length he broke silence, thus moralizing : 

" Joe/' said he, " there is a great deal of anxiety attending the 
■oa>rtai"n of money." 

"When they arrived safely in the back parlour, his affectionate 
GscpUy received them with a shout of laughter. Sims laughed too, 
^ar bia heart was full of joy. 
m^roiM uciif. 



"WeU!" said Mrs. Sims. 

"Well!" saiil old Sims. 

"And did yoii really go to the lawyers?" 

" I did/' said old Sims. 

" And did you show them the seal?" sjud his son and heir. 

" I did," said old Sims ; " and they said that it was very like 
seal oi' the firm." 

" And what did they say to the signature?" 

" They said that it was very like the signature of the firm." 

" Well," said Mt6. Siuis, her eye brightening up, " what happened 
next ?" 

"One of the partners wrote something on a bit of paper, and 
showed me the door." 

" That 's just what I expected/' said Mrs. Sims ; however, she did 
not laugh. "And so you just put your tail between your legs, and 
sneaked home." « 

"No, I didn't/* said old Sims: " I just went to the banker whoseV 
name was on the pnper. 

" Well/' said Mrs. Sims, again brightening up, "and what did Ac^ 
say?" m 

" He axed me how 1 would have it/' said old Sims, ^ 

"What J" said Mrs. Sims, taking her feet from off the fender, and 
starting up,— " you don *t mean to say thai there really is any money?" 

" Don't I tJiough !" said old Sims, taking out his small canvas hi 
of money, and pouring it out upon the table. 

" Them 's the boys/' said Joe, as they rolled about in different di-J 

" You 're a darling of a man!" said Mrs. Situs, as she gave hi 
husband a kiss in the overflowing of her heart. 

" We *11 not be aCraid now of them wholesale fellows bills/* i 
old Sims, thrusting his hands into his pocket. 

" / should think not/' said Joe. 

Here a loud knocking in the shop interrupted the rejoicing family. 

"Them *s customers waiting in the shop," said Joe. 

*' D the Customers," said young Sims, separating his 

tails before the fire. 

Old Sims, however, went to attend them. "Widow Brown, hoi 
are you ? how i» the sick child? What is it to-day ? — a pound 
bacon, eh?" Old Sims cut off about a pound nnd a half, and 
bacon scale came down on the counter with a whack. 

" I can't afford to take more than a pound/' said the widoiv. 

" I only call it a pountl," saiil old Sims ; — " widow woman — lar|^ 
family, you know — all quite right," ns he put a piece of paper rounc 
the bacon. The widow turned up her eyes as she thanked hii 
There was a blessing in her thanks. 

'• What do you want?" 

"A halfpenny candle," said an old woman. 

Sims gave her a penny one, and put the halfpenny in the till. 

The honest old woman returned with the candle, asking whethi 
it was not a mistake. 

'* No mistake at all/' said Sims. "I thought that you would 
better with the penny one, and I can afford the difference/' 

The old woman raised her withered liand, an«l prayed that Goit 
might prosper him. 



0]<1 Sims returned to his back thop with the inward satisfaction of 
having perfortned a good action. " Surely/* said he,'^ there is a bless- 
ing attending riches. What a life of happiness I have before me !" 

Now, Siros's proceedings was much at variance with the custo- 
mary mode of doing business in Long Lane; and the fame of it got 
noised abroad in the course of tlie evening. When the shutters 
were taken down on the following morning, there was a manifest 
increase in the number of customers. 

" Here 's money for a pound of bacon/' said one woman ; " I 've 
got ten children." 

" I want two halfpenny candles/* said another ; '* my mother's 
older than t'other one." 

Another wanted soap, and another herrings. Old Sims, how- 
ever, not approving of this mode of taking his charity by storm, just 
served them in the old fashioned way. In return for which he met 
with abuse. " Why ain't I to get as big a bit of bacon as widow 

•• Why aint I to get as good a candle, (for my money is as good 
as other folks) I should like to know p" 

Old Sims leaving liis customers to the care of Joe, retired into 
bis back shop, moralizing as he went. "Surely," he said, "richei 
bring with them trouble as well as blessings." 

"Why should not we retire from business?" asked Mrs. Sims, 
as he entered. 

" Bui where shall we retire to ? " demanded old Sims, whose know- 
ledge of geography was confined to the neighbourhood of Long Lane, 

" However," said young SimSj pulling up his shirt collar, " catch 
me cutting soap again." 

"How nice it would be," said Miss Sims, "to keep a four- 
wheeled chay, dress fine, and give balls and parties, like old Clark 
th« butcher." 

"A note, ma'am/' said Joe. 

31 rs. Sims opened it. '* JMrs. Figgins hopes to see Mr. and Mrs,, 
M&stcr and Miss Sims to tea to-morrow." 

** Ho! ho f " said Mrs. Sims, bridling up, "the wholesales would 
Dot visit her because she kept a retail shop, and she would not visit 
us because we were small retail. I won t have none of her nasty 
tea now that we are rich." 

" There 's a gentleman come into the shop/' said young Sims. 

" 1 see/' said Sims, " it 's just little six-and-eightpenny Craggs, let 
him wait a bit, Joe, we ain't afraid of lawyers now." 

The little man, however, fimltng no one in the shop, crept up to 
the gUse-door and opening it a little, popped in his head, " Ha ! how 
do you do, Mr. Sims? I saw such a. beautiful bit of bacon in the 
shop, that I could not help calling in to buy a pound of it. A 
" r of «ich bacon as that cut thin and broiled for breakfast, is a 
tt delicacy, Mr. Sims. Pray am I to congratulate you, Mr. Sims, 

in Toor having a large accession of property ?" 
Why, yes," said old Sims, *' we are pretty snug now," 
« It was a very large sum ?" said the lawyer, inquiringly. 
•• I should rayther think it was/' said the grocer. 

I presume you have taken the necessary steps to have it safely 
ted > " 
« We left it in CootUs bank," 

D 1 



" Dear I dear ! dear 1" said the lawyer, "there really is a risk in 
leavini; such a sum as that at a banker's, the best of them are liable 
to break at times, and what a loss such a sum as that would be. 

" We tried to take it out in gold/* said Joe, "but we found that 
we could not carry it." 

*' Could not carry it I ha! ha! ha! could not carry it." Very 
pretty innocents these, thought he to himself. 

" You don't think Coutts's bank unpafe, I hope," said old Sims. 

" Its credit is good at presentt certainly, but I must confess that 1 
should not like to leave any larpe sum of money of my own there." M 

" I think I shall put it in the funds," said old Sims. 1 

"Oh! — the funds — ha! to be sure the funds are well enough 
now, if there comes no war or anything of that sort, it may last our 
time. My dear sir," said the lawyer, taking old Sims by the but- 
ton, "as long as a country thinks it likely that they may want to 
borrow more, they pay the interest as regularly as quarter-diy 
comes ; but whenever it suits their convenience, they repudiate it 
the Yankcys do. When you go to ask for your interest, they say 
' much obliged to you for lending us the money, but we don't want 
any more; we're not going to pay any money, only to keep up oor 
creilit — credit is a very pretty thmg in its way, but it is not worth 
what we're paying for it/ A friend of mine, Smith, of the firm of | 
Smith, Jones, and Co., who held some Pennsylvania bonds, deter- 
mined to come to a clear understanding with the head of the firm* 
so he wrote a letter to the Governorof Pennsylvania himself, and ex- 
plained to him how the money was fairly lent, and payment of 
capital and interest guaranteed. Now there was plenty of means of 
paying the money, and yet the interest remaine*! unpayed, and con- 
cluded by civilly requesting some explanation upon the subject. 
Well, and what answer do you suppose he got r " 

" I should not wonder if he got rather a short answer," said old Sims. 

" A short answer ; why it was rather a short answer, ha ! ha ! It 
was one sentence." 

•* Do you happen to remember what that sentence was?" 

"Oh, yes, the letter contained just these words, * Don't you rvisk 
ifou way get it, — Yours Gov. Pen."' 

*' How very ungenteel I" said Mrs. Sims. 

"It's a very vulgar unbusiness like way of writing," said Sil 
'* But you don't suppose that if I was to put my money in the En| 
lish funds, I shoula ever get a letter like that from the Chancellor 
the Exchequer?" 

"Mr. Sims," said the lawyer, taking him by the button 
" you have been in business for some years, I dare say that you na) 
met with customers who run up accounts at your shop, and inst 
of paying for what they have had before, order more goods, 
when you wont serve them anv longer, they just cut their stick.^ 

Old Sims sighed and shook his head, *' I know that too well, sir/' 

"Now Ifiok here, Mr. Sims, £n|;land is just one of these; si 
keeps borrowing and borrowing and never thinks at all about paj 
ing. It was only a year or two ago when they borrowed tweal 
millions to give to West India proprietors ; I should like to km 
how much of that they have paid or thought about paying. I wool 
venture to bet a new hat that if this year or next year they shoul 
happen to want six or eight millions more for any odd job, th( 
would just put it down to the account, and never trouble their hi 



1 1 about anv payment I think, Mr. Sims that no good can come of 
1 1 that kincf of [lealing." 

kl Mr Sims lifted up the corner of hia wig and scratched bit head. 
I "Indeed. I can't tell where to put my money,** 
Hi ** 1 can tell you/' said the lawyer. 
LI "Where?" 

ri *' Put it in a good railway. Look here, Mr. Sims," holding him 
[| ^S^^ l>y the buttoHt ** people subscribe to make a railway — hills 
cut — valleys filled, tunnels made, and rails laid down ; there it is 
...(pointing down to the drugget on the floor,) nobody can steal it, run 
'^#iray with it, break it. or injure it. There it is. But when a natiun 
has borrowed your money and spent it, where is it P I say, Mr. 
Sims, where is it? The chief difference between a nation and an 
individual, is, that a nation has got no conscience." 

** I have a great mind to try a railroad," said old Sims, jingling his 
sovereigns in his pocket. 

" I think it, however, right to state," said the lawyer, " that there 
IS one objection to railways, which is, that the government will not 
allow the uroprielors to get more than ten per cent for their money." 

Nevertheless, old Sims became a railway proprietor, and invested 
his money in the grand Middlesex direct railway company, to which 
his fn'end Craggs was solicitor. He also purchased Primrose Hall, 
about forty miles from London, and thus became a landed pro* 
prietor. A carnage was bought upon Craggs's recommendation. 

Joey was oifered the shop, with the stock in it to set up with, but 
be would have nothing to do with it. He had been accustomed to 
^ what he was bid, but not to think for himself. The thing that 
be woold like, would be to ride behind Mr. Sims's carriage as foot- 
man, in red breeches. So the shop was let for a }'ear, and Joey 
splendidly arrayed as flunkey. 

Craggs was consulted about what arms or crest ought to be put 
upon the carriage. Mrs. Sims observed, that the thing she fancied 
was a half lion stuck upright, a-clawing away. She had seen one 
upon a very genteel carriage, and she admiretl it at the time. 
Craggs replied, that the proper arms and crest for the name of 
Sims could be obtained, rightly emblazoned, at the Heralds' Col- 
lege, and for ten pound he could get the whole properly dune for 
them. So Sims paid his ten pounds, and his crest, a dexter hand 
carrying a herring gules, was painted upon his carriage panel. 

VVbile all this was going on, although Sims had disposed of his 
biiMoe«s and let his shop fur a year, he still quietly occupied his back 
partoar, and made his appearance in the shop occasionally^ so that the 
neuhbours were hardly aware of any real change having taken place. 
Neither the carriage, Joe's new livery, nor any of the ladies' grand 
purchases, were ever exhibited in Long Lane, but were forwarded, 
jtf procured, to Primrose Hall, together with Sam's shooting-jacket, 
to^boots, and double-barrelled gun. 

M^hen all things were finally arranged for their migration, the 

Gunily went down by the rail to the station nearest to the scene of 

their new magnificence, where their carriage was waiting for them, 

Joe attending in a light-green livery, with yellow collar and scarlet 

udl clothes. 

•Joe opened the door, trying to subdue his broad grin into a re- 
r MCtful demeanour, but it was too much for him. Sam pinched 
I Uiy'a elbow, who set off iato a convulsive titter. Sam went off at 


once into a horse laugh ; Mrs. Sims caught the infection ; old Sims 
tried at first to Trown, for the laugh, he knew, would be destructive 
to his dignity, but he was obliged to give way, and the whole party 
at length laughed in grand chorus, very much to the astonishment 
of the railway porters. 

At length they arrived at the hall, where Craggs awaited them, 
and handed Airs. Sims out of the carriage, with as much deference 
and ceremony as if she had been the Queen of England. The gar- 
dener, the groom, the housemaid, the housekeeper, the cook, and 
the ladies' maid, bowed and curtseyed to the lady of the house as she j 
entered her new mansion. Mrs. Sims pursed up her mouth and bit ■ 
her lip to prevent her self-satisfied smile from injuring her dignity. ^ 
Old Sirasj however, could not make up his mind to attempt any dig- 
nity at all, but, with a broad grin adorning his rosy countenance, he 
shouk hands with his servants all round. 

Neither did young Sam, as he emerged from the carriage, attempt 
to subdue his emotion, for, as his foot touched the ground, he 
pitched his hat up into the air, and shouted " hurra !" and, as he 
entered the house, he turned round and said, *'onc of you fellows, 
bring in my hat." 

Miss Sally emerged, fanning herself with a carved ivory fan, and 
saying, " Lauk, how nice!" 

The drawing-room and its furniture next attracted the attention 
of the happy family ; for, as in the purchase, everything in the house 
was to be taken in valuation, everything was new to tnem ; indeed, 
Craggs had negotiated the whole affair, and old Sims had only slip- 
ped down once, for a few hours, to see his purchase. 

" Look here, Sims," said his lady, " what a nice chair this is. It 
feels as if it went upon springs. It actually hobbles about under 
me when I move." 

" You are quite right, madam," said Craggs ; " it is a spring 

" I say, father, a capital sophy this to cock one's legs up upon," 
said Sam, suiting the action to the word. 

*' Oh my ! " said Sally, " here is n piany ; how I should like to 
play just one tune upon it ; Just, ' I *d be a butterfly.' " 

Sims heeded not the furniture* but looked out of the window upon 
the land. lie was now a landed proprietor. It was ///> fields, ftia 
treej, his gate, AiV pond, /rrV ducks. He swelled out with his own 
importance as he surveyed his extensive possessions. 

The door opened wide, and Jucy entered in full costume. He made 
a low bow, and gave u scrape of his foot behind. " If it please your 
Udynhip, the cook wants to have a bit of talk with you about dinner/' 

" Joey/* said Craggs, " that won't do/* 

" Teach your granny to suck eggs," said Joey. " How shuul 
you know anything about it?" 

*' Joey/' said Mrs. Sims, " I 'II go into the kitchen and see abou 
it myself/' 

*' You will excuse me, Mrs. Sims," said Craggs ; " the genteel tbin 
is to have the cook up into the parlour, and give her your orders." 

" Odds boddikin ! Mr. Craggs, mayn't a woman go into her oW 
kitchen and see what 'a a-doing there?" 

Cruggs twirled his thumbs, and cast his eyes to the ceiling, 
much as to say, culch me ever doing a good-natured thing again. 

*' I s4iy, CraggSy" said Sam, " when you have quite done twiilin, 





yuur tltuinU?, pt^rhaps you will come with me to tbe stable, and 
shew me the saddle-horse that you bought tor me." 

" What would you like to have for dinner, Sims? " vaid bis wife. 

" A roa>t leg of mutton." 

*' What do you say, Sara ? " 

"A boiled leg of mutton, with turnips." 

•' Well, well," said Mra. Sims, "wecanuJfbrd to have both; we'll have le^ at top, and boiled at the bottom. What do you say, Sally ?' 

" Tripe, marama." 

** Vou shall have itj my dear, and any little pitty patties the cook 
can think of." 

Sam and the attorney now went out to examine the new horse. 
Sam patted it, and admired it, and then took his friend aside, and 
said, "There is one thing bothers me very much, 1 don't know 
how to ride. Never had a ride but once in my life, that was when 
I was hoisted on a boy's back at school to be flogged. Awkward, 
ain't it? now I am grown a gentleman." 

" 1 should strongly recommend you," said Craggs, " to take Tom, 
the groom, into your confidence, and let him give you lessons." 

While they were thus discoursing, the arrival of a visitor was an- 
nounced, and Sam's prei^ence required in the drawing-room. The 
visitor was Mr. Jonea, the secretary of the county hunt, who had 
called to see whether any subscription was to be got out of the new 
coiners, and to offer to father and son the privilege of l>ecoming a 
member of the aforesaid hunt, which would entitle tliem to ride out 
in a scarlet coat, with gulden fox galloping down its green cullur. 
Old Sam considered the costume to be too fanciful for a man of his 
time of life, but young Sam was greatly delighted at the proposi- 
tion, and sent off Tom, the groom, express for the tailor, without 
farther loss of time. 

Soon after this the hunt-ball took place. Sammy appeared in the 
evening costume of the county hunt; Mrs. Sims in a magniHcent 
turban, with tremendous ostrich feathers, which had the effect of 
frightening away many who might otherwise have made her ac* 
quaintance ; Miss Sally was arrayed in brilliant, and not very judi- 
dously contruste<l, colours ; while old Sims was modestly dressed in 
■ new snuff.coloured coat." 

'* What is the meaning of that, mamma ? " asked Sally, " Ab we 
passed through the door, one young lady said to another,' Did you 
ever?* and the other answered, * No, I never.' " 

" It 's some genteel way of speaking, I suppose," said her mother; 
•*wc ought to learn it. Ask Craggs about it." 

On the whole, the lucky fimiily were grievously disappointed at not 
receiving a more hearty welcome in this the country of their adoption. 
One of the stewards, it is true, did find a very young gentleman 
to dance with Sallv. and young Sammy danced with a IMiss (lorgon, 
one of a family ol many sisters, who were possessed of small per- 
»onal attractions, youth, or worldly endowments, who had danced 
away pertinuciously for many a long year in search of a partner for 
life, but danced in vain. 

*• Well, Mrs. Sims, what do you think of this here genteel con- 
■ani ' " asked old Sims, when liiey had got into their carriage. ** I 
V we bhnll come to it in time." 
m't come to 



Meanwhile lime went on, and Sammy made great progress tn hb 
education with Tom. He had learned which aide to get upoo^ 
horse, to turn in his toea, to walk the horse, to bob up and down la 
hia trot, to canter, to gallop, to leap a small ditch, to hold on be- 
hind instead of by the pommel of his saddle, and, loat of all, be hnl 
ridden repeatedly over a leapinj^-bar, boiind with furze bashes 
" Now, master," said Torn, '* I think we might venture to shew tht 
red coat out with the hounds." 

" Do you really think so, Tom. Oh Tom ! I have seen auch pi^ 
tures of five-barred gates, ox fences, and horses leaping over brook^ 
that it almost makes my blood run cold to look at them." 

"Them 'li only pictures," said Tom.encouragingly. '* Most folks only 
look at Uiem kind of fences, and then rides round and opens a gate* 

" There 's another thing I want to learn, Tom. How do youcrj 
< taUyko ! * " Tom gave him a specimen. 

" And what sort of a thing is a * view hollar ? * " 

When he had also given him a specimen of this, Samniy remark- 
ed, that he thought he should do. 

It was arranged that the next hunting day Tom was to rMe 
Sammy's horse quietly on to cover, and inat Sammy was to arrive 
there in the carriage, in his full hunting costume, accompanied by 
his father, mother, and sister, who were anxious to see the start 
Sam's turn-oat at the cover side was unexceptionable, and his gold 
fox glistened in the sun. As he took the reins out of Tom's hand, 
however, his courage altogether failed. 

" What in the 'varsal world am I to do now, Tom ? Could not 
you contrive to run a little with us on foot? " 

" Do you see that elderly thin gentleman there, in a very staintd 
coat, and a bay horse? just follow him, and you will be all right.'* 

" He 's a ipoony looking chap, I think, with a werry sleepy horse." 

" If you follow him, you will be all right," repeated Tom. 

The fox was found, and hounds went away. Sammy stuck to 
his friend the elderly thin gentleman, who led him first through one 
gate, through a second, and then through a third, rather to the right 
of tlie rest of the field. " I said the feUow was a spoon, and don't 
know how to leap," thought Sam to himself. Next came a large 
grass field, divided in the centre by a post and rail. " That chap's 
blind," thought Sam ; '* he don't see the rail." The elderly gentle- 
man's horee took in his stride, as a thing not worth noticing, and 
over went Sammy's nag too, in spite of all his rider could do to re- 
strain him. The horse alighted on his legs, but Sammy alighted 
on his head. " There's one of the green collars spilt" said a far- 
mer, who rode over the rail near him. Up jumped Sammy, none 
the worse, and the air resounded with " Stop my horse ! stop my 
horse ! Pray, sir, atop my horse ! " But the observation about the 
green collar being apilt, was the only notice that anybody took of 
him. Sam ran on till he was well blown. At length he saw in the 
distance a man wiiii a smock frock holding his horse. Now, mount* 
ed again, he I'aUowed the track of the horses. At length he came 
within siglit of his fellow-sportsmen, now standing, now cantering 
across half u field, and stopping again. Sam's blood was now up. 
He passed them all in the full gallop, and rode right in among the 
hounds, shouting " tallyho ! " and giving the " view hollow " in the 
manner that Tom had instructed. 

'* Hold hard ; hold hard," cried cverybo<ly. 



'^ I on ride without holding, you snobs," wss Sam's r^ly* 

The master of the hounds now rode up to Sam, and treated him 
to such a specimen of the English language as surprised him amaz- 
ingly. In due course of time the fox was killed, and Sam had the 
fortune to be in at the death. He saw some whispering, and people 
looking at him. At length one of the green collars approached him, 
— " I think, sir, this is the first time that you ever was out hunting K 

" It is, sir," said Sam. 

Instantly the inside of the fox was rubbed on his face. 

Sam swore, and kicked, and rushed after the offending green 
collar with his hunting whip, but the rest of the sportsmen threw 
themselves between tnem, saying, "It's all fair; everybody is 
blooded to the fox the first time he comes out hunting. We were 
all blooded ourselves." 

Sam rode home, pondering to himself the peculiar language used 
by masters of hounds, and the singular manner that fox-hunters 
have of welcoming a new member of their fraternity. When he 
got home, he threw himself in an arm-chair, saying, *' Mother, tins 
genteel society is a werry rum thing. Genteel people swear a goo<l 
deal more than they do about Barbican, only they uses rather diffe- 
rent words." After a pause, he added," I wonder, mother, whether 
it would be werry difficult to learn. They have some very nasty 
tricks among them too." But he made no farther allusion to the 
initiatory process. 

After tea, Uiat evening, a sort of cabinet council was held, which 
tAd Sims opened in the following set speech : — 

" I am a gentleman, I knows wery well that it '» not on account of 

my family or of my edication. It 's all along of my money, that '» 

what it is. Now I'm thinking, if we were to give these genteel 

folks a regular good feed, in the money-no-objcet fashion, these 

fellers would treat us with more respect and attention, particular 

when tliey seed that them as weren't civil would not get no feed. 

ybll advertize the bill of fare as is to be, in the county paper, a 

^■nigbt before the time, same as the Lord Mayor advertizes his W 

^^Mwyer Craggs shook his head. 

"Well, Mr. Craggs, if it ain't the genteel thing to put it in the 
pAper, Sam can drop hints out hunting about turtle, and venison, 
and champagne, and peacocks, and guinea fowls, and salmon, and all 
that sort of thing/* 

" 1 'm ajraid that vour scheme wont succeed," said Mrs. Sims, 
■ Wljen folks hears of the dainties, they '11 all be wanting to come, 

gtre shall make more enemies by those we leave out, than wc 
caake &iends, by feeding those that we ax." 
d Sims, however, overruled this objection by observing, "then 
I only have to give them another tuck out." 
The landlord of the "Cock and Bottle" was written to to tend 
liloivn A London cook. 

Craggs undertook to provide all the delicacies, which he knew 
liow to provide cheaper and better than anybody else. 

I^etters of invitation were sent to the aristocracy of the county, 
ifod in due time the answers came in. " Lord Woodland presents 
l^l^oopLimentSj and regrets that a previous engagement must pre- 
^^bliis having the honour of waiting," &c. 

u C21_ U. 



** Dare^y tliey Jine together/' said Sam. 

" Mr. and Mrs. Iluuard are both indisposed. Just the influenza/' 
aaid Sally. 

*'HcTe*B a rum 'un. What's the meaning of thia: ••Captain 
Pratt baa not the honour of Mr. Sims' acquaintance." 

** What a silly man," said Mrs. Sima, we do not want to know 
about hisac(]uaintiince,but whether he will help us to eat our dinner 
or not. Acquaintance is easy enough made." 

"The letter signifies/' said Craggs, with a legal air, ** that Captain 
Pratt won't come." 

" Here 's another letter. I suppose that it is another * can 't come/ 
No. ' Mrs. Gorgon, Miss Gorgon, and Miss Julia Gorgon, will hate 
the honour of waiting upon Mr. and IMrs. Sims to dinner/ " 

Mrs. Sims then threw herself back in her chair, convulsed with 
laughter. "Waiting upon us! ha! ha! Wailing^ ha! wait, ha! 
ha ! why, we wanted her lo eat.'* 

Croggs had great difficulty in explaining to the grocer's family 
that Mrt). Gorgon had only adopted the usual form of accepting an 

" My ! what a queer thing genteel society is surely." 
"What's to be done now, missis?" said old Sims to his wife; 
" we've nobody coming but that she dragon ; we want a whole lot 
of people to eat buch n dinner as I have ordered. We must have 
some of our iJarbican folks down by the rail, that's what it is." 

" There's Uutcher Swiggins ; he'd eat enough for two, and a tole- 
rable genteel -looking man besides, and Drown and Tomkins both 
genteel-looking people." 

" I should like to ask some of my young friends/' said Sammy; 
" just Jack Tippens and Blue Benjamin." 

" They'll do nicely," said Mrs. Sims. " We'll just think of one or 
two more ; they can come down by the rail in time for dinner, and 
those that are obliged to be in shop in the morning may go back 
by tlie mail train/' 

** Madam/' said Craggs, respectfully, " I am afraid — but I really 
don't think that all the friends you have mentioned have got a sin- 
gle pair of silk stockings among them.'* 

" Body of me I" said Mr. Sims, " and is it absolutely impossible 
to eat a dinner without ailk stockingti/' 

*' In genteel society, absolutely impossible." 

** Hung me, mother !" said Sammy, " if I do not think that there 
is nearly as much sour as sweet in this genteel society/' 

*' Stockings or no stockings," said old Sims, " I will ax my par^.** 
And what is more, the party all arrived ; and a very nice set Mr*. 
Gorgon, Miss Gorgon, and iMi^s Julia Gorgon found u]ion their 
arrival. Well, dinner parsed off very joyously with the majority of 
the guests, many of whom when asked to drink wine, preferred gin. 
Old Sims and a steady old friend of his, Joe Brown, followed soon 
al\cr the ladies into the drawing-room. This, however, was only a 
signal for the others to proceed to business. Gin and punch was 
generally preferred to wine. Sam produced a box of cigars, with 
pipes for thotte that preferre<l them. They had promised old Sims 
not to sit long, and they kept their word : but, making the best of 
tJu'ir lime, thoy contrived to make themselves royally drunk before 
tbey got into the drawing-room, where Mrs. and the Misaes Uurgon 
>*«ro very much astonished at the broadness of the jukes thai were 



sported by Sims's metropolitan friends. As soon sm their carriage 
was aiiMuuncetl, Mrs. Gorgon rose to depart. 

Swi/^gins, Sam, and Blue Benjamin insisted on helping them on 
with their shawls ; and, according to the custom of Barbican and 
Long Lane, each embraced his lady, and gave her a spanking kiss. 
iVIiss Julia g.ive a screech as if the world was coming to an end. 
ISliss Gorgon clawed a piece out of her admirer's cheek, while the 
old lady hallooed out murder. 

*' There "s a spree for you, old six-and-eightpenny !" said Sammy, 
clapping Craggs on the bag. 

Mrs. Sims expressed to Craggs a fear that they had, in some par* 
ticular, transgressed the customary usages of genteel society. 

Craggs said it was nothing; — folks were always opt to be a little 
merry after a good dinner. Not so, however, Blra. Gorgon, who 
went open-mouthed through the county, complaining uf the com- 
pany that she was asked to meet at Primrose Hall, and the horrid 
and indelicate treatment that she had met with. 

The Simses were in consequence cut by their tieighbours, and 
tliey saw no visitors but those that came down from Barbican or 
Long Lane. Meanwhile Old Sims was buying shares in one railway, 
and selling them in another, according to the direction of Craggs, 
who told him that he would double his fortune in a few months' 

At length came the railway crash, — down went shares to nothing. 
Old Sims was ruined. He wrote to Craggs for an explanation. 
Craggs in reply sent in his own bill for fifteen hundred pound. All 
the time he had spent with the Simses he had charged at the highest 
rate of professional attendance. The ma^k was of no further use to 
him, so he threw it down. 

Sims then went to another attorneVf whose character for integrity 
stood high, and begged him to look mto his accounts. 

" I fear you 're ruined," said Mr. Vellum, after he had gone 
through the paper. 

'* And pray, jVIr. Vellum, what do people generally do in my cir- 

" They go abroad, sir, — universally go abroad, — generally to 
Boulogne, — indeed, always go to Boulogne; — very agreeable place, 
I hear — provisional directors club there» for which you are qualified 
— very agreeable — view of the sea — billiard-room, and all that sort 
of thing. Everything is very genteel there." 

" I hate and detest all genteel things," said Sims. 

Vellum at length wound up the accounts, and found a small resi- 
due. Sims had enough left to yield him sixty pounds a year when 
invested in the futids, besides two hundred pounds to stuck his shop 
with again. Everything he had was sold, exce])t one bottle of 
champagne that he took with him to town. His shop had been let 
for a year. When the lease was at an end, Sims purchased the 
stock of his tenant, and the next day appeared behind the counter; 
and everything appeared the same as if he had never left it. 

When dinner-time came, he opened his bottle of champagne, and 
alt his family drank success to the old shop. When the bottle was 
empty, he pitched it through his back window, and laughed joyously 
as he heard it crash upon the pavement. 

•' There's the last of our genteel life, and I'm glad of it." 

" Amen, " ^Nuid his family. 



We have been leadint; such a iife of 


gaiety and excitement^ 
drid, that I fiud I have actually allowed forty-ei^ht bours to pw 
without writing to you, and telling you as usual all that has happM 
here. These forty-eiglit hours have passed like a perpetual mirop, 
I can scarcely say that I have seen, yet I believe that I hare se«o/^a, 
illuminations, bull-Hghts and ballets, and a host of other extraordimrr 
things, all succeeding each other with as much rapidity as the soeoa 
of a theatre, which are changed at the whistle of the sceii»-sliifta- 
When you last heard of us. we were pushing our way along one 4 
those gloomy corridors of that modern tower of Babel cmlleH a circnt 
At the end of this curridor a light burst upon us so suddenly that fori 
moment ive drew back quite dazzled; those who have never lived uxiiirr 
the burning skies of Spain cannot imagine how intenKely brilliant the 
light of the sun is here, nor can those who have never heard tlie tumuli 
or a circus, form any conception of the uproar and disturbaiice whici 
reign there. Picture to yourself an amphitheatre in the style of t^ 
hippodrome, but capable of containing twenty thousand persona, iuKtafl 
of fifteen thousancl, who are all disposed upon benches one above u* 
other, fur which different prices ore asked as they are more or less sfatt 
lered from the sun. 

Spectators wlio take what are called sun-tickets, are exposed to its fall 
heat during the whole time the bull-fight lasts. Those who can alfcid 
to purchase sun and shade tickets, have such a position given theni,fl 
that by the daily movement of the earth they must be sheltered psrtdf 
the time frum the burning rays of the sun. I'he shade-tickets are of 
course those which ore generally sought after, for they ensure complete 

frotecliun from the heat from the beginning to the end of the spectade. 
need scarcely say that we took care to secure the last description of 
tickets. It would Eumost be impossible for you to imagine the extraordin- 
ary sensation which we experienced on entering this glittering circus, our 
firdt impulse was to start back a step or two, so completely dazzled and 
bewildered did we find ourselves; never had we seen so many parosolst 
fans, and pocket-handkerchiefs in agitation at the same moment, never 
had we heard the hum of so many voices ; the scene presented to us wai 
certainly one of the most curious we hud ever witnessed. I will en- 
deavour to give you some idea of the appearance of the arena at the 
trecise instant we arrived. We were exactly opposite the ioril; % 
oy belonging to the circus, decorated from head to foot with ribbons* 
had just received from the hands of the alguuzil the key of this dooTj 
which he was preparing to open. The piccadops already seated in 
their Arabian saddles, with their lances couched, had placed themselvti 
on the left of the bull, which seemed eager to rush out; the rest of the 
quadrille, that is to say, the chulos, the bunderilleros, and the torero 
stood on the right hand side, dis]>er8ed about the arena like pawns upon 
a cliesa board. First I must explain to you what the office of the picco- 
dor is, next that of the chuio, the banderillero, and the torero, and. 
as for as possible, I will bring before your eyes the theatre up<)n which 
they were going to perform their different porta. The piccador, wb 

* from the Freuch uf Alcxiuidcr Dumas. 



according to mv idea, runs the greatest risk of any of the combatants, 
IS mounted on horselmck, bearing his lance in his hand ready to receive 
the bull's attack. This hmce is not a regular weapon of war, but 
merely a sort of spur, the steel point at the end being of only sufficient 
length to enter the depth of the animal's skin ; its use ia to increase 
the bull's fury> in order to expose the piccador to a more 6erce attack on 
account of the agony which the unimal endures. The piccador runs a 
double dauf^er, the chance of being crushed by hiti horfle> or gored by 
the bull. His lance ia his only offensive weapon, and by way of defence, 
he wears leggings of steel, mounting nearly to the thigh, covered with 
pantaloons of skin. The olHce of the chulo ia to draw otf the animal's at- 
tention to himself whenever it is on the point of exhausting its fury upon 
a fallen hnrse, or upon an unhorsed piccador. The bandenllero takes 
care that the rage of tlie bull does not cool, it is his business, when he 
perceives that the animal is about to shrink from further exertion, worn 
out by the torment it endure^i, to drive the banderillas into its shoulders. 
The banderillas are formed of little rings through which are drawn 
paper of different colours, cut out in the same form as that which adorns 
a boy's kite; these rings are driven into the flesh by means of a piece of 
iron resembling a fish-hook. But the torero is the principal actor in 
the 6cene> to him the circus belongs he is the general who directs the 
combat, the rest instinctively obey his least gesture, even the bull is 
Huhjeci:ed to his power; the torero can lead him where he desires, and 
when the moment arrives for the lost struggle between himself and 
the bull, it is upon the spot that he has chosen, reserving to himself 
all the advantages of sun or shade, that the exhausted animal receives 
the death-blow from the fatal spada, and expires at his feet. If the 
fair mistress uf the torero be in the circus, it is always in that 
part of the arena nearest to his lady-love, that the bull receives his 
death-blow. There is to every combat two or three more piccadors 
than are required to take part in the conflict, in case the piccadors are 
woundedir there are as many banderilleros, and as many chulos. The 
number of toreros Is not fixed ; in this bull-fight there were thrce^ 
Cuchares, Lucas Blanco, and 8alanmnchinn. Piccadors, chulos, ban- 
derilleros, and toreros were ntl richly attired, they wore short jackets 
of blue, green, or rose-colour, embroioered with goild and silver, waist- 
coats similarly embroidered of the most brilliant colours, but still blend- 
ing harmoniously with the rest of their dress, their small-clothes were 
knitted, and they wore silk stockings and satin shoes; a girdle of the 
brightest hue, and a little laced black hat completed their elegant cos- 

From the actors let us turn oar attention to the theatre. Bound the 
arena, which is as magnificent as a circus in the time of Titus or Vespa- 
sian, is a partition of thick boards six feet high, forming a circle in which 
are enclosed ntl the persons I have been describing, from the piccador to 
the torero. This partition, called the olivo, is painted red in the upper 
part and black in the lower. These two divisions are of unequal height, 
and separated by a plank painted white, which forms a projecting edge, 
and serves as a stirrup to the chulos, banderilleros, and toreros, when 
pursued by the bull, on this they place their foot, and by the aid of 
their hands they are able to spring over the barrier. This is culled 
tmrtar el olivo, that is " to take the olive." It ia very seldom that 
the torero has recourse to this shelter, he may turn away from the bull, 
but he would cou&ider it a disgrace to fly from him. On the other side 


of this first partition is a second barrier, this pertition And this barrier 
form a passage; into this passage the chulivs and hnnderilleros jiimji 
when pursued by the bull ; here the algunzil holds in readine5u3 the 
three piccadors and the cachetern , here too are amateurs who have 
a free entrance. I have not yet told you wliat the business of the 
ciichetero is in the combftl, he has the cowardly part of the work to 
perform, his office may almost be considered degrading. When tlie 
bull is beaten down by the spada of the torero, but still has life enough 
left to toss up his foaming and bloody head, the cacbetero leaps oFer 
the barrier, and steals slyly like the cat or the wolf till he reaches the 
fallen animal, and then traitorouslv passing behind him gives him the 
finishing stroke. This is done with a stiletto in the form of a heart, 
which generally separates the second vertebra of the neck from the 
third, and the bull falls as if struck by a thunderbolt. Having accom- 
plished this, the cachetero creeps back to the barrier with the same 
steidthy step as before, springs over it, and disappears. This first har- 
rier, over which as I have before mentioned, the chulos, the banderille- 
ro8| and the cachetero climb, is nut always a phice of safety, bulls have 
been known to leap it with ns much case as our race horses spring over 
B hedge. An engraxnng of Goya represents the alcalde of Terrassona, 
miserably gored and trodden under foot by a bull who had sprung over 
the barrier after him. I have seen a bull leap three successive lime* 
from the arena into the passage. The chulos and the banderillcros 
jump with as much ease from the passage into the arena as they had 
previously done from the arena into the passage; the boy belonging to 
the Circus opens a door for the bull to pass through, who become* 
funous on beholding the little space left to him, and darts back into 
the lists where his enemies await him. Sometimes the arena is divided 
jjito two parts, this is always the case when it is very large. Upon 
0tie occasion, at the Place IVIayor, wliere two combats take place 
0t the same lime, two bulls sprang togetlier from the lists into ll 
pO-ssage, the consequence was, that they literally tore each other 
pieces. The outer partition has four doors situated at the four cordini 
fYoints, through two of these doors the live bulls enter the arena, an 
^)ie dead bulls are carried out. Behind tlie second barrier rises th< 
pTttphitheatre filled with benches, which are thronged with spectatoi 
»jlie music stand is immediately above the toril, the place in which tl 
\ya\\s are shut up. The bulls intended for the combat are genera]|| 
tftken from the most solitary pastures, brought during the night to Ma- 
drid, and conveyed to the turil .where each has its separate stall. To rei 
der the bull additionally fierce, no food is given it during the ten 
twelve hours that it is shut up in its prison, and just before they let 
out into the arena, in order to make it quite mad with rage, they dri' 
o bunch of ribbons into its left shoulder by means of n sort of fish-hool 
which I have already described; the colours of the ribbon are generall] 
those of its owner. To obtain this bunch of ribbon is the height 
the chulos' and piccadors' ambition, it is considered the most chamiii 
offering they can possibly make their fair mistress. 

I have endeavoured to bring the scene before vou, and I sliall pi 
ceed to give you a description of the bull-fight- We were exactly o] 
mwite the toril, as I before mentioned, on our right was the queen' 
box, and on our left the ayuntamiento, somebody answering to oi» 
oinyor and the orticers of the municipality. We looked on the arena ' 
agony of susi^ense, our faces were as white as » sheet, and our; 




llmost started out of our heads with fright. Rocca de Togorea sat on 
my left side, tliat elegant poet of whom I spoke to yon, nnd on mv 
right side were Alexandre, Maquetf and Boulangpr Crirand. and Dcs- 
baroUea stood on the second I)ench, dressed in an Andaluiiian costume. 
They bad seen ten bull-fights before, und looked u\wn us with that air 
of Mvereign contempt with which the old grumblers of the empire 
Ic^rded the conscripts. 

The boy opened the door of the toril, and drew back liehind it ; 
the bull made its appeamncei advanced a few Rteps* then stopped 
niddenly, dazzled by the light and bewildered by the noine. It 
Iras a black bull Itearing tlie colours of 0;i»una, and of V'eragnn 
(the Duke de Ventgna is the last descendant uf Christopher Co- 
uimbus), his mouth wax white with foam, und bis eyes seemed posi- 
kireiv to flash lightning. I honestly confess to you, that my heart beat 
as if I was going to take part in a dnel. "Look, look," said Rocca, 
"he is a Capital bull." Scarcely had Rocca pronounced his opinion 
when the bull, as if anxious to confirm it, sprang upon the first piccndor. 
Vainly did the piccador try to arrest his progress with the lance, the 
bull threw himself upon the steel point, and attacking the horse in 
bis chest, drove his horns into the poor animul's heart, and lifted it 
entire!/ from the ground, so that its four feet were kicking in the air. 
rhe piccador knew that his horse was lost, in an instant he grappled 
in'th the edge of the barrier, and, extricating himself from his stirrups, 
dimbed over it just as his horse fell on the other side. The horse tried 
te> raise itself, but the blood flowed through two wounds in its chest ns 
ttirough a waterspout; he struggled n moment and then fell, and the 
kxU rented his rage upon him, wounding him in a dozen other places. 

tBraro," cried Hocca; " he is a firstrate bull, and the combat will be 
glorious one." I turned towards my companions: Bouhinger had 
konie this spectacle pretty well, but Alexandre was as pale ns death, and 
tfaquet wiped the damp from his forehead. The second picc:idor, per- 
tei%-ing that the bull was exhausting his fury upon the horse in its lost 
igony, left the harrier, and came up to him. Though his horse had its 
ryes bandaged, it reared up ns if it felt instinctively that its master was 
leading it to certain death. 

When the bull beheld bis new antagonist, he rushed upon him, 
lad what happened was the work of an instant, the horse was 
thrown backwurdft, and fell with all its weight upon tltc breast of 
U rider, we could almost declare that we heard his bones crack. 
Ka universal huzza burst forth, twenty thousand voices shouted at 
%t same lime, " Bravo, toro! bravo, toro!" Rocca joined with the 
Rest, and upon my word I could not help following his example. 
'Bravo, bravo!" cried I; and certainly at that moment the animal 
hiked magnificent, the whole of its body was jet black, and the blood 
f hi two adversaries streamed over its head, upon its shoulders, like n 
MTiBg pur])le head-dress. "Humph !" said Rocca, "did I not tell 
m that he was a capital bull? c'esi w« laurenu colUint" Un ttiurean 
tUami IS one that after having overthrown his victim turns again and 
nts his fury upon him. This bull not only fell upon the horse, hut 
voured to drag the piccador from underneath it. Cuchares, who 
the torero of this conflict made a sign to the chulos and banderille- 
ftnd tliey immediately surrounded the bull. In the middle of this 
vra* Lucas Blanco, another torero whom I have already named, a 
c yoQDg man about four or five and twenty, who has only been 




:htlT ft 

For m mamcBt ha enth\ 

ftlmost carried 

torero the Issttwo 

bim awftTf he Uigntlj ftrgot Us dignitr and mixed with the chulos. 
By waring their cloakt before the bull, tLe chaloa aft length succeeded 
in drawing it away frooi the piocador mod tlie kane; it lifted up its 
head, stared at this freah paity of eneiniaa, aad ai the gandy cloaks 
which iher waved, and then sprang opoa Loess Blanco, who waa 
nearest to it. Locas contented him^lf with making a alight piroveUf 
on hia heeU ^itfa the most perfect grace, and the ntmoet compo- 
mn, and the boll passed hy him. The chaloa, pursaed hf it, mabed 
towards the barrier, the last must actually bare felt the aniDnal's 
breath scorching his akonlders, they seemed really tn By oy&[ the bar- 
rier, for their flowing green, blue, and roae-coloared mantles made 
them look like birds with their wings spread. The bull drove bis 
horns into the barrier, and completely nailed the last chulo's cloak to 
it, who, on springing over to the other side, threw his mantle over the 
bull's head. The animal managed to extricate his horns from the 
planks, but be could not succeed in disembarrassing himself of the 
cloak, which in a few seconds became stained with large purple spots 
from the bluod which Bowed over his shoulders; he stamped impatient- 
ly on the edge of the cloak, but the centre was pinned by his horns to 
his head. One moment be turned furiously upon himself, and the 
next he bad rent the mantle into a thousand pieces, one shred of it 
alone remained fixed to his right horn like a streamer. As soon as he 
had disengaged himself and could see, he embraced with a sullen and 
rapid glance the whole arena. The beads of the fugitive chulns and 
banderilleros now began to make their appearance above the barrier, 
they were preparing to leap again into the circus as soon us the bull 
should have withdrawn himself to some distance. Lucas Blanco 
Cucbares stood in the same pan of the arena calmly gazing at each 
other ; while three men were removing the wounded piccador from 
underneath the horse, and trying to place him on his feet, he sta^ered 
on his leg9, which were encumbered with steel, he was as pale as ocathi 
and the blood oozed from bis lips. Of the two horses, one was quite 
dead, the other still lived, but bv his violent plunging he was evidently 
in his last agony. The third piccadur, the only one of them who * 
kept his position, sat motionless on his horse like a bronze stath 
After wavering an instant, the bull seemed to furm a sudden resolu- 
tion ; his eye rested upon the group which was carrying off the wound 
piccador; he scratched up the band impatiently and spurted it 
such height that it reached the benches of the amphitheatre; th 
lowering his nose to the level of the furrow which lie had just made i 
the sand, he tossed up his head, bellowed loudly mid darted upon t' 
group. The three men who were supporting the wounded piccad 
abandoned him, and ran towards the barrier. Tht> piccador, thong 
nearly fainting, w&a still conscious of his danger, he moved forward t 
steps, struck his hands wildly in the air, and then fell in trying 
make another step. The bull rushed towards him, but in its way 
met with an obstacle. 

Tiie last piccador had by this time left his position, and attemp 
to throw himself between his wounded companion and the furioi 
animal, but the bull bent his lance like a reed, and only gave him 
blow with his horns in passing. The horse, however, which was se 
ously wounded, nuddcnly wheeled round and started off with his m 
tcr to the further end of the arena. Now, the hull appeared to h 


buU J 
iach T 



tate between the liorjie. which was yet alive, and the pircoHor whti 
leemed dead. Ho fell upon the horse, and having trodden him under 
f*»ol, and wounded him desperately in several places, left the streamer 
which had decorated hia horn, in one of the wounds, and darted upon 
the wounded man. whom Lucas Blanco was endcuvourinf? to support 
upon one knee. The circus mn^ with applause ; the cries of " Bravo, 
loro !" seemed as if they would never cease. The bull sprang upon 
Lucas Blanco and the piccadur; Lucas step[>ed atiide, and spread his 
mantle between the wounded man and the bull; the bull was de- 
ceived, and darted upon the waring cluak. iMeanwhile the chulox and 
binderilleros had leaped into the arena, and the valets of the circus 
had come to the assistance of the wounded piccador, who, supported by 
them, managed to reach the barrier. The whole party now surround- 
ed the bull with their Hoatin*; mantles, but the bull gazed only upon 
Lucas Blanco ; it was plainly a strufsgle between this man and the furi- 
ous animal, and no other attack wuuld draw off its attention. 

" Back, Lucas t back 1" shouted all the chulos and banderilleros at 
the «ime moment; "back! back, Lucas!" cried Cuchares- Luca« 
gazed scornfully at the bull, which was tearing onwards towards him 
with its head lowered ; he placiMi his foot with the most perfect 
ease between the two horns, and jumped over its head. The circus 
flctuaJ/y shook with applause; the spectators did not shmit, they 
roared f.rth their apprubation. " Bravo, Lucas !" cried twenty thou- 
luid voices; '* Viva, Lucas I viva! viva!" the men threw their hota 
■nd petacas into the arena, while the women showered bouquets and 
Cans upon him. Lucas bowed and smiled, as if he were playing with 
s kid. But these tumuliuoiis shouts did not turn the bull from the 
object of hi» vengeance; he kept his eye stedfastly fixed upon Lucoh, 
snd none of the streaming mantles could make nim forget the pale 
blue cloak, against which he had before vainly struck. He darted 
again upon Lucas, but this time he ctdculated his spring that he might 
Dut fail to reach him ; Lucas avoided him by a dexterous bound, but 
the animal was only four paces from him, and he turned upon Lucas 
without giving him a moment s pause. Lucas threw his cloak over its 
bead, and began stepping backwards towards the barrier. The bull's 
viiion was obscured for an instant, and his adversary gained a few 
MepA in advance ; but the cloak was soon torn to ribbons, and the bull 
darted once more upon his enemy. It was now a question of agility; 
Would Lucas reach the barrier before the bull, or would the bull guin 
»pon Lucas before he could climb the barrier ? As ill-luck would have 
it, LocaK stepped ujion a bouquet of flowers and fell : a piercing scream 
»*i uttered by all the spectators, and then profound silence succeeded. 
Acluud seemed to pass before my eyes, but amidst itj I saw a man 
n tifteen feet high ; and, the most curious circumstance was, that 
ite of the extreme agitation which I felt, I remembt?r perfectly the 
t detaiU of fwor Lucas's dress ; his little blue jacket, embroi- 
witb silver, his rose-cohmred waistcoat with cbaced buttons, and 
hit* slashed small clothes. He fell flat upon the ground ; the 

II awaited him. but another adversary also awaited the bull. The 

iccador mounted upon a fresh horse reentered the arena, and 

the animal at tne very moment he was about to gore Lucas 

bis horns. The bull felt himself wounded, and lifted up his 

if he was sure of finding Lucas were he left him, and thus 

upon the piccador. Scarcely had be released Lucas, before 

roL. xxrii. R 



Lucas raised himself upon liis feet and smiled, as he gracefolly bo«M 
to the public. By a perfect miracle the horns had not touched hk 
body, it was only the fore part of the nnimal's head which bad tooedl 
him into the air, and by a second miracle, too, he fell to the grooDd 
without meeting with the slightest injury. Shouts of joy now bunt 
from the spcctdtors, nnd everybody seemed able to breathe again. 

At this moment a general disturbance arose, the trumpets sounded; 
announcing some new and unforeseen event. This was the arrital 
of the queen-mother, that beautiful and elegant woman whom yim 
have seen in Paris. She really looks like the eldest sister of hvt 
daughter ; and appears to take as much pleasure in llie faull-fif^hu 
as a simple marquise. On this occasion she had contrived to steal 
awuy from the fetes of the day, that she might pass an hour in thn 
agitating scene, which we found so infatuating. Scarcely had iLe 
trumpets announced her arrival— scarcely had she made her appear* 
ance in the penumbra of her box, when, as if by magic, the whole i 
drama in the circus was suspended. The quadrille left the piccador, 
the horse, and the bull, to get out of the affair as best they could, and 
drew themselves up In procession opposite to the toril. Cuchttur^. 
Salamanchino, aud Lucas Blanco, wulked 6rst; and behind them casv 
the three piccadors. The wounded piccador whom we had tbou^t 
dead, had mounted a fresh horse, and, but for his extreme pallor, 
we should uut have imagined anything hud happened to him. Tbc 
piccador who was attacked by the bull, succeeded in throwing him 
off, and resumed his proper position in the arena. Behind tbr 
piccadors came the four chulos ; behind the chulos, the banderilleroc, 
and lust of all cnme the valets of the circus ; the cachetero alone djd 
not form part of the cortege. The bull liad retired to a comer of the 
arena near the ayuntamiento, and was gazing on the proco^on witfa^H 
bewildered stare ; the persons forming the procession seemed to «c<fl 
py themselves us little about the bull as if he had never existt^ 
They walked slowly forwards in time to the music, till they came in 
front of the queen's hox, and then they gracefully bent iheir knee. 
The queen allowed them to remain sometime in this position, by way 
of shewing that she accepted their homage, and then made a si^al fa 
them to rise; they did stt immediately, bowing profoundly as tber 
moved away. At a second signal the procession was broken up, ana 
each returned to take his projter part in the combat. The piccadart 
bent their lances, the chulos waved their mantles, and the baiideril- 
leros ran to prepare their handerillas. Meanwhile the bull, in order 
to lose no time, I suppose, employed himself in wounding a poor 
horse, which we had believed dead, but had diT^covered to be alive; 
he hud lifted the poor animal from the ground with his burns, and wa4 
walking af>out with him on his neck. By a last struggle the horM 
erected his head, and sent forth a deep groan. But when the bull saw 
his enemies return to the attack, he shook off the horse us he would 
have done a plume of feathers; the horse fell ; but, in n spring of 
agony, raised himself on his four feet, and staggered forwards toward^ 
the toril to fall once agoin; the bull fixed his eye stedfastly on him M 
he moved away. V 

The bull had already killed three horses, and wounded two, so the 
alguiail made a sign to the piccadors to withdraw themselves ; thej 
moved to the extremity of the circus, opposite the toril, all three 
them leaned against the olivo with their faces turned towards tl 



llie arcnn. The cliulos played uith tlieir cloaks, the hull 

move about aguin, and the comhat went on witli as much 

tfore. Three or fuur times the bull iiursued his adver&iirieA 

le barrier, chuK affording us the graceful spectacle of the light 

;s of these men, who appeared actually to float along with 

ing mantles. A hauderillero soon entered the arena with a 

in each hand ; his three companions followed him armed 

he was. To drire the banderillas into the bull's shoulders is 

an agreeable office ; they must he planted precisely at 

moment, and the more straightly they can be placed, the 

ir is the business accomplished. The chulos directed the 

ran the bnnderillero, who drove the two darts into his shoulders; 

Teb^mnd of each of the darts a Hight of five or six little birds, 

B. linnets, and canaries, started above the arena; these un- 

litlle creatures were so completely bewildered by the shocks 

be immediately able to fly. and they fell quite flat upon the 

circus ; Ave or six persons leaped in consequence from tlie 

to pick them up. at the imminent risk of being gored to death 

bull. But he was evidently beginning to lose bis head ; he 

have abandoned that desperate plan of attack whicli renders 

so formidable: he darted from one chulo to another, giving 

hjs horns to all, but allowing himself to be drawn from one 

another. A second banderillero made his appearance; the 

e suddenly calm nn perceiving him, but this cdm was only 

his more certain vengeance ; he recognised in this man's 

be instruments of torture which be bore in his shoulders, fur 

OB upon him without allowing any obstacle to oppose him. 

KTillero awaited his attack with the banderillas, hut he could 

one of these in the bull's shoulder; and the next moment a 

Bam was heard ; the roee-coloured sleeve of the bunderillero 

tly stained witli purple, and his hand was covered witli 

ich streamed through his Angers ; the horn had completely 

e upper part of his arm. He reached the barrier by himself, 

■ould not accept any support; but when he attempted to 

r it be fainted away ; and wc saw him lifted into the pas- 

his head drooping, and in a state of unconsciousness. One 

done enough mischief, so the trumpet sounded for the death. 

the combatants withdrew, fur the lists now belonged tu the 

Cudiarea, who was the torero in this combat, came forward ; 

ed to be between thirty*six and forty years of age ; he was of 

teigbt, thin, with a shrivelled skin and tawny complexion. If 

neof the mutit skilful toreros, fur 1 believe theSpumurds prefer 

ad Chiclanero to him, he is certainly one of the most daring 

geons ; lie performs all sorts of audacious tricks directly in 

he bull, which proves that he has a thorough knowledge of 

il's nature. One day, when he was contesting with Montes, 

nrried otf the largest share of the public applause, he did 

exactly how to gain a portion of the bravos which were so 

y bestowed upon his rival ; so he knelt down before the in- 

)ull. The bull gazed at him a few seconds in astonishment, 

as if intimidated by such an act of boldness, abandoned him 

led a chulo. 

ru to the combat which I am describing; Cuchares came 

sword in bis left band, which was concealed 



by the muleta, a piece of red cloth set on a little stick, which senvt 
as a shield to the torero ; he walked across the circus till he came it 
front of the queen's 1k>x, when he bent one knee to the p'ound, «fi4 
taking off his hat, asked permiiiiiion of its august occupant to kill tU 
bull. Permission was immediately granted him, by a sign aod t 
gracious smile. On retiring he threw his hat away from faim, with t 
certain gesture of pride, which belongs only to a man who knows he it 
ubout to struggle with death, and then prepared to meet the bu 
The quadrille was now entirely at his Uispottul ; it surrounded hii^ 
awaiting his orders; from this time forth nothing is done without '' 
torero's leare. He has chusen the part of the arena upon which 
desires the conflict to take place, the exuct spot upon which be intcodi 
to give the death blow ; thebuhiness of the whole purty, therefore, 'm» 
attract the buH towards this point of the circus. The spot chosen m 
this occasion was just underneath the queen's box, but the chuloawen 
determined to display a little coquetry in directing the bull thither, 
for tliey naturally wished to have their triumph. They cau*ed the 
animal to make a complete circuit, obliging him to puss in front of thf 
ayantiinitento, by the toril, and from thence to the spot where Cu- 
chares n^vaited him, with sword in one hand, and niuleta in the otb^. 
In passing the horse which he had lifted on his head, the bull gave 
him two or three more blows with his horns. When Cuchares «a* 
the bull nearly opposite to him, he made a sign, and everrbodf 
moved away; the man and the animal were now face to fac^ 
Cucharea had only u long thin sword, and the animal possessed ter- 
riHc Iiorns, enormous power, and his movements were more rupiJ 
than those of the swiftest horse; the man appeared nothing by iIm 
side of thiM tremendous monster; but the light of intelligence sboM 
forth in the man's eyes, while the sole expre?tsion in the bull's look 
WHS the wild ghire of ferocity* It was clear, however, that »il 
the advantage was on the man's side, and that in this seeminglf 
unequal conllict, the strong would be cimipelled to yield, and the weak 
would be the conqueror. Cuchiires waved bis muleta before the bniri 
eyes; the hull darted upon him, but he turned on his heel and re- 
ceived only a slight graze from one of the horns; but the stroke 
maf>nllicently given, and the wliole circus rang with applause. T 
shouts seemed only to increase the bull's fury, for he sprang agsiQ 
upon Cuchures, who this time met him with bis sword. The shock 
was frightful, the sword bent Hke a hoop, and flew into the air, the 
point had touched the shoulder bone, but, in rebounding, caused the 
hilt to quit the torero's hand. The spectators would have hooted Cu- 
chares, hut by a dexterous volt he escaped the atinck of his enemy. 
The rhiiloN now advanced and endeavoured to distract the bull's atten- 
tion ; but Cuchares, disarmed as he was, made a signal to them to 
remain in their place, fur he still had his muleta. 

Now foUuwed the most astonishing proofs of this man's profbnn 
knowledge «f the animal, so essential to liim in a conflict which las 
full five minutes, during which time his sole weapon was his in 
Jetn. He drove the bull wherever he desired, bewildering him 
completely us almost to make him lose his instinct. Twenty times tbB 
hull sprang upon him. darting from the right aide to the Ml; he 
gruxed him re|>eutedly with his horn, but never really tvounded him. 
At length Cuchures picked up his sword, wiped it com{M)sedly, and 
presented it, amidst the deafening applause of the spectators : thtt 





f tuU lengUi of the blade was buned between the buH'ti sboul- 

e quivered with agony, luid \vii6 cuinpletety loiited to the spot: 

^y clear that the cold ui the steel had struck into hia heart, if 

1 itself, — the hilt uf the sword alune could l»e seen above the 

ithe neck ; Cuchares did not occupy hiniself any longer with 

but proceeded to offer his homnge to the queen. The hull 

~1y wounded ; he gazed around him, when his eye lighted 

upun the dead horse, and with a Irot rendered heavy by the 

endured, he moved towards it. When the bull reached the dead 

:he horse, he fell upon his two knees by the aide of it, uttered a 

w, lowered liis hinder quarters as he had previously bent his 

laid himself down. The cachetero leaped from the passage, 

y up to the bull, drew forth his stiletto, and, when he bad 

faia aim, gave the final stroke. Lightning could nut have 

ore instantaneous effect ; the head dropped without a strug- 

e animal expired withuut u single groan. 

of music announced the death ; a door opened, and four 

(rawing a sort of truck entered the arena. The mules weru 

bidden by their trappingn ; these were covered with brilliant 

'ribbon and tinkling belis : the dead horses were fasteneii to 

jhj one after the other, and borne away with the lupidity of 

K Next came the bull's turn, and he soon disappeared like 

ftbruugh the door destined fur the dead bodies to pass out. 

i eluded behiud him ; four large streaks of blood crimsoned 
this was the blood of the dead horses and the bull ; here and 
, might t>e discovered a few other red spots, but in less than 
les all traces of the last ctunbat had vanished. The valets of 
li brought their rakes and two large baskets full of gaud, with 
liey freiib strewed the arena. The piccadors resumed their 
m the left of the toril, and the chnlus and bunderilleros on 
I Lucas Blauco, who succeeded Cuchares, placed himself a 
iie rear. The band announced that the second conriict Wiis 
pomraence ; the dtwr of the turil burst opeUj and another bull 

is really time that I should bid you adieu; a bull-light is a 
i nerer tirt^s of seeing, and when I tell you that I have been 
successively to all the bull-lights wliich have taken place in 
u will readily UDderstand what au infatuating soenc it is. 



ntUUy ruial tk 


"" Those few battles of which a contrary event would have 
drama of the world in all its subsequent scenes.'* — Uallam. 


*' Quibui actus ut^rqite 
Eiimpin atque Asiie fatis concurrent orlits.^' 

Two thousand three hundred and thirty-seven years ago, a coaDcil 
of Greek officers was summoned on the slope of one of the mountainf 
that look over the plain of iSIarathon, on the eastern coast of Attica. 
The immedinte subject of their meeting was to consider whetbff 
they should give battle to an enemy that lay encamped on the shore 
beneath them; but on the result of their deliberations dependid, 
not merely the fate of two armies, but the whole future progrenol 
human ctvilization. 

The ten Athenian generals who, with the Archon entitled the 
AV'ar-Ruler, formetl the council, had deep matter for anxiety, thougti 
little aware how momentous to mankind were the votes they wwv 
about to give, or how the generations to come would re«d witi 
interest the record of their discussions. They saw before them the 
invading forces of a mighty power, which had in the last Bfty 
years shattered and enslaved nearly all the kingdoms and principili- 
ties of the then known world. They knew that all the resourn* 
of their own country were comprised in the little army entrusted to 
their guidance. They saw before them a chosen host of the Grwi 
King, sent to wreak his special wrath on that country, and on the 
other insolent little Greek community, which had dared to aid hii 
rebels and burn the capital of one of his provinces. That victorious 
host had already fiilfille<l half its mission of vengeance. Eretria, llw 
confederate of Athens in the bold triarch against Sardis nine yean 
before, had fallen in the last few days; and the Athenians could 
discern from their heights the island, in which the Persiana had de- 
posited their Eretrian prisoners, whom they had reserved to be led 
Bway captives into Upper Asia, there to hear their doom from the 
lips of King Darius himself. Moreover, the men of Athens knew 
that in the camp before them was their own banished tyrant, who 
was seeking to be reinstated by foreign scymitars in despotic swav 
over any remnant of his countrymen, thai might survive the sack o( 
their town, and might be lef^ behind as too worthless for leading 
away into Median bondage. 

The numerical disparity between the force which the Athenian 
commanders had under them and that which they were called on to 
encounter, was hopelessly apparent to some of the council. The 
historians who wrote nearest to the time of the battle do not pretend 
to give any detailed statements of the niiml)er» engaged, but there 
are sufficient data for our making a general estimate. The rauMer- 
roll of free Athenian citizens of an age fit for military service never 
exceeded 30,(K>0, and at this epoch probably did not amount to two- 
thirds of that iitunber. Moreover, the poorer portion of these were 



unproviilecl with the equipments and untrainetl to the operutioiis of 
the reguUr infantry. Some tletachraentfi ot* the bcst-arriie<l troops 
would l>e required to garrison the city itself, and mann the various 
iortifie<l po&ts in the territory ; so that it is impossible to reckon the 
fully equipped force that marched from Athens to JMarathon. wlien 
the news of the Persian hmding arrived, at higher than 14.0()0. The 
^IJant little Allied state of Plata?a had sent its contingent of IfMX) of 
its best men ; so that the Athenian commanders must have had under 
tbeoi about 15,000 fuliy-armed and disciplined infantry, and pro- 
bably a larger number of irregular light-armed troops ; as, besides 
the poorer citizens who went to the field armed with javelins, cut- 
(toses, and targets, each regular heavy-armed soldier was attended 
in the camp by one or more slaves, who were armed like the inferior 
freerncn. Cavalry or archers the Athenians (on this occasion) had 
none; and the use in the field of military engines was not at that 
penod introduced into ancient warfare. 

Contrasted with their own scanty forces, the Greek commanders 
Mw stretched before them^ along the shores of the winding bay, the 
tents and shipping of the varied nations who marched to do the 
bidding of the king of the eastern world. The didiculty of finding 
transports and of securing provisions would form tlieonly limit to the 
numbers of a Persian army. Nor is there any reason to suppose the 
estimate of Justin exaggerated, who rates at lOO.lKH) the force which 
on this occasion had sailed, under the Satraps Datis and Artaphemes, 
from the Cilician shores against the devoted coasts of Eulwa and 
Attica. And af^er largely deducting from this total, ao as to allow 
for mere mariners and camp-followers, there must still have remained 
leirful odds against the national levies of the Athenians. Nor 
eoold Greek generals then feel that confidence in the superior qua- 
lity of their troops, which ever since the battle of Alarathon has 
uiimated Europeans in conflicts with Asiatics; as, for instance, in 
the aAer struggles between Greece and Persia, or when the Roman 
Wgions encountered the myriads of Mithridates and Tigrnncs, or as 
is the case in the Indian campaigns of our own regiments. On the 
contrary, up to the day of Marathon the Medes and Persians were 
rrpuied invincible. They had more than once met Greek troops in 
Asia AJinnr and htid invariably beaten them. Nothing can be 
Mronger than the expressions used by the early Greek writers 
respecting the terror which the name of the Medes inspired, 
snd the prostration of men's spirits before the apparently resist- 
ico csLTcer of the Persian arms.* It is, therefore, little to be 
WmKlered at. that five of the ten Athenian generals shrank from the 
prospect of fighting a pitched battle against an enemy so vastly 
Mperior in numbers, and so formidable in military renown. Their 
9«n |>o«ition on the heights was strong, and offered great advan- 
tages to a «m.ill defending force against assailing masses. They 
dMned it mere foolhardiness to descend into the plain to be trampled 
ilo«u by the Asiatic horse, overwhelmed with the archery, or cut to 
piece ■ by the invincible veterans of Cautbyses and Cyrus. Morc- 
Sparto, the great war-state of Greece, had been applied to 



and had promLoed succour to Athens, though the religious observutcc 
which the Dorians paid to certain times and seasons had for Uie 
present delayed their march. Was it not wise, at any rate, to vut 
till the Spartans caine up, and to have the help of the best troops in 
Greece, beiore they exposed themselves to the shock of the dreideii 

Specious as these reasons might appear, the other five genenli 
were for speedier and bolder operations. And, fortunately for 
Athens and for the world, one of them was a man, not only of ih« 
highest military geniusi, but also of that energetic character wbid 
impresses its own types and ideas upon spirits feebler in conception. 
I^Iiltiades, and his ancestors before nim, besides bein^ of one of the 
nuble^t families at Athens, had ruled a large principality in tb< 
TJiracian Chersonese; and when the Persian empire extended itself 
in that directitin, I^liUiades had been obliged, like many other small 
potentates of the time, to acknowledge the authority of the Great 
King, and to lead his contingent of men to serve in the Pcrsiia 
armies. He had, however, incurred the enmity of the Persiioi 
during thtir Scythian campaign ; his Thracian principality had been 
8ei7,ed ; mid he himttell', in hi& flight to Athens, had narmwly cscapnl 
the liol pursuit of the Pha-nician galleys in the Peri^ian nervire. 
which actually took the vessel in which part of his family saileJ, 
and the firstborn of Miltiades was at this moment a captive in \he 
court uf King Darius. Practically acquainted with the organizatiuo 
of the Persian armies, Miltiades felt convinced of the superiority of 
the Greek troops, if properly handled: he saw with the military eye of 
a great general the advantage which the position of the forces gave 
him fur a sudilen attack, and as a profound politician he felt the 
perils of remaining inactive^ and of giving treachery time to nUD 
the Athenian cause. 

One officer in the council of war had not yet voted, TTiis w« 
CallimachuF, the War-Ruler. The votes of the generals were five 
and five, so that the voice of Callimachus would be decisive. On 
that vote, iiiaU human prnbAbility,the destiny of all the nations of tbe 
world depended. I^liliiades turned to him, and in simple soldierly 
eloquence, which we probably read faithfully reported in Herodotus, 
who may have conversed with the veterans of Marathon, the great 
Athenian adjured his countrymnn to vote for giving battle. He 
told him that it rested with him either to enslave Athens, or to 
make her the greatest oi' all the Greek states, and to leave behind 
him a memory of unrivalled glory among all generations of mankind. 
He warned him that the banished tyrant had partizans in Athens; 
and that, if time for intrigue was allowed, the city would be given 
up to the Medes ; but that if the armies fought at once before there 
was anything rotten in the state of Athens, they were able, if the 
gods would give them fair play, to beat the JMedes.' 

The vote of the brave War-Huler was gained, the council deter- 
mined to give battle; and such was the ascendency and acknow- 
ledged military eminence of Miltiades, that his brother generals one 
and all gave up their days of command to him, and cheerfully acted 
under his orders. Fearful, however, of creatitig any jealousy, and 
of so fajhng to obtain the vigorous co-operation of all parts uf his 

* 'llv }i fVftfiMXt'ftt*, v^iv r4 MM fM^(t* 'Ai'ni'CJvr ^ri|(fi^M«^j i^^(m#/av, h^t r* Urn. 



army, jMilti»iles waited till the day when the chief comniaml 
1 have cotue round to hiia Ju regular ruUtlon, before be led 
the troops a^ain^t the enemy. 

The inaction of the Asiatic commanders during thi« interval ap- 
pears strange at first sight; but Hippias was with them, and they 
and he were aware of their chance of a bloodless conquest through 
the machinations of his panizans among the Athenians. The nature 
of the ground also explaiiiti in many points the tactics of the oppo- 
site generals before the battle, as well as the operations of the troops 
during the encasement. 

The plain of Alitraihrin, which is about twenty-two miles distant 
Prom Athens, lies alon^ the bay of the same name on the north-east- 
em coast of Attica. The plain id nearly in the form of a crescent, 
tnd about six miles in length. It is about two miles broad in 
the centre, where the space between the mountains and the sea 
it greatest, but it narrows towards either extremity, the mounlaina 
ooming close down to the water at the burns of the bay. There is a 
valley trending inwards from the middle of the plain, and a ravine 
coroe* down to it to the southward. Elsewhere it is closely girt 
round on the land side by rugged limestone mountains, which arc 
thickly studded with pines, olive-trees, and cedars, and overgrown 
with the myrtle, arbutus, and the other low odoriferous shrubs that 
everywhere perfume the Attic air. The level of the ground is now 
varietl by the mound raised over those who fell in the battle, but it 
was an unbroken plain when the Per.sians encamped on it. There 
■re marshes at each end, which are dry in spring and summer, and 
then offer no obstruction to the horseman, but are commonly flooded 
with rain and so rendered impracticable for cavalry in the autumn, 
the time of year at which the action took place. 

The Greeks, lying encamped on the mountains, could watch every 
movement of the Persians on the plain below, while they were ena- 
bled completely to mask their own. Aliltiadea also had, from hia 
position, the jwwer of giving battle whenever he pleased, or of dc- 
Lying it at his discretion, unless Datis were to attempt the perilous 
operation of storming the heights. 

If we turn to the map of the old world, to test the comparative 
territorial resources of the two stales whose armies were now about 
to come into conflict, the immense prepoiulerance of the material 
power of the Persian king over that of the Athenian republic, is 
more striking than any similar contrast which history can supply. 
It has been truly remarked, that, in estimating mere areas, Attica, 
containing on its whole surface only 'Ji)0 square miles, shrinks into 
insignificance if compared with many a baronial fief of the middle 
iges, or many a colonial alluiment of modern times. Its anta;r(v> 
nirt, the Persian empire, comprised the whole of modern Asiatic and 
much of modern European Turkey, the muclern kingdom of Ptrt^ia, 
ami tlie countries of modern Georgia, Armenia, Balkh, the Punjaub^ 
Aflghanidtan, Beloochistan, Egypt, and Tripoli. 

Nor could an European, in the beginning of the fifth century be- 
fore our era, look upon this huge accumulation of power beneath the 
•ceptre of a single Asiatic ruler, with the indifference with which 
wcnow observe on the map the extensive dominions of modern Ori- 
ental sovereigns. For, as has been already remarked, before iVlara- 
prestige of bu^^^m^ of suppobcd superiority 



of race was on the side of the Asiatic against the European. Asia 
was the originHl seat of human societies, and long before any trace 
can be found of the inhabitants of tlie rest of the worUl having 
emerged from the rudest barbarism, we can perreive that mighty 
and brilliant empires flourished in the Asiatic continent. They ap- 
pear before us through the twilight of primeval history, dim and in- 
distinct, but massive and majestic, like mountains in the early 

Instead, however, of the in6nite variety and restless change which 
has characterised the institutions and fortunes of European states 
ever since the commencement of the civilization of our continent, 
a monotonous uniformity pervades the histories of nearly all Orien* 
tal empires, from the most ancient down to the most recent times. 
They are characterized by the rapidity of their early conquests, 
by the immense extent of the dominions conipriaed in them, by 
the establishment of a satrap or pacha system of governing the 
provinces, by an invariable and speedy degeneracy in the princes 
of the royal house, the effeminate nurslings of the seraglio suc- 
ceeding to the warrior-sovereigns reared in the ramp, and by the 
internal anarchy and insurrections which indicate and accelerate the 
decline and fall of these unwieldy and ill-organized fabrics of power. 
It is also a striking fact that the governments of all the great Asiatic 
empires have in all ages been absolute despotisms. And Heeren is 
right in connecting this with another great fact, which is important 
from its influence both on the political and the social life of Asiatics. 
" Among all the considerable nations of Inner Asia the paternal go- 
vernment of every household was corrupted by polygamy : where 
that custom exists, a good political constitution is impossible. Fa- 
thers, being converted into domestic despots, are ready to pay the 
same abject obedience to their sovereign which they exact from their 
family and dependants in their domestic economy." We should 
bear in mind also the inseparable connexion between the state reli- 
gion and all legislation which has always prevailed in the East, and 
the constant existence of a powerful sacerdotal body, exercising 
some check, though precarious and irregular, over the throne itself 
grasping at all civil administration, claiming the supreme control 
of education, stereotyping the lines in which literature and science 
must move, and limiting the extent to which it shall be lawful for 
the human mind to promote its enquiries. 

With these general characteristics rightly felt and understood, it 
becomes a comparatively easy task to investigate and appreciate the 
origin, progress, and principles of Oriental empire in general, as well 
as of the Persian monarchy in particular. And we are thus better 
enabled to appreciate the repulse winch Greece gave to the arms of 
the East, and to judge of the probable consequences to human 
civilization, if the Persians hail succeeded in bringing Europe under 
their yoke, as they had already subjugated the fairest portions of the 
rest of the then known world. 

The Greeks, from their geographical position, formed the natural 
vanguard of European liberty against Persian ambition ; and they pre- 
eminently displayed the salient points of distinctive national character 
which have rendered European civilisation so far superior to Asia- 
tic. The nations that dwelt in ancient times around and near the 
shores of the JMeditcrranean sea, were the first in our continent to 





receive frnm the East the nidimcnU «/ Ml 

germs of social and political or^ 
Greeks, through their vicinity to Ana 3li 
were umonf^ the very foremost ia 
habits of civilized life, and they also 
wholly original atamp on all which they receiT* 
religion they received from foreign lUUii tbe 
deities and many of their rites, but th ey 
monstrosities of'the Nile, the Orootcs^ nd the 
tionttlised their creed ; and their own poeu created their beaatiffll 
mythology. No sacerdotal caste ever exicted in Greece. 80, Mi 
their governments, they lived long under kings, bat nerer ^admnd 
the establishment of absolute monarchy. Their eariy kJmgB were 
constitutional rulers, governing with defined prcm^ttvoL AdiI 
long before the Persian invasion the kingly form of goremiBaBK had 
given way in almost all the Greek states to republican in«citatMMw, 
presenting infinite varieties of the blending or the aUemate predo- 
minance of the oligarchical and democratical principlci. In litera* 
ture and science the Greek intellect followed no boten trade, and 
acknowledged no limitary rules. The Greeks thought their aob- 
jects boldly out ; and the novelty of a fpeculatioa inveiCed H in 
their minds with interest and not with criminality. Vcnntilc^ mt- 
less, enterprising and self-confident, the Greeks presented the raoA 
striking contrast to the habitual quietude and submissiveoess of the 
Orientals. And, of all the Greeks, the Athenians ezfaitntcd ihtae 
national characteristics in the strongest degree. This spirit of aciivitv 
and daring, joined to a generous sympathy for tbe fiite of their ftL 
low-Greeks in Asia, had led them tu join in tbe last Ionian war; 
and now mingling with their abhorrence of an usurping Gnnily of 
their own citizens, which for a period had forcibly seized on and 
exercised despotic power at Athens, nerved them to defy the wnth 
of King Darius, and to refuse to receive hack at his bidding the 
tyrant whom they had some years before driven out- 

The enterprise and genius of an Kngliahman have lately confirmed 
by fresh evidence, and invested with fresh interest, the might of the 
Persian Monarch who sent his troops to combat at Marathon. In- 
scriptions in a character termed the arrow-headed, or cuneiform, 
had long been known to exist on the marble monuments at Persepo- 
lis, near the site of the ancient Susa, and on the faces of rocks in 
other places formerly ruled over by the early Persian kings. But 
for thousands of years they had been mere unintelligible enigmas to 
the curious but baffled beholder ; and they were often referred to as 
instances of the folly of human pride, which could indeed write 
its own prai.^es in the solid rock, but only for the rock to outlive the 
language as well as the memory of the vainglorious inscribers. The 
elder Niebuhr, Grotefend, and Lassen had made some guesses at the 
meaning of the cuneiform letters ; hut jMajor Rawlinson, of the 
East India Company's service, after years of labour, has at last 
accomplished the glorious achievement of fully reve.iling the alpha- 
bet and the grammar of this long unknown tongue. He has, in par- 
ticular, fully deciphered and expounded the inscription on the 
sacred rock of Behistun, on tiie western frontiers of Media. These 
records of the Achiemenida; have at length found their imer^)rclcr ; 
^«nd Darius himself speaks to us from the consecrated mounuim, and 



Ulls us the names of the nations that obeyed him, the revolts thai he 
»uppres3e<i, his victories, his piety, and his glory.* 

Kin*^s who thus seek the admiration of posterity are little likely 
to dim the record of their successes by the mention of their occa- 
siunal defeats; and it throws no suspicion on the narrative of the 
Greek historians, that we find these inscriptions silent respecting the 
defeat of Datis and Artaphernes, as well as respecting the reverses 
which Darius sustained in person during his Scythian campaigns. 
But these indisputable monuments of Persian fame confirm, and 
even incrcafie the opinion with which Herodotus inspires us of the 
vast power which Cyrus founded, Cambyses increased; which Darius 
augmented by Indian and ArabiBii cunctucbts, and seemed likely, 
when he directed his arms against Kuropc, to make the prt;dominaut 
noonnrchy of ihe world. 

With the exception of the Chinese empire, in which, throughout 
all ages down to the last few years, one third of the human race has 
dwelt almost unconnected with the other portions, all the great king- 
doms which we know to have existed in ancient Asia, were, in Da- 
rius's time, blended into the Persian. The Northern Indians, the 
Assyrians, the Syrians, the Babylonians, the Chatdees. the Phceni- 
cians, the nations of Pale.stine, the Armenians, the Bactrians. the 
Lydians, the Phrygians, the Parlhian«f, and the JMedes, — all obeyed 
the sceptre of the Great Kitig : the Medes standing next to tlie na- 
tive Persians in honour, and the empire being frequently spoken of 
as that of the Medes, or as that of the Medes and Persians. Kgypt 
and Cyrene were Persian provinces; the Greek colonists in Asia 
Minor and the islands of the -^giEjn were Darius'a subjects; and 
their gallant but unsuccessful attempts to throw off the Persian yoke 
had only served to rivet it more strongly, and to increase the general 
belief that the Greeks could not stand before the Persians in a field 
of battle. Darius*6 Scythian war, though unsuccessful in its imme- 
diate object, had brought about the subjugation of Thrace, and the 
submission of Macedonia. From the Indus to the Peneus, all was 
his. Greece was to be his next acquisition. His heralds were sent 
round to the various Greek states to demand the emblem of homage, 
which all the islanders and many of the dwellers on the continent 
submitted to give. 

Over those who had the apparent rashness to refuse, the Persian 
authority was to be now enforced by the array that, under Datis, an 
experienced Median general, and Artaphernes, a young Persian no- 
ble, lay encamped by the coast of M;irathon. 

When Aliliiades arrayed his men for action, he staked on the ar- 
bitrament of one battle not only the fate of Athens, but that of all 
Greece; for if Athens had fallen, no other Greek state except Lace- 
dwmon would have had the courage to resist ; and the Lacedwmo- 
nians, though they would probably have died in their ranks t«i the 
last man, never could have successfully resisted the victorious Per- 
sians and the numerous Greek troops which would have soon inarched 
under the Persian banner, had it previiiled over Athens. 

Nor was there any power to the westward of Greece that could 
have offered an effectual opposition to Persia, had she once conquer- 
ed Greece, and made that country a basis for future military opera- 

* i$ee the lust nuiubt;rftoflbeJourniil of the Royal Asiatic Society. 







tionsL Rome was at thi3 time in her season of utmost weakness. 
Uer ilyna&ty of powerful EtruscAn kin^s had been driven out, 
am] her infant commouweulth was reeling un<ler the attacks of the 
Etruscans and Volscians from without, and the Bcrce dissensions 
between the patricians and plebeians within. Ktniria, with her 
Lucumos and serfs w.t« no match for Persia. Samnium had not 
^own into the might which she afterwards put forth : nor could the 
Greek colonies in South Italy and Sicily hope to conquer when their 
parent states had perished. Carthage had escaped the Persian yoke 
m the time of Cambysee through the reluctance of the Phoenician 
mariners to serve against their kinsmen. But such forbearance could 
not long have been relied on. and the future rival of Uome would 
have become as submissive a minister of the Persian power as were 
llie Phufnician cities themselves. If we turn to Spain, or if we pass 
the ffTCflt mountain chain, which, prolonged through the Pyrenees, 
the Cevennes, the Alps, and the Balkan, divides Northern from 
Southern £urope, we shall 6nd nothing at that period but mere 
savage Finns, Celts, and Teutons. Had Persia beat Athens at 
Marathon, she could have found no obstacle to Darius, the chosen 
servant of Ormuzd, advancing his sway over all the known Western 
races of mankinil. The infant energies of Europe would have I>een 
trodden out beneath the hoof of universal conque&t ; and the history 
of the world, like the history of Asia, have become a mere record of 
the nse and fall of despotic dynasties, of the incursions of barbarous 
hordes, and of the mental and political prostration of millions be- 
neath the diadem, the tiara, and the sword. 

Great as the preponderance of the Persian over the Athenian 
power at that crisis seems to have been, it would be unjust to im- 
pute wild rashness to the policy of Miltiades, and those who voted 
vith him in the Athenian council of war, or to look on the after- 
current of events as the mere fortunate result of successful folly. 
As before has been remarkeJ, Miltiades, wtiilst prince of the Cherso- 
nese, had seen service in the Persian armies; and he knew by per- 
son^ observation how many elements of weakness lurked beneath 
their imposing aspect of strength. He knew that the bulk of their 
troops no longer consisted of the hardy shepherds and mountaineers 
from Persia Proper and Kurdistan, who won Cyrus's battles; but 
that unwilling contingents from conquered nations now filled up the 
Per&ian muster-rolls, 6ghting more from compuliiiion than from any 
xeal in the cause of their masters. He had also the sagacity and the 
spirit to appreciate the superiority of the Greek armour and organ- 
isation over the Asiatic, notwithstanding former reverses. Above 
lit, he felt and worthily trusted the enthusiasui of those whom he 
led. The Athenians under him were republicans who had but a 
few years before shaken off their tyrants. They were flushed by re- 
cent successes in wars against some of the neighbouring states. They 
knew that the despot whom they had driven out wa^ in the foemen's 
cmmp, seeking to be reinstated by foreign arms in his plenitude of 
oppression. They were zealous champions of the liberty and equality 
wbich as Citizens tliey had recently acquired. And Miltiades tniglit 
be suret that whatever treachery might lurk among some of the 
higher-born and wealthier Athenians, the rank and Hie whom he led 
were ready to do their utmost in his and their oun cause. As fur 
future attacks from Asia, he might reasonably hope that une victory 





would inspirit all Greece to combine against the common foe ; and 
that the latent seeds of revolt and disunion in the Persian empire 
would soon burst forth and paralyze its energies, »o as to leave 
Greek independence secure. 

With these hopes and risks, Miltiadcs. on a September day, 400 
B. c, gave the word for the Athenian army to prepare for battle. 
There were many local associations connected with those mountain 
heiglits, which were calculated powerfully to excite the spirit!* of the 
men, and of which the commanders well knew how to avail them- 
selves in their exhortations to their troops before the encounter. 
Marathon itself was a region sacred to Hercules. Close to ihem waa 
the fountain of Macaria, who had in days of yore devoted herself to 
death for the liberty of her people. The very plain on which they 
were to fight was the scene of the exploits of their national hero, 
Theseus ; and there, too, as old legends told, the Athenians and the 
Heraclitlaj had routed the invader, Eurystheus. These traditions 
were not mere cloudy myths, or idle fictions, but matters of implicit 
earnest faith to the men of ihnt day, and many a fervent prayer 
arose from the Athenian ranks to the heroic spirits who while on 
earth had striven and suffered on that very spot, and who were be- 
lieved to be now heavenly powers, looking down with interest on, 
and capable of interposing with effect in the fortunes of their still M 
beloved country. f 

According to old national custom the warriors of each tribe were 
arrayed together ; neighbour thus fighting by llie side of neighbour, 
friend by friend, and the spirit of emulation and the consciousness of 
responsibility excited to the verv utmost. The VV^ar-Ruler, Calli- 
machus, had the leading of the right wing; the Pkta^ans formed the 
extreme left ; and Themistocles and Aristides commanded the cen- 
tre. The iianoply of the regular infantry consisted of a long »pear, 
of a shield, hclraet, breast-plate, greaves, and shortsword. Thus 
equipped, the troops usually advanced slowly ami steadily into action 
in an uniform phalanx of about four spears deep. But the military 
genius of Miltiaiies led him to deviate on this occasion from the com- 
mon-place tactics of his countrymen. It was essential for him to 
extend his line so as to cover alt the practicable ground, and to se- 
cure himself from being outflanked and charged in the rear by the 
Persian horse. This extension involved the weakening of his line. 
Instead of an uniform reduction of its strength, he determined on 
detaching principally from his centre, which, from the nature of the 
ground, would have the be^st opportunities for rallying, if broken, 
and on strengthening his wings so as to insure advantage at those 
points; and he trusted to his own skill, and to his soldiers* disci- 

filine, for the improvement of that advantage into decisive victory, 
n this order, and avaiUnu; himself probably of the inequalities of the h 
ground so as to conceal his preparations from the enemy till the lactH 
possible moment, Miltiades drew up the fifteen thousand infantry 
whose spears were to decide this crisis in the struggle between the , 
European and the Asiatic worlds. The sacrifices, by which the fa* 
vour of heaven wo-s sought, and its will consulted, were annuunced 
to shew propitious omens. The trumpet sounded for action, and, 
chanting the hymn of battle, the little army bore down upon ths 
host of the foe. Then, too, along the mountain slopes of Marathon 
must have resoundcJ the mutual exhortation, which ^l^schylus, whaj 



fouf^ht in both battles, telU us was afterwards heard over the waves of 
SBlamis,— " On^sons of the Greeks ! Strike for the treedora of your 
country, — strike for the freedom of your children, your wive«, — for 
the shrines of your fathers' goda, and for the sepulchres of your 
sires. All — all are now staked upon the strife." 

Q, waictc EWi/»'wi', (re 
£A<v9epovre irnrpt^, iXtvOipovTi ct 

Gr;i:ac Te vpoyovuv. Nuk wir«p wayTtav ayttty,* 

I Instea<1 of Rdvsncing at the usual slow pace of the phalanx^ Mil- 
tiades brought his men on at a run. They were all trained in the 
I exercises of the palaestra, so that there was no fear of their ending 
the charge in breathless exhaustion ; and it was of the deepest im- 
portance for him to traverse as rapidly as possible the mile or so of 
level ground that lay between the mountain foot and the Persian 
oatposls, and so to get his troops into close action before the Asiatic 
cavalry could mount, form, and mancpuvre against him, or their 
archers keep him long under fire, and before the enemy's generals 
could fairly deploy their masses. 

" When the Persians," says Herodotus, " saw the Athenians run- 
ning down on them, without horse or bowmen, and scanty in num- 
bers, they ihouj^ht them a set of madmen rushing upon certain de- 
struction." They began, however, to prepare to receive them, and 
the Eastern chiefs arrayed, as quickly as lime and place allowed, the 
varied races who served in their motley ranks. ^Mountaineers from 
Hyrcania and Affghanistan, wild horsemen from the steppes of 
Khorassan, the black archers of Ethiopia, swordsmen from the 
banks of the Indus, the Oxus, the Euphrates, and the Nile, made 
readv against the enemies of the Great King. But no national CAu»ie 
inspired them, except the division of native Persians ; and in the 
large host there was no uniformity of language, creed, race, or mili- 
tary system. Still, among them there were many gallant men, 
under a veteran general; they were familiarized with victory, and 
in contemptuous confidence their infantry, which alone had time 
to form* awaited the Athenian charge. On came the Greeks, with 
one unwavering line of levelled spears, against which the light 
trmour, the short lances and sabres of the Orientals offered weak 
defence. Their front rank must have gone down to a man at the 
first shock. Still they recoiled not. but strove by individual gal- 
lantry, and by the weight of numbers, to make up for the di»- 
idvantages of weapons and tactics, and to bear back the shallow 
line of the Europeans. In the centre, where the native Persians and 
the Sacce fought, they succeeded in breaking through the weakened 
part of the Athenian phalanx ; and the tribes led by Aristides and 
Phemistocles were, after a brave resistance, driven back over the 
plain, and chased by the Persians up the valley towards the in- 
tier countr}'. There the nature of the ground gave the opportunity 
of rallying and renewing the struggle: and, meanwhile, the Greek 
wines, where Miltiades hud concentrated his chief t^trength, had rout- 
eii the Asiatics opposed to them, and the Athenian officers, instead 
of pursuing the fugitives, kept their troops well in hand, and wheeU 

• Penie. 



ing round, a.osniled on ench flank the hitherto victorious Persian cen- 
tre. Arixtides and Themistocles charged it a^ain in^front with their 
re-orpjanized troops. The Persians strove hard lo keep their ^ronnd. 
£ventii^ came on, and the rays of the setting-sun darted full into the 
eyes of the Asiatic combntants, while the Greeks fought with in- 
creasing advantage with the light at their bncka. At last the hither- 
to unvanqnished lords of A^a broke and fle<U and the Greeks fol- 
lowed, striking them down, to the water's edge, where the invaders 
were now hastily launching their galleys, and seeking to re-emhark 
and fly. Flushed with success, the Athenians attacked and strove 
to 6re the fleet. But here the Asiatics resisted desperately, and the 
principal loss sustaineil by the Greeks was in the assault on the ships. 
Here fell the brave War-Ruler CalHmachus, the general Stesilaus, 
and other Athenians of note. Seven galleys were fired ; but the Per- 
sians succeeded in saving the rest. They pushed off" from the fatal 
shore ; but even here the skill of Datis did not desert him, and he 
sailed round to the western coast of Auica, in hopes to find the city 
unprotected, and to gain possession of it from some of Ilippias' par- 
tizans. Miltiades^ however, saw and counteracted his manoeuvre. 
Leaving Aristidrs, and the troops of hia tribe, to guard the spoil and 
the slain, the Athenian commander led his conquering army by a 
rapid nighl-niarch back across the country to Athens. And when 
the Persian fleet had doubled the Cape of Sunium and sailed up to 
the Athenian harbour in the morning, Datts saw arrayed on the 
heights above the city the troops before whom his men had fled on 
the preceding evening. All hope of further conquest in £urope for 
the time was abandoned, and the baffled armada returned to the 
Asiatic coasts. 

It was not by one defeat, however signal, that the pride of Persia 
could be broken, and her dreams of universal empire dispelled. 
Ten veara afterwards she renewed her attempts upon Europe on a 
granaer scale of enterprise, and was repulsed by Greece with greater 
and reiterated loss. Larger forces and heavier slaughter, than had 
been seen at Marathon, signalised the conHicis of Greeks and Per- 
sians at Artemisium, Salamis, Plattra, and the Euryniedon, and the 
after triumphs of the Macedonian King at Issus, and 
Arbela. But mighty an<l momentous as these battles were, tbejr 
rank not with Marathon in importance. They originated no new 
impulse. They turned back no current of fate. They were merely 
confirmatnry of tlje ralre.tdy existing bias which Alurathon had 
created. The day of JMurathon is the critical epoch in ttie history 
of the two nations. It broke for ever the spcU of Persian invinci- 
bility, which had previously paralyzed men's minds. It generated 
among the (ireeks the spirit which beat back Xerxes, and after- 
wards led on Xenophon, Agesilaua, aitd Alexander, in terrible reta- 
liation through their Asiatic campaigns. It secured for mankind 
the intellectual treasures of Athens, the growth of free histitution 
the liberal enlightenntent of the western world, and the gradu 
ascendancy for many ages of the great principles of European civi- 




[ Osil 
battle 8 



On the 18th July, 1843, 11. M. squadron, consisting of one line-of* 
battle ship, two frigates, three brigs, and one steamer, under the com- 
mand of Admiral Sir Thomas Cochrane, got under weigh, formed order 
of sailing in two columns, and proceeded to beat down the Straits of 
Malacca* After several days' sailing, a fierce Sumatra squall wai 
encountered, which brought the squadron in two compact lines to 
BD anchor off* the Buffalo rocks in very deep water. Some cause 
prevented the commander-in-chief from approaching nearer to the 
town of Singapore. Supplies of bread and water having been brought 
out by an iron steamer, the Pluto, — Mr. Brooke, Rajah of Sarawak, 
aad Capt. Bethune, the commissioners for the affairs of Borneo, hav- 
ing embarked in the flag-ship, a brig of war detached to New Zealand 
—once more the order of sailing was formed, and the force proceeded 
down the straits of Singapore eii route for Borneo. 

That immense, unexplored, and little-known island haa, since the 
occupation of Singapore bv the British, as a natural consequence be- 
come of daily increasing importance, and the settlement on that fine 
and navigable river, the SarAwak, under the rajahship of Mr. Brooke, 
bids fair to produce results, which, even in his must sanguine mo- 
ments, he could scarcely have anticipated. 

It is hardly possible to speak of this gentleman in terms of suffi- 
cient force to convey an idea of what has already been accomplished 
by his talents, courage, perseverance, judgment, and integrity. It 
required moral courage of a high order, in the face of difficulties to 
tlie miudfi of most men insurmountable, to bring the wild, piratical, 
tnd treacherous Malay, and the still more savage race, the Dyalc 
tribes, not only to lit^ten to the voice of reason, but to become amen- 
able to its laws under his government. His perseverance was great 
under trials, disap^xtintments, and provocations of a nature to damp 
ibe energy of the most enthusiastic philanthropist that ever under- 
took to ameliorate the condition of his fellow man. His judgment 
lias been rarely excelled in discovering the secret motives of the differ- 
eot chiefs with whom his innumerable negotiations had to be conduct- 
ed ; and in an extraordinary decree ho possessed the power of discri- 
minating between the wish to be honest and that to deceive, betray, 
and plunder. He evinced the most unimpeachable integrity, Uie 
most rigid justice in protecting the poor man from the tyranny and 
exactions of the more powerful chief; and he showed his little 
kingdom that the administration of law was as indexible in its oper- 
iijon towards the great men of the country as towards the more 
Gamble of his aubjecta; — and all this he carried into effect by mild- 
■tas of manner and gentleness of rule. 




He has gained the love and affection of many ; be baa incurred the 
haired of some, and is hourly exposed to the sanguinary vengeance 
of the leaders, wliose riches were gathered amidst murder and plun- 
der from the unfortunate crew of some betrayed or shipwrecked ves- 
sel, and who have foresight sufficient to jrcrccive that if seitlenietiii 
similar to that on the SurawaU should he extended along the north- 
west coast of the island, their bloody occupation is gone. They 
therefore endeavour to hinder, us fur us in them lies^ the good which 
is flowing from the noble and brilliant example of bis highness the 
rajah of Sarkwak, of whom Great iiritain has reason to be proud. 
It is for the British government to afford that countenance and 
protection wliich shall be necessary to prevent the interference of 
others, wlio from jealousy may wisli by intrigues to interrupt, if not 
to destroy the great moral lesson now fust exhibited amongst iheM 
ytWd people, and in regions hitherto shrouded in the darkest cloudi 
of heathenism and barbarity, amongst a people by whom piracy, 
murder, and plunder are not considered as crimes, but as the common 
acts of a profession which their forefathers followed, which they have 
been tuugbt to look upon from their earliest days as the only true 
occupation, in which they may rise according to the number and 
atrocity of their cruelties. 

Not long since several wretches were convicted at Singapore, 
on the clearest evidence, and condemned to death for deeds of the 
most revolting and sanguinary barbarity. At the foot of the gallowi 
rather a fine-looking young man, a Malay, justified liirnself on the 
principles above stated, and died declaring iiimself an innocent and 
very ill-used man, since alt he hiicl done was in the regular way of 
his business. It is not to he wondered at then, that, entertaining 
such doctrines and sentiments, tiie whole Malay population of the 
great and numerous islands of ilie East, have been regarded by the 
European commerciiil world and navigators in these seas as a mcc 
of treacherous and bluud-thirsty miscreants. How admirable, then, 
in our countryman to have commenced the good work of regeneration 
amongst many millions of such men. not by the power of the sword, 
but by demonstrating practically the eternal and immutable rules 
equity and truth I 

On the arrival of the squadron off the Sarawak, a party accompanied 
the adTniral in the Pluto to the liouse and csiabli^hment of Mr. Brooke 
at Kulchidg, about eighteen miles above the mouth of the river. 
The house, although not large, is airy and commodious for the 
climate, and stands on the left bank of the river on undulating 
ground of the richest quality, capable of producing in abundance 
every article comihuju to the tropics; clearance was progressing on 
both sides of the river, and will doubtless rapidly increase when the 
perfect security of property which exists is more generally under- 
stood and appreciated. Some years ogo a small colony of indus- 
trious Chinese located themselves on the banks of the river, under 
the protection of the rajah of the day: their little settlement became 
flourishing and prosperous, and was rapidly increasing in wealth 
and importance, when at one fell swoop the villanous Malays seized, 
plundered, and murdered them ; and the more fortunate Chinese 
who escaped home spread the report of their treatment so widel 



that it will Loke some time to remove the impression^ But I feci 
convinced tliat emigration from China under British protection 
might be carried to any extent, and a race truly agricultural and 
industrious introduced, to the great benefit of this rich but neg- 
lected portion of (he world. It may be mentioned as a singular fact, 
that mi no part of this coast was the cocoa-nut, thul invariable type 
of a tropical region, found, having been giadually destroyed by 
pirates, until introduced by Mr. Brooke, who tias used every exertion 
to extend the planting of trees, by having the seedlings brought in 
great qunntities from Singapore ; and by convincing his people that 
every tree, at the end of a few years, is worth a dollar from the oil it 
will producCj which meets a ready sale at all times, many thousands 
have alrendy been [ilunted, and the number is Increasing. It is by 
such suKill beginnings that the minds of these people must be dis- 
tracted from the thoughts of robbery and plunder; and it is by prac- 
tically shewing them that dollars are to be had without the shedding 
of blood, that tlie rajah of Sai^wak is entleavouring to sow the seeds 
of industry and of civilization, and sfep by step to change their 
ideas, their habits, their hearts. That an all-wise Providence may 
prosper his undertuking, must be the prayer of those who may have 
visited his selttement, and who, like myself, have witnessed his disin- 
terested and unceasing thoughts for the peace, happiness, and comfort 
of the community of wliich he may truly be designated the "father," 
The town of Kutching stands on both sides of the river, here about 
200 yards across ; the liouses are of very slight construction, with 
open bamboo floors and mat pariitions, best adapted for the cliraatej 
although those occupied by the Europeans are ofa better description, 
— still of the same material— ull raided some feet from the ground to 
admit a free circulation of air from underneath. 

The night passed by the admiral and party was rendered very agree- 
able by cool refreshing breezes from some high, insulated, granitic 
mountains at a distance in the interior; and even during the day the 
heat was not unbearable: thermometer Fahr. about 8C'. The canoes 
on the river are of the slightest conslruclion, and are apparently 
unsafe; yet the passengers crossing the creeks and the river invaria- 
bly stand up in iheni, — but woe to the unpractised or unsteady I Ac- 
cidents, although rare, do sometimes occur, attended with loss of life. 
Mr. Brooke had been absent some six or seven weeks when the 
admiral accompanied him on his return to the settlement. He was 
not expected, but the news of his arrival spread with wonderful ve- 
locity, and the various cliiefs were speedily assembled to greet him 
with a cordial and hearty welcome. The reunion uf the oldest of his 
swarthy counscltors, as well as of the youngest, who dropped in after 
dinner bad been removed, and took their places on the benches by the 
sides of the walls, according to their modes, customs, and privileges, 
together with the naval otficers and European civilians, with the 
rajati in his chair, and two of hts most worthy native friends, entitled 
by birth to the distinction, seated beside him, presented a picture doC 
destitute of interest, certainly of great variety ; for some of the 
Dyaks, with rovmd heads, high cheek bones, and large jaws, remark- 
ably differing from the Malay race, were there to complete the back- 
ground. All were most attentively listening to the conversation of the 
rajah with his Malay neighbours, enjoying a cheroot oGcu&\n^^\^ 



given to them by the visitors, and quietly making their owi 
tions. Mr. Williamson, the interpreter, a native of Mah 
speaks the language as a Malay, had another group around him, 
eagerly putting questions on tlie various little subjects interestineto 
themselves ; and without the least approach to obtrusive faoiitiaritT, 
the evening was passed, I dare say, very much to the satisfaction ^ 
all parties. ^ 

The principal exports, at this period, consist of antimony ore. of 
great richness, producing 7i> per cent, of pure metal. It is found is 
great quantities, at a distance of ten miles up, in the river and by 
excavations from the base of some hills, in the manner of washing 
the mines. It is brought down the river by the natives, carried iott 
a wharf, where it is accurately weighed, and then shipped for Sing»- 
pore, by the rajah, who pays for the whole brought from the mines 
a stipulated price per picue to the chiefs, who pay the labour* 
boatmen^ and all other expenses. In former days, his highness 
rajah took the lion's share; but the arrangements of Mr. Brooke 
on the most liberal scale, his first and only object being to en^ 
industry, and to shew how greatly the comfort and happiness of 
are promoted by a rigid and just appreciation of the rights of propertj, 
and by a foithful and honourable adherence to every agreement and 
bargain. The result has been a vast increase in the quantity of ore 
exported, and an extending desire to be interebted in the business. 

A passing visit does not enable one to speak geologically of a couo- 
try; and as there is a gentleman of practical science at present nuk- 
ing his observations, it would be presumptuous in me to offer a reroarl 
on the formations of this great country. But a single glance at tbf 
beautifiilly undulating hills, at the gorgeous verdure, and growth of 
every branch of the vegetable kingdom, at once points out the inei- 
haustible capabilities of the soil for the cultivation of sugar, coffee, 
spices, and every fruit of the tropics, many of which already flourith 
as specimen!^ in the rajah's garden and grounds, and invite the indiMg 
trious to avail themselves of such a country and of such a river, tnU 
become proprietors on the banks of the Sarikwak. British capital attP 
protection and Chinese Coolies, would very soon change the north aod 
north-west coast of Borneo into one of the richest countries in 

The admiral proceeded in the morning some short distance up 
river to return the visit of the chiefs, and was every where receii 
with the royal salute of three guns; the whole party, accompanied 
the rajah and Mr. Williamson, the interpreter, at eleven a. m. 
embarked on board the Fluto, which had been in a very hazarddi 
situation during the night, having unfortunately grounded on a \edg9r 
of rocks close to the bank, by which she sustained considerable 
damage ; and proceeded down the river to regain the squadron « 
anchor off Tanjay Po, the western part of the Maratabes branch m 
the Sarawak ; and* here it was found that the steamer must be laid i9P 
the beach, as it was with difficulty the whole power of the engines 
applied to the pumps could keep her afloat ; she was accordingly 
placed on the mud flat at the entrance of the river. A frigate and an- 
other steamer were leU behind to assist in her rcBt, and the admi 
moved onwards towards Borneo Proper, wliere, in the course of a 
days, all were re-osseoiblcd, but in consequenc^e of the flag-ship. 





mistaking the chaDnel, haring struck the ground on the Moarno 
shore in going in, the ships were moved outwards some considerable 
distance. Mr. Brooke, accompanied by an officer from the Agincourt, 
vifiited the sultan at the city of Bruni; and, on the following day. 
ihe sultun's nephew, hcir-presuroptive to the throne, with a suite of 
some twelve or fifteen Pangeran and chiefs of the blood-royal, under 
the " yellow canopy," came down to return the compliment, and to 
communicate with the admiral on affairs of state; they were received 
with every mark of distinction and kindness by the commander-in-chief, 
and certainly there never was exhibited a more perfect sample of 
innate nobility and natural good manners, than was presented by 
Buddruden, to the observation of those who had the pleasure of 
witnessing bis reception on the quarter deck of a British ship of 
the line by a crowd of oHiccrs, and amidst the noise and smoke of a 
salute; the whole of this party were the intimate friends of Mr. 
Brooke and firmly attached to British interests. Buddruden, in reply 
to some question to him as to his ever having seen so large a ship 
before, said that, altliough descended from a very ancient and 
long line of ancestors, he had the proud satisfaction of being the 
first who had ever embarked on board a vessel of such wonderful 
magnitude and power, and £0 much beyond any idea he had formed 
of a ship of war. The most marked attention was paid by those 
who accompanied him to the privileges and etiquette of the country ; 
none below a certain rank presuming to sit down in his highness's 
presence; indeed, only those indisputably of the blood-royal were ad- 
mitted to that honour; every part of the ship was visited, and the 
prahu, with the yellow umbrella-shaped canopy, once more received 
her royal party, who proceeded to render an account of their visit to 
tlie sultan in his regal palace at Bruni, accompanied by the Pluto 

On the following morning, the admiral hoisted his Hag on board tlio 
Vixen, and, accompanied by the Pluto and Nemesis, also steamers, 
and taking with him a considerable force of seamen and marines, and 
an armed boat from each ship, proceeded up the river, with the in« 
tention of compelling Pang^ran YussufFto return to his obedience and 
duty to the sultan, and Co give an account of himself for being im- 
plicated in piratical transactions. 

On the arrival of the armament opposite the town, the sultan held 
a grand levee for the rcctjption, and in honour of the admiral's visit, 
and the Pongi^ran was summoned to present himself in submission 
to the mandate of the sultan. This he refused to do, and had even 
the hardihood to approach the palace, and when at last threatened to 
have his house blown about his ears, coolly answered, that the ships 
might begin to fire whenever they pleased, that he was ready for them; 
and sure enough, on the Vixen firing a sixty-eight pounder over his 
house to show the fellow how completely he was at the mercy oi'^ the 
squadron, lie fired his guns in return. A few rounds from the 
Steamers drove him from bis bamboo fortress. The marines took pos- 
session, and his magazine was emptied of its contents of gunpowder, 
which was started into the river, and all his brass guns were delivered 
over to the sultan, with the exception of two, which were retained, to 
be sold for the benefit of two Manilla Spaniards, who hud been pirat- 
ically seized as slaves, and who were now taken on board the squad- 



TOO to be restored to their home. Hit hoow beiog throvB open to 
the tcfider nerciet of his umuUjiMta , was ■pcciiy gattad of all hii 
31-£oUefi wcahh, aad left in Afiinhriiw TWre were so killed or 
womded. Pa p g^M YuKoff retreated lo the iaierior, conrtnaed in 
rebeHioov raised a force vtth vbkfa be attadred the tovn and Muda 
HsMin'c party, bat was defeatrd, paraoed, aid killed by Pang^ran 

The squadron proceeded to I^abooao, cut wood with the tbenno- 
aseter at 9i\ for the sieamers, filled theni ; and on the morning of 
the 15th of Anjwt, a new order of sailing aod battle wa« given out 
per ** buntin,** and the noveltT of two £rigBtea towing two steamers, 
was exhibited to the wondering eyes of those present, called upon to 
keep their appointed station, work to windward, tack in succession, 
and perform every erolution with the neatest precision, in spite of 
light winds, bearT squalls, and most variable weather 

The force intended to attack the stockade and fortiBed port of 
that arch-pirate Schcrriff Posman on the Malloodoo RiTcr, pro- 
ceeded under tlie immediate command of the admiral, who took the 
brigs and steamers wiih him to the entrance of the river, and here it 
was found that the iron steamers, which had caused snch trouble, 
were not of the slightest use, there not being water sufficient even 
for them over the bar. The whole flotilla was placed under the 
command of Captain Talbot, of the Vesta, the senior captain present, 
who, on the morning of the 19th of August, attacked with great 
gallantry, and carried the very strong position of the pirutes, with the 
lots of eight killed and thirteen wounded. The iron ordnance was 
broken, the fortiScation destroyed, and the town burned to the 
ground. It was reported the day after the action, that the Arab 
chief had been mortally wounded, but the squadron quitted the 
before this was continued. 

I cannot leave Borneo without giving a brief description of ll 
coast from the mouth of the Sarawak to this splendid bay* more 
ticularly as its features are so widely different from those general!] 
attributed to it. From the Sarawak to Tanjong Sirik, the land 
tow, and for some miles from the beach covered with roaogroi 
jungle, but from chat point to Borneo river, undulating ground, m( 
derate hills, and occasionally red-sand cliffs, mark the nature of tt 
country to be dry and susceptible of cultivation; and, as these V 
are clothed in perpetual verdure, there is nothing imaginary in 
supposition that the soil is salubrious and productive. From Bor 
river, north-eastward, a range of hills, of considerable altitude, 
the whole length of the coast, the sea, the greater part of the li 
washing their base; and immediately inland, in latitude 6" 
most magnificent and striking of all eastern mountains, Keen< 
Balloo, towers to the heavens to the height of l4,f>0U feet, cuttii 
the clear grey sky before sunrise with a sharp distinctness never 
cccded. and marking the primitive nature of its formation beyoi 
controversy. It may be culled an "island mountain/' for, with ll 
exception of the range of tiills above alluded to, and with which 
has no continuity, it rises abruptly from the plain, alone in its glorj 
and giant of tiic eastern stars— 

** Wich iDvteor itAndsrd to the breeu unfurPd, 
Looks from hii throne of iquolli o*er bilf ibe world.*' 



TbeBay of Mallooduo is extensive, with safe anchorage everywhere; 

the coast-range of hills terminates on its western Bhores, and round to 
the south-east the land is of nioderate lieighl, with a range of greater 
altitude at some distance inland^ and Kceney Biilloo bounds the view 
at about thirty-five miles distance in the soulh-west. The land on ihe 
eastern side is low, but on the vvliole a more e)i^il)le position to plant 
and protect a settlement is not to be found on the whole coast, and 
it stands so pre-eminently superior to Labooan or Baiambargan, and 
would so effectually destroy piracy in the nciglibuuring seas, that the 
British government ought to have no hesitation in taking possession 
oCthis bay, with sufficient breadth of territory to secure supplies and 
support for a colony. It is quite evident, from the manner in which 
this pirate Arab has held possession with impunity, and, from hts 
stronghold, had carried on his depredations for years, eittier that the 
Sultan of Borneo acted in coHusion with him, and was a willing wit- 
ness to his atrocities, or tliat he had not the power to clear his terri- 
tory of such a miscreant. I have no doubt of the ibrmer being the 
case, as much of the property acquired by blood and rapine has fre- 
quently been sold publicly in Borneo ; perhaps some of it is to be found 
in the palace of the sultan. There ought to be no delicacy in this 
matter. Great Britain's claim to the country is scarcely disputed. 
One well fortified post would, with the presence of a brig-of-war or 
two, secure the obedience of the whole district. As for Balambar- 
gan, it is an arid, sandy island, with scanty supply of water» and an 
unproductive soil. It has two harbours, both small and intricate^and 
must always depend upon foreign supply for its sustenance. Labooan 
may be somewhat better, but its geographical position is not eligible 
as a station for vessels of war intended to suppress piracy* being too 
far to leeward in the north-cast monsoon, and too distant from the 
Sooloo seas and acljacent straits, noiv much frequented by the nume- 
rous vessels trading to China, to afford them that protection which a 
settlement at Malloodoo would at once accomplish. Merchant ves- 
sels using the Palawan passage from India and the Straits of Malacca, 
would find in Malloodoo Hay, during the strength of the north-east 
monsoon, a wide and extensive anchorage in which to take temporary 
■helter, and muke any refit which might become necessary from 
working against the monsoon, as weU as easy access, equally conve- 
nient for vessels taking the Balabac Straits, coming from thence and 

Stone may be had in abundance in nny part of the bay ; excellent 
stone-cutters from Hong Kong in any numbers might be procured, 
Bnd Coolies in thousands would be found to accompany them. A 
week's run thence, in the north-cast monsoon, would land a wing of a 
Madras regiment on the ground, and a few Junks would convi^y all 
the living and dead material necessary to place them in comfort and 
security in a very short time. The climate is good, the land is rich, 
Biid water abundant; the countless acres would soon attract the in- 
dustry of the CInnese, when once assured of protection to their lives, 
and undisturbed possession of their property. 

The admiral, accompanied by the Borneo Commissioners, went over 
on board the Vixen steamer, to the island Balambargan, on the after- 
noon of the 21st, and the ships of the squadron followed in the course 
of the night, taking up their anchorage outside the shoals of the south- 

■^ bibtt 

t U tke nKtbern 

ac daj-davn oo 

iaoK&ey for the 

by the Eut India 

dnvcB br the Sooloo 

in 1809, and 

acuietneot. The 

daar right to thii 

MhMba^ Uberatad 

ukcK fagr Sir WOliav 

aBritiA kmad, aod part 

dcarij traced by 
«fer a canaaderable sur- 
al' awck/Kry and gla» give 
tbe bouses, boiUtiogir 
aD are mom nlent and for- 
covered wHh san^ 

anty indicatiocis cf 
«■ tbe hea cb , ia u>e directioa of 


free, aad tlte 

iteridenoe ibat 

bibtt 4rj9amm ite 
t^ btttfaoT a vctT 
be^oMcted. A 
tbe aeatbcfftt baibov* led to aa ftnber ducentrj than that 
rsdpea of daj cvoaKd tbe ■bB^tcrviaao^g at tbe tbore in coodenie 
altiXttdc^ ma covered vttb treca oT rniidMihlj Urgicr dimensiov 
than tboae acar the site of the town. A uom^Il dicmr of the htf* 
hour was mMle by cbe VUao^ htm tbe puddle horrt of which, tbt 
aurroiDiding oouatry beiag abuoM levd mtb tbe tea, ooold be dearly 
distingimbed as of tbe mne mndj aatare, but which, in all proba- 
bility, is in the rainy leieon, a lagonn eaoraly covered with water. It 
had a poor and uninviting ayy c aiaiKe . Several large h aboo na can* 
to the beach, and, takii^ op uietr ant oa aooe bUen tnmk of a treci 
gazed with great traiiiqittllity at the Pinto as she passed along. 
Many tracks of the wdd bog were seen oo tbe beach, but on tbe 
whole, Balambargan is the iM i^and I should select as my ** Bart" 

A short visit was made to tbe adjacent island of Bangney, and * 
boat went up a river oo the south-wesi quarter, running for scvi 
miles through low, flat, manfroTe jungle, but descending in clear 
cades from tbe hilly port oi the inland, which ranges entirely ali 
tho north-wefltern division, and terminates at the north point inj 
very remarkable and beautiful cooical peak* 2000 feet high, covi 
to the apex with evergreen wood. Tbe south-eastern division is 
and probably of the same mangrove jungle through which tbe 
ascended the river, after having with ditiiculty got over a flat bar 
its entrance. On this expedition not a living animal was seen, 
even a bird, but the elevated part of Bangney presented a far 
inviting aspect than anything to be seen in Balambargan. Ti 
tliere is no harbour, and, with the exception of the river alli 
to. it is said to want water. The piratical prahus sometimes 

LdeKvous here, in readiness to pounce on any unwary vessel 
through the Balabac Straits. 
Let me express a hope that tbe British government will s[ 
alter the face of affairs in these seas, by supporting Mr Brooke 
Ssrjtwak, and. without loss of time, planting a similar colony 
ores of the buy of Malloodoo. 






It was the last night of the year ; and from his lattice an old man 
gazed with a look of despair upwards to the bright and blue heaven, 
and downwards upon the tranquil, white-mantled earth, on which 
no human being was so jobless and sleepless as he. 

His grave seemed to stand near him^ covered, not with the green 
of youth, but with the snow of age. Nothing had he brought with 
him out of his whole Hfe^ nothing save his sins, follies, and diseases, 
a wasted body, a desolate soul, a heart iilled with poison, and an 
old age of remorse and wretchedness. 

And now, like spectres of the past, the beautiful days of his 
youth passed in review before him, and saddened memory was 
there, and drew him back again to that bright morning when his 
father first placed him at the opening paths of life, which, on the 
right, led by the sun-illumined track of virtue, into a pure and 
peaceful land, full of angels and harmony, of recompense and light, 
— and on the left, descended by the darkling mole-ways of vice, 
into a black cavern, dropping poison, full of deadly serpents, and of 
gloomy sultry vapours. 

Those serpents were abeady coiled about his breast. — the poison 
was on hia tongue^ and he knew notv where he was ! Fairy meteors 
danced before him, extinguishing themselves in the churchyard^ 
and he knew them to be C/tc daj/s of' his folly. 

He saw a star fly from heaven, and fall oimmed and dissolving to 
the earth. " That," said he, "is myself," and the serpent fangs of 
remorse pierced still more deeply his bleeding heart. 

His excited fancy now showed him sleep-walkers gliding away 
from house-tops, and the arms of a giant wint3mill threatened to 
destroy him. He turned, — he tried to escape, — but a mask from the 
neighbouring charnel-house lay before him, and gradually assumed 
his own features. 

While in this paroxysm, the music of the opening year flowed 
down from the steeples — falling upon his ear like distant anthems — 
his troubled soul was soothed with gentler emotions. He looked at 
the horizon, and then abroad on the wide world, and he thought on 
the friends of his youth, who, better and more blest than himself, 
were now teachers on the earth, parents of families, and I'ftpp^ vtcn! 

In this dreamy retrospect of the days of his youth, the fantastic 
features o^ the mask seemed to change; it raised itself up in the 
charnel-house, — and his weepine spirit beheld his former blooming 
6gure placed thus in bitter mockery before him. 

He could endure it no longer, — he covered his eyes, — a flood of 
scalding tearf^ streamed into the snow, — bis bosom was relieved, and 
he sighed softly, unconsciously, inconsolably — " Only come again, 
youth, — come only once again !" 

And it came again ! for he had only dreamt so fearfully on that 
new year's night. He was still a youth. His errors alone had been 
no dream, and he thanked God that while yet young he could turn 
from the foul paths of vice into the sun-track which conducts to th.e 
pure land of blessedness and peace. 




Sir Sidney Smith was one of ibose heroes whose iropulsire charac* 
ter seems to identify them with romance rather ihan history. Sent to 
sea at an unusually early period, he had only received as much educa- 
tion as served to stimulate his fei^lings vrithout maturing his judgment, 
and the desultory course of reading he chose for his own instruction, 
exalted his imagination beyond the due proportion of that attribute to 
the reasoning powers. He entered the navy in 1775, being then little 
more than eleven years of age, and was barely fourteen when he waj 
wounded in an action between Rritifth and American frigates. Among 
his companions as a midahipmau, was the late William IV ; they 
both served under Sir George Rodney in the battle off Cape St. Vin- 
cent, and Smith was a Ueutenant in the still more memorable engage- 
ment of the 12th of April 1 78S, when Rodney achieved a conquest, 
rather than a victory, over Count de Grasse, in the West Indian Seas. 

In 1789 Captain Smith, whose promotion had been very rapid, ob' 
tained leave of absence for the purpose of making a tour to the north- 
ern courts, but he does not appear to have gone farther than Stock- 
holm, Here similarity of disposition procured him the friendship of 
the chivalrous King of Sweden, Gustavus 111., then engaged in a var 
with Russia, and in a far more dangerous elnigg^e against hia own feu- 
dal aristocracy. Though unable to obtain permission from his own go- 
vernment to enter into the Swedish service, Captain Smith accompanied 
Gustavus through the campaign of 1700, acting more as a confidential 
adviser than a disinterested spectator. Ho saw the plans which Gus- 
tavus had judiciously formed, and \^hich, if acted upon, would have been 
completely successful, utterly frustrated by the disafft'ction and inca- 
pacity of the Swedish naval officers. Never was there a more signal 
instance of men allowing the feelings of party to triumph over those of h 
patriotism ; adequately supported, Gustavus might have seized St*l 
Petersburg; deserted and betrayed, he had to tremble for Slockholm. 
Even thus he concluded no inglorious peace, and he shewed his grali* 
tude for the services of Sidney Smith, by sending him the Swedish 
Order of the Sword, at lUe close of the war. The Engliijh court sanc- 
tioned the honour, and the ceremonial of investiture was performed by 
George lU. at Su James's. 

Sir Sidney Smith was sent on a special raisF^ion to Constantinople, 
apparently to examine the adequacy of the Turkish power to resist a 
Russian invasion. He was summoned home in consetpirnce of the 
breaking out of the war with revolutionary France ; and observing at 
Smyrna a number of British seamen wandering about, he engaged them 
as volunteers, ond having purchased a small vessel, hasted to join Lord 
Hood, who had just taken possession of Toulon. The unhappy result 
of that occupation is known to history ; it is only necessary to state that 
the burning of the ships, store*, and arsenal, which had unaccountably 
been neglected to the latest moment, was the work of Sir Sidney Smith, 
%fao volunteered it under the disadvantage of there licing no previoua 
preparation for it wliatcver. As he was at this time an officer on half- 




pay, the French pretended to regard his interference &■ an act of piracy, 
and this laid the foundatiou of the personal hatred with which he was 
regarded by Napoleon. 

The service to which he was next appointed was one calculated to in- 
crease the hatred of the French gainst Sir Sidney personally. He waa 
sent in command of the Diamond frigate, to clear the channel of French 
privateers and cruisers, and lo keep in alarm by repeated attacks the 
various points and ports of the coast. AAcr having performed several 
dashing exploits, he was unfortunately captured off the port of Havre 
in a lugger, and instead of being treated as a prisoner of war, he was 
sent as a state criminal to Paris, and confined in the Temple. After 
two years of close, but not very severe captivity, he succeeded in making 
his efcayte, and returned safely to Kugland. 

Napoleon soon after sailed with an immense armament for Egypt ; 
and Sir Sidney Smith, who had been appointed to the command of the 
Tigre, was sent to join the Mediterranean fleet, then under the com- 
mand of Earl St. Vincent ; hut he also received a commission appoint- 
ing him joint minister plenipotentiary with his brother, at the court of 
Coustai)tmop1e ; and as this commission was distinct from any orders 
of the Board of Admiralty, it seemed to give him an independence 
of his superiors in command, which was very offensive to Earl St. 
Vincent and Admiral Nelson. Fortunately his diplomatic mission en- 
abled him to reach St. Jean d'Acre two days before Buonaparte arrived 
before that town, which, though wretchedly provided with the means of 
defencCj was the key of Syria, and perhaps of the Ottoman Empire. 
The little British squadron infused such courage into the Turks, both 
by their presence and example, that Napoleon was stopped in the full 
career of victory. The siege lasted sixty days, and there was hardly 
one of those days in which the seamen and marines of the three British 
ibips, led by their gallant commander, did not perform some brilliant 
and dashing achievement. His own graphic but modest record of his 
Jenrices, published iu Mr. Barrow's volumes, is one of the most interest- 
lag narratives of war to be found in any language. 

Wc shall not attempt to abridge it ; our readers will be far more 
grateful to us if they take our advice and read the story in the hero's 
ioiroitable words. Among the numerous tributes of honour paid hira 
by a grateful coimlry not the least pleasing to his feelings, was a warm 
Irtter of congralulatiou from Nelson, which showed that the great 
admiral forgot all personal feelings of jealousy when the glory of his 
country was concerned. 

After the departure of Buonaparte from his army, Kleber, who suc- 
ceeded to the command, was anxious to make a convention nith the 
English and Turkish authorities for the evacuation of Egypt. The 
British goverument disapproved of the terms which Sir Siduey Smith 
was disposed to grant, and this involved him in some painful discus- 
sions with the Earl of Elgin, who had superseded him in the embassy 
lo Constantinople. A cry was raised that Sir Sidney Smith waa 
too much disposed to favour the French ; and though Sir Ralph 
Abercrorabie cheerfully availed himself of his assistance in landing 
the British expedition at Alexandria ; yet, on the death of that gene- 
ra). Lord Hutchinson, who succeeded lo the command, removed Sir 
Sidney Smith froui the command of the gun-boats attached to the 
tnny, a slight which was felt very keenly. Admiral Lord Keith 



soothed Sir Sidney's feelings by sending- him home with the despai 
announcing the victorious progress of the British arms in Egypt, 
was received at home with rapturous enthusiasm ; congratulatory ad- 
dreMes pouted in upon him from all sides, and he was elected to parlia 
ment for the city. 

The treaty of Amiens was a suspension of arms rather than a peace. 
Soon after the renewal of hostilities. Sir Sidney Smith was appointed to 
the command of a small squadron in the north seas, with the rauk 
of commodore. Repeated vexations induced him to resign, but to- 
wards the close of 1 805, he was promoted to the rank of rear-admirali 
and sent to join Lord Collingwood tn the Mediterranean. 

The duty which now devolved on Sir Sidney Smith was to protect 
Sicily ana recover the kingdom of Naples from the French. As ibe 
latter object was soon found unattaiuable, he was ordered to join Sir 
John Duckworth in the memorable and unfortunate expedition to the 
DardaDL'lles. We deem it fortunate that our limited space precloda. 
the possibility of our criticising an expcdiuon badly planned and won* 
executed ; and we have just as little regret at being compelled to psa 
over the employment of such a hero as Sir Sidney Smith in escorting 
the Prince Kcgcnt of Portugal to the Brazils. It is useless to disguise 
the fact that the name of Sir Sidney Smith had appeared in what was called 
the ** Delicate Investigation** into the conduct of the Princess of Wales, 
and that thenceforth^ he was doomed to feel the coldness and almost 
hostility of the cabinet. After a harassing and thankless service in the 
Mediterranean, he returned to England in 1S14, and hauled down his 
flag which was never again hoisted. 

Impatient of idleness, Sir S'.dney Smith devoted his energies to the 
formation of a general society for the abolition of Christian Slavoy, 
carried on by the Barbary States ; he contrived to interest the Congren 
of European Sovereigns assembled at Vienna, in this project, and fonsMl 
a society of knights and liberators. 'Hie brilliant exploits of Lord Ex* 
mouth, at Algiers, soon rendered the association useless, and its objects 
were always too limited to allow of its acquiring general interest. 

Until the publication of Mr. Barrow's book, we were not aware thit 
Sir Sidney Smith was actually present at the battle of Waterloo. He 
was at Brussels with his family when intuUigence of the probability of tn 
engagement arrived ; his love of adventure induced him to hasten to the 
fleld, but merely as a spectator. When, however, " the red field was won," 
he honourably exerted himself to alleviate the sufferings of the woundvd. 
and spared neither his purse nor his labour in this generous service, ll 
was probably through the exertions of the Duke of Wellington that he 
was soon aher created a Knight Commander of the Bath, an honour 
tardily and^ wo belinvei reluctantly conceded by the Prince Regent. 

Sir Sidney Smith's acceptance of the office of the Regent of the 
Knights Ten]|)lars, and his pertinacious efforts to restore that order to 
something of its ancient dignity are clear proofs that the chivalry of his 
choracter had a tendency to degenerate into quixotism ; and this was 
prohably the reason why he continued to be neglected after the acces- 
sion of his old comrade, William IV., to the throne. In 1838, he 
received from her present Majesty the Grand Cross of the Order of 
the Bath. He diL^l at Paris, May 2Cth, 1840, and was followed to the 
grave by the most distinguished foreign officers then assembled in the 
French capital. 





The screams of ra^re, the f^oan, tlie strife, 

The lilow, ilie gmitp, tli« horrid cry, 
Th« panting, throttled prayer far life, 
The dying's heaving Hgh, 
The murderer's curse, the dead man's fixed^ sHlI glare. 
And fear^ii aud death's cold swest^they all are there. 

Matthew Lec. 


It was high time that Capt. Spike shoult! arrive when his fool 
loucbetl (he bottom of the yawl. The men were getting impatient 
and anxious to the last degreei and the power of Setior Muntefulderon 
to control them, was lessening each instant. They heard the rending 
of timber, ami the grinding on the coral, even more distinctly than 
the captain himself, and feared that the brig would break up while 
they Ifly alongside of her, and crush them amid the ruins. Then the 
spray of the seas t!mt broke over the wealhcr-side of the brig, fell 
like rain upon them; and every body in the boat was already as wet 
as if exposetl to a violent shower. It was well, therefore, for Spike, 
that he descended into the boat as he did^ for another minute's delay 
might have brought about his own destruction. 

Spike felt a chill at bis heart when be looked about him and saw 
the condition of the yawl. So crowded were the stern-sheets into 
which he had descended, that it was with difficulty he found room to 
place his feet ; it being his intention to steer, Jack was orilered to get 
into the eyes of the bout, in order to give him a seaU The thwarts 
were crowded, and three or four of the people had placed themselves 
in the very bottom of the little cralY, in order to be as much as pos* 
sible out of the way, as well os in readiness to bale out water, ^o 
seriously, indeed, were all the seamen impressed with the gravity of 
this last duty, that nearly every man had taken with him some vessel 
fit for such a purpose. Rowing was entirely out of the question, there 
being no space for the movement of the arms. The yawl was too low 
in the water, moreover, for such an operation in so heavy a sea. In 
all, eighteen persons were squeezed into a little crafl that would have 
been sufficiently loaded, for moderate weather at sea, with its four 
oarijmen and as many sitters in the stern-sheets, with, perhaps, one in 
the eyes to bring her more on an even keel. In other words, she had 
just twice the weight in her, in living freight, that it would have been 
thought prudent to receive in so small a craft, in an ordinary time, in 
or out of a port. In addition to the human beings enumerated, there 
was a good deal of baggage, nearly every individual having had the 
forethought to provide a few clothes for a change. The food and 
water did not amount to much, no more having been provided than 
enough for the purposes of the captain, together with the four men 
with whom it had been his intention to abandon the brig. The effect 
of all this cargo was to bring the yawl quite low in the water; and 




arery seafaring man in her had the greatest apprehensions about her 
being able to float at all when she got out from under (he lee of the 
Swash, or into the troubled water. Try it slie must, however^ and 
Spike, in a reluctant and hesitating manner, gave the final order to^ 
"shove off!" 

Hie yawl carried a lugg, as is usually the case with boats at Be%' 
and the tirst bloat of the breeze upon it satisfied Spike that his pre- 
sent enter|>rise was one of the most danf^^erous of any in which he had 
ever been engaged. The pu0s of wind were quite as much as the 
boat would bear; but this he did not mind, as he was running off 
before it, and there was little danger of the yawl capsizing with &uch 
a weight in licr. It was also an advantage to have swiii way on, to 
prevent the combing waves from shooting into the boat, though the 
wind itself scarce outstrips the send of the sea in a stiff blow. As 
the yawl cleared the brig and began to feel the united power of the 
wind and waves, the following short dialogue occurred between the 
boatswain and Spike. 

"I dare not keep my eyes off the breakers ahead," the captain 
commenced, "and must trust to you. Strand, to rejwrt what is going 
on among the man-of-wur's men. What is the ship about?** 

" Reefing her top-sails just now, sir. All three are on the caps, and 
the vessel is Inying-to, in a manner." 

*• And her boats?" 

" I see none, sir — ay, ay, there they come from alongside of her in 
a little fleet I Tlierc are four of them, sir, and all are coming dowa 
before the wind, wing and wing, carrying their luggs reefed." 

** Ours ought to be reefed by rights, too, but we dare not stop to 
do it; and these infernal combing seas seem ready to glance aboard 
us with all the way we can gather. Stand by to bale, men ; we must 
pass through a strip of white wati'r — there is no help for it. God 
send that we go cleur of the rocks ] " 

All this was fearfully true. The adventurers were not yet more 
than a cable's length from the brig, and they found themselves sA 
completely environed with the breakers, as to be compelled to go 
through them. No man in his sunses would ever have come into such 
a place at all, except in the most unavoidable circumstances ; and it 
was with a species oa" desfmrr that the seamen of the yawl now saw 
their little croft go plunging into the foam. 

but Spike neglected no preciiution that experience or skill could 
suggest. He had chosen his spot with coolness and judgment. As 
the boat rose on the seas, he looked eagurly ahead, and by giving it 
a timely sheer, he hit a sort of channel, where there was sufficient 
water to carry them clear of the rock» and where the breakers were 
less dangerous than in the shoaler places. The passage lasted about 
a minute ; and so serious was it, that scarce an itidividuul breathed 
until it was effected. No human skill could prevent the water from 
combing in over the gunwales; and when the danger was passed, 
the yawl was a third HUed with water. There was no time or 
place to pause, but on the little cralt was dragged almost gunwale tO| < 
the breeze coming against the lugg in puffs that tlireotened to tak«|fl 
the mast out of her. Alt Imnds were baling; and even Biddy usedV 


her hands to aid in throwing out the water. 
*' This is no time to hesitate, men " said 

Spike, sternly. 




thing must gQ overboard but the ibod and water. Away with them 
at once, and with a will." , 

It was a proof how completely all hands were alarmed by this, the 
first experiment in the breukcrs, that not a man stayed his tuind a 
single moment, but each threw into the eea, without an inslunt of 
hesitation, every article he had brought with l»im, and had hoped lo 
save. Biddy parted with the carpet-ba{^, and Seiior Montefalderon, 
feeling the importance of example, committed to the deep a small 
wriliiip-desk that he had placed on his knees. The doubloons alone 
remained sai'e in a little locker where Spike had deposited theui along 
villi his own. 

" What news astern, boatswain ? " demanded the captain, as soon 
as this imminent danger was passed, absolutely afraid to turn his eyes 
off the dangers ahead for a single instant. ** How come on the man- 
of-war's men ? " 

** They are running down in a body toward the wrecks though one 
of their boats does seem to be sheering out of the line, as if getting 
into our wake. It is hard to say, sir, fur they are still a good bit to 
windward of the wreck." 
•'And the Molly, Strand?" 

■* Why, sir, the Molly seems to be breaking up fast ; as well as I 
can seCf she has broke in two just abatt the fore-chains, and cannot 
hold together in any shape at all many minutes longer." 

This information drew a deep groan from Spike, and the eye of 
every seaman in the boat was turned in melancholy on the object they 
were so fast leaving behind them. The yawl could not be said to be 
uiiing very rapidly, considering the power of the wind, which was 
i little gale, for she was much too deep for that; but she left the 
irreck so fast as already to render objects on board tier indistinct. 
Everybody saw that, like an overburdened steed, she had more to get 
ilong with than she could well bear; and, dependent as seamen 
usually are on the judgment and orders of their superiors, even in 
the direst emergencies, the least experienced man in her saw that 
their chances of final escape from drowning were of the most doubt- 
iiil nature. The men looked at each otiier in a way to express their 
filings; and the moment seemed favourable to Spike to confer with 
liis confidential sea-dogs in private ; but more white water was ahead, 
tod it was necessary to pass through it, since no opening was visible 
by which to avoid ic He deferred his purpose, consequently, until 
this danger was escaped. 

On this occasion Spike saw but little opportunity to select a place 
to gel through the breakers, though the s[)0t, as a whole, was not of 
the most dangerous kind. The reader will understand that the pre- 
Krvution nf the boat at all, in white water, was owing to the ciroum- 
ilAoce that the rocks all round it lay so near the surface of the sea, 
as lo prevent the possibility of agitating the element very seriously, 
and to the fact that she was near the lee side of the reef. Had the 
breakers been of the magnitude of tliose which are seen where the 
deep rolling billuws of the ocean first met the weather side of the 
ibodls or rocks, a crafl of that size, and so loaded, could not possibly 
have passed the first line of white water witliout filling. As it was, 
however, the breakers site had to contend with were sufficiently 
formidable, and ihcy brought with them the certainty that the boat 



was in imminent danger of striking the bottom at any moment 
Places like those in which Mulford had waded on the reef, while it 
was calm, would now have proved fatal to the strongest frame, since 
human powers were insufficient long to withstand the force of such 
waves as did glance over even these shallows. 

" Look out T*' cried Spike, as the boat again plunged in among the 
white water. " Keep baling, men — keep baling." 

The men did bate, and the danger was over almost as soon a« ea- 
countered, Something like a cheer burst out of the chest of Spike, 
when he saw deeper water around him, and fancied he could now trace 
a channel that would carry him quite beyond the extent of the reef. 
It was arrested, only half uttered, however, by a communication from 
the boatswain, who sat on a midship thwart, his arms folded, and his 
eye on the brig and the boats. 

"There goes the Molly's masts, sir! Both have gone togetherj. 
and as good sticks was they, before them bomb-shells passed through' 
our rigging, as was ever stepped in a keelson," 

The cheer was changed to something like a groan, while a murtnuf' 
of regret passed through the boat. 

" What news from the man-of-war's men, boatswain ? Do thej 
still stand down on a mere wreck?" 

"No, sir; they seem to give it up, and are getting out their oarfl' 
to pull back to their ship. A pretty time they 'II have of it, too. 
The cutter that gets to windward halfa mile in an hour, ag'in such a 
sea, and such a breeze, must be well pulled and better steered. Oof 
chap, however, sir, seems to hold on." 

Spike now ventured to look behind him, commanding an expe* 
ricnced hand to take the helm. In order to do this he was obtigeiftl 
to change places with the man he had selected to come aft, whtcb 
brought him on a thwart alongside of the boatswain and one or two 
other of his confidants. Here a whispered conference took place, 
which lasted several minutes. Spike appearing to be giving instruc- 
tions to the men. 

By this time the yawl was more than a mile from the wreck, all 
the man-of-war boats but one had lowered their sails, and were pull- 
ing slowly and with great labour back toward the ship, the cutter that 
kept on evidently laying her course after the yawl, instead of stand- 
ing on toward the wreck. The brig was breaking up fast, with every 
probability that nothing would be left of her in a few more minutes. 
As for the yawl, while clear of the white water, it got along without 
receiving many seas aboard, though the men in its bottom were kept 
baling without intermission. It appeared to Spike that so long as 
ihey remained on the reef, and could keep clear of breakers — a most 
difficult thing, however — they should fare better than if in deeper 
woter, where the swell of the sea, and the combing of the waves, 
menaced so small and so deep-loaded a craft with serious danger. 
As it was, two or three men could barely keep the boat clear, work- 
ing inccssantlyi and most of the time with a foot or two of water in 

Josh and Simon bad taken their seats, side by side, with that sort 
of dependence and submission that causes the American black to abs- 
tain from mingling with the whites more than might appear seemly. 
Tliey were squeezed on to one end of the thwart by a couplu of ro*^ 



bust old sea-dogs, who were two of the very men with whom Spike 
had been in consultation. Beneath that very thwart was stowed 
another confidant, to whom comuiunicatioiis had slUo been made. 
These men had sailed long in tlic Swash, and having been picked up 
in various ports, from time to time, us the brig had wanted hands, 
they were of nearly as many difl'erent nations as they were persons. 
Spike lifid obtained a great ascendency over them by habit and au- 
thority, and his suggestions were now received ns a sort of law. As 
soon us ttie conference was ended, the captain returned to the helm. 

A minute more passed, during which the captain was anxiously 
surveying the reef ahead, and the state of tilings astern. Ahead was 
more white water— the last before they should get clear of the reef; 
and astern it was now settled that the cutter, that held on through 
thu dangers of the place, was in chase of the yawl. That Mulford 
was in her. Spike made no doubt ; and the thought embittered even 
hts present calamities, But the moment had arrived for some- 
thing decided. 'I'hc white water nhead was much more formidable 
thnii any they had passed ; and the boldest seaman there gazed at it 
with dread. Spike made a sign to the boatswain, and commenced the 
execution of his dire project. 

" I say, you Josh," calletlout the captain, in the authoritative tones 
ttiat are so familiar to all on board a ship, '* pull iti that fender that is 
dragging alongside.** 

Josh leaned over the gunwale, and reported that there was no fen- 
der uut« A malediction followed, also so familiar to those acquainted 
with ships, and the black was told to look again. This time, as had 
been expected, the negro leaned with his head and body far over the 
aide of the yawl, to look for that which had no existence, when two of 
the men beneath the thwart shoved his legs after them. Josh 
screamed, as he found himself going into the water, with a sort of 
confused consciousness of the truth ; and Spike called out to Simon 
to " catch bold of his brother nigger." The cook bent forward to 
obey^ when a similar nflsault on Am legs from beneath the thwart .sent 
him headlong after Josh. One of the younger seamen, who was not 
in the secret, sprang up to rescue Simon, who grasped his extended 
hand, when the too generous fellow was pitched headlong from the boat. 

All this occurred in less than ten seconds of time, and so unexpect- 
edly and naturally, that not a soul, beyond those who were in the 
secret, had the least suspicion it was anything but an accident. Some 
water was shipped, of necessity, but the boat was soon baled free. 
As for the victims of this vile conspiracy, they disappeared amid the 
troubled waters of the reef, stniggliny with each other, t^ach and 
all met the common fate so much the sooner, from the maimer in 
which they impeded (heir own efforts. 

The yawl was now relieved from abuut five hundred pounds of the 
weight it had carried — Simon weighing two hundred alone, and the 
youngish seaman being large and full. So intense does human self- 
ishness get to be, in moments of great emergency, that it is to be 
feared most of those who remained secretly rejoiced that they were 
ao far benefited by the loss of their fellows. The Sciior Montefal- 
deron was seated on the aftermost thwart, with his legs in the stern- 
•heets, and consequently with his back toward the negroes; and he 
fully believed that what had happened was purely accidental. 

VOL. xxiii. Q 



"Let us lower our sail, Don Esteban,** he cried, eagerly, " 
save the poor fellows." 

Something very like a sneer gleamed on ihc dark countenance oT 
the captain, but it suddenly changed to a look of assent. 

** Good I" he said, hastily ; " spring forward, Don Wan, and lower 
tlie sail — stand by the oars, men !" 

Without pausing to reflect, the generous-hearted Mexican stepped 
on a thwart, and began to walk rapidly forward, steadying himself 
by placing his hands on the heads of the men. He was sutTered to 
get as far as the second thwart, or past most of the conspirators, 
when his legs were seized from behind. The truth now flaithed od 
him, and grasping two of the men in his front, who knew nothing 
of Spike's dire scheme, he endeavoured to save himself by holding to 
their jackets. Thus assailed, those men seized others with like in- 
tent, and an awful struggle lulled alt that jiart of the crat>. At ihii 
dread instant the boat glanced into the white water, shipping so much 
of the element as nearly to swamp her, and taking so wild a sheer, 
as nearly to broach-to. This last circumstance probably saved her, 
fearful as was the danger for the moment. Everybody in the middle 
of the yawl was rendered desperate by the amount and nature of the 
danger incurred, and the men from the bottom rose in thuir might, 
underneath the combatants, when a common plunge was made by til 
who stood erect, one dragging overboard another, each a good deil 
hastened by the assault from beneath, until no less than six were 
gone. Spike got his helm up, the boat fell off, and away from the spitt 
it flew, clearing the breakers, and reaching the northern wall-like mar- 
gin of the reef at the next instant. There was now a moment when 
those who remained could breathe, and dared to look behind them. 

The great plunge had been made in water so shoal, that the boat 
bad barely escaped being dashed to pieces on the coral. Had it 
not been so suddenly relieved from the pressure of near a thousanil 
pounds ill weight, it is probable that this calamity would have he- 
fallen it, the water received on board contributing so much to weigh 
it down. The struggle between these victims ceased, however, the 
moment they went over. Finding bottom for their feet, they re- 
leased each other, in a desperate hope of prolonging life by wading. 
Two or tJiree held out their arms, and shouted to Spike to return 
and pick them up. This dreadful scene lasted but a single instant. 
for the waves dashed one after another from his feet, continually 
forcing them all, as they occasionally regained their footing, toward 
the margin of the reef, and Anally washing them off it into deep wa* 
tcr. No human power could enable a man to swim back to the 
rocks, once to leeward of them, in the face of such seas, and so heavy 
a blow ; and the miserable wretches disappeared in succession* as 
their strength became exhausted, in the depths of the gulf. 

Not a word had been uttered while this terrific scene was in the 
course of occurrence ; not a word was uttered for sometime after- 
ward. Gleams of grim satisfaction had been seen on the counten- 
ances of the boatswain and his associates, when the success of their 
uetarious project was first assured ; but they soon di&api>eared in 
looks of horror as they witnessed the struggles of the drowning men. 
Nevertheless, human sel/iahness was strong witliin them all, and none 
there was so ignorant as not to perceive how mucli better were the 
chances of the yawl nuw than it had been on quitting the wreck. 



The weight of a large ox liad been taken from it, counting that of all 
the eight men drowned; and as for the water shipped, it was soon 
baled back again into the Kea. Not only, therefore, was the yawl in a 
better coocUtion to resist the waves, but it sailed materially faster 
than it bad done befure. Ten persons btill remained in it, however, 
which brought it down in the water below its pro[>cr load-line; and 
the speed of a craft so small was necessarily a good deal lessened by 
the least deviation from its best sailing or rowing trim. But Spikes 
projects were not yet completed. 

All this time the man-of-war's cutter had been rushing as madly 
through the breakers, in chase, as the yawl had done in the attempt 
to escape. Mulford was, in fact, on board it ; and hts now fast friend, 
Wallace, was in command. The latter wished to seize a traitor, the 
former to save the aunt of his weeping bride. Both believed that 
they might follow wherever Spike dared to lead. Tliis reasoning was 
more bold than judicious, notwithstanding, since the cutter was much 
larger, and drew twice as much wnier as the yawl. On it came, ne- 
vertheless, ^ing much better in the white water than the little cral't 
it pursued, but necessarily running a much more considerable risk of 
hitting the coral, over which It was glancing almost as swiftly as the 
wares themselves ; still it had thus far escaped — and little did uny in 
lit think of the danger. This cutter pulled ten oars, was an excellent 
•ea-boati had four armed marines in it, in addition to its crew, but 
carried all tiirough the breakers, scarcely receiving a drop of water 
dOn board, on account of the height of its wasli-baards» and the gene- 
ral qualities of the crafl. It may be well to add here, that the 
Poughkeepsie had shaken nut her reefs, aod was betraying the im- 
patience of Cupt. Mull to make sail in chase, by Bring signal guns 
to his boats to bear a hand and return. These signals the three boats 
'under their oars were endeavouring to obey, but Wallace had got so 
far to leeward as now to render the course ne was pursuing the wisesL 

IVfrs. Budd and Hiddy had seen the struggle in which the Senor 
Montefaldcron had been lost, in a sort of stupid horror. Both had 
tcreamed, as was their wont, though neither probably suspected the 
truth. But the fell designs of Spike extended to them as well as to 
tiiose whom he had already destroyed. Now the boat was in deep 
««ter, running along tlie margin of tiie reef, the waves were much 
facreased io magnitude, and the comb of the seu was far more me- 
naciatg lo the boat. This would not have been the case had the 
rocks formed a lee; but they did not, running too near the direction 
of the trades to prevent the billows that got up a mile or so in the 
ffffing, from sending their swell quite home to the reef. It was this 
avelly indeed, which caused the line of white water along the north- 
am margin of the coral, washing on the rocks by a sort of lateral 

isrt, and breaking, as a matter of course. In many places no boat 
have lived to pass through it. 

Another consideration influenced Spike to persevere. The cutter 

been overhauling him, hand over hand ; but since the yawl waa 

ved of the weight of no less than eight men, the difference in 

rate of sailing was manifestly diminished. The man-of-war*! 

i drew nearer, but by no means as fast as it had previously done. 

pCHOt was now reached in the trim of the yawl, when a very few 

niireds in weight might make the most important change in her 

o 2 



favour; and this cliangc l)ic captain was determined to produce. %$] 
this time the cutter was in deep water as well as liitnseUj safe throo^i 
all the dangers of the reef, and she was less than a quarter of a n^l 
astern. On the whole, she was gaining, though so slowly as to reqoin 
the most experienced eye to ascertain the facL 

"Madame Budd," said Spike, in a hypocritical tone, " we are in grett 
danger, and 1 shall have to aak you to change your seat, llie bottli 
too much by the starn, now we've got into deep water, and y«ur 
weight amidships would be a great relief to us. Just give your hAnd 
to the boatswain, and he will help you to step from thwart to UivirLj 
until you reach the right place, when Biddy shall follow." 

Now Mrs. Budd had witnessed the tremendous struggle in which 
so many had gone overboard, but so dull was she of npprehenuon, 
and so little disposed to suspect any thing one-half so monstrous tf 
the truth, that she did not hesitate to comply. She was profoundly 
awed by the horrors of the scene through which she was passing, iht 
raging billows of the gulf, as seen from so small a craft, producing &' 
deep impression on her; still a lingering of her most inveterate affecta- 
tion was to be found in her air and language, which presented a straoge | 
medley of besetting weakness, and strong, natural, womanly atfectioL 

" Certainly, Cap!. Spike," she answered, rising. ** A crafi shouU 
never go astern, and I am quite willing to ballast the boat. V\'e hiU ' 
seen such terrible accidents to-day, that all should lend their aid is 
endeavouring to got under way, and in averting all possible hamper. | 
Only take me to my poor, dear Uosy, Capt Spike, and every tiling < 
shall be forgotten that hag passed between us. This is not a momtnii 
to bear malice; and I freely pardon you all and every thing. The 
fate of our unfortunate friend Mr. Nlontefalderon should teach ui 
charily, and cause us to prepare for untimely ends." | 

All the time the good widow was making this speech, which sbf ' 
uttered in a solemn and oracular sort of manner, she was moving 
slowly toward the seat the men had prepared for her, in the middle 
of the boat, assisted with the greatest care and attention by the boat- 
swain and another of Spike's confidants. When on the second thwart 
from aft, and about to take her seat, the boatswain cast a look behind 
him, and Spike put the helm down. The boat luOed and lurched, of 
course, and Mrs. Budd would probably have gone overboard to lee- 
ward, by so sudden and violent a change, had not the impetus thus 
received been aided by the arms of the men who held her two hands. 
Tlie plunge she made into the water was deep, for she was a woman 
of great weight for her stature. Still, she was not immediately gotten 
rid of. Even at that dread instant, it is probable that the miserable 
woman did not suspect the truth, for she grasped the hand of the 
boatswain with the tenacity of a vice, and, thus dragged on the sur- 
face of the boiling surges, she screamed aloud for Spike to save her. 
Of all who had yet been sacriHced to the captain's selfish wish to save 
himself, this was the Brst instance in which any had been heard to 
utter a sound, af^er falling into the sea. The appeal shocked even 
the rude beings around her, and Biddy chiming in with a powerful 
appeal to " save the missus ! " added to the piteous nature of the scene. 

"Cast olF her hand," said Spike reproachfully, "she'll swamp the 
boat by her struggles — get rid of her at once ! Cut her fingers off if 
she wont let go." 

The iustant these brutal orders were given, and that in a fierce, 



inipaiient tone, the voice of Biddy was heard no more. The truth 
/breed iisciron her dull imugination, and she sat a witness of the ter- 
rible scene, in mute despair. The struggle did not lust long. The 
luatsnain drew his knife across the wrist of the hand that grasped 
his own, one shriek wqr heard, and the boat plunged into tlie troujih 
of a sea, leaving the form of poor Mrs. Budd struggling with the wave 
on its summit, and amid the fonm of its crest. This was the last that 
was ever seen of the unfortunate rehct- 

*' Tlie boat has gained a good deal by that last discharge of cargo/' 
said Spike to the boatswain, a minute afVer they had gotten rid of the 
struggling woman — "she is much more lively, and is getting nearer 
to her loud-lioe. If we can bring her to tAatj I shall have no fear of 
the man-of-war's men ; for this yawl is one of the fastest boats that 
ever floated." 

'• A very little note, sir, would bring us to our true trim." 
" Ay, we must get rid of more cargo. Come, good woman/' turn- 
ing to Biddy, wiih whom he did not think it worth his while to use 
much circumlocution, "^our turn is next. It's the maid's duty to 
follow her mistress." 

"I kaow*d it mtts( come/' said Biddy, meekly. " If there was no 
mercy for the missus, little could I look for. But ye '11 not take the 
life of a Christian woman without giving her so much as one minute 
to aay her prayers?" 

" Ay, pray away/* answered Spike, his throat becoming dry and 
husky; for, strange to say, the submissive quiet of the Irish woman, 
so different from the struggle he had anticipated with fter, rendered 
htm more reluctant to proceed than he had hitherto been in all ot 
that terrible day. As Biddy kneeled in the bottom of the stcrn- 
iheets, Spike looked behind him, for the double purpose of escaping 
the painful spectacle at his feet, and that of ascertaining how his pur- 
suers came on. The last still gained, though very slowly, and doubts 
began to come over the captain's mind whether he could escape such 
taemies at all. He was too deeply committed, however, to recede, 
and it was most desirable to gel rid of poor Biddy, if it were for no 
other motive than to shut her mouth. Spike even fancied that some 
idea of what had passed was entertained by tliose in the cutter. 
There was evidently a stir in that boat, and two forms that he had 
M difficulty, now, in recognizing as those of Wallace and Mulford, 
•tre standing on the grating in the eyes of cutter, or forward of Vhe 
fciesail. The former appeared to have a munket in his hand, and the 
Mftcr a glass. The last circumstance admunishcd him that all that 
WIS now done would be done before dangerous witnesses. It was too 
Jite to draw back, however, and the captain turned to look for the 
Irish woman. 

Biddy arose from her knees, just as Spike withdrew his eyes from 
h'n pursuers. The boatswain and another confidant were in rendino»s 
ta cast the poor creature into the sea, the moment their leader gave 
the sj^ah The intended victim saw and understood the arrange- 
ment, and she spoke earnestly and piieously to her murderers. 

** It's not wanting will be violence/' said Biddy, in a quiet tone, but 
with « sa<Idened countenance. " I know- it's my turn, and I will save 

Srr souls from a part of the burden of this great sin. Gud, and Ilia 
iTitic Son, and the Blessed Mother of Jesus have mercy on me if it 
bp wrong; but I would far rudder jump into the sua widoul \\Qb>f'u\^ 


CAPTAIN spike; 

the ruJe hands of man on me, than have the dreadful light of ik 

missus done over ag*in. It's o fearful thing is wather, iinil iiiiinri— 
we have too little of it, and sometimes more than we want — ** 

*' Bear a hand, hear a hand, good woman," interrupted the bo* 
swain, impatienlljr. " We must clear the boat of you, and tbeMooff 
it is done the better it will be for all of us." 

"Don't grudge a poor morthal half-a-minutc of life, at the lift 
moment/* answered Biddy. ** It's not long that I '11 throuble je, mk 
so no more need be said." 

The poor creature then got on the quarter of the boat, without m 
one's touching her; there she placed herself with her legs outbovi 
while she sat on the gunwale. She gave one moment to the thoogbl 
of arranging her clothes with womanly decency, and tlien she ymmti 
to gaze with a fixed eye, and pallid cheek, on the foaming wakttint 
marked the rapid course of the boat. The troughs of the sea 9teiati 
less terrible to her than their combing crests, and she u-aited fbrthe 
boat to descend into the next. 

"God forgive ye all this deed, as 1 dot" said Biddy, eamestlft 
and bending her person forward, she fell, as it might be ■' witlioai 
hands," into the gulf of eternity. Though all strained their ejo. 
none of the men, Jack Tier excepted, ever saw more of Biddy Noon- 
Nor did Jack see much. He got a frightful glimpse of an vs. 
however, on the summit of a wave, but the motion of the boat was tM 
swift, and the surface of the ocean too troubled, to admit of aught tht 

A long pause succeeded this event Biddy's quiet submission to Iwr 
fate had produced more impression on her murderers than the dc»p^ 
rate, but unavailing^ struggles of those who had preceded her. Thuiil 
is ever with men. When opposed, the demon within blinds them 10 
consequences as well as to their duties; but, unresisted, the silent lO' 
fluence of the image of God makes itself felt, and a better spiril 
begins to prevail. There was not one in that boat who did not, fori 
brief space, wish that poor Biddy had been spared. With rnoet thsi 
feeling, the last of human kindness they ever knew, lingered until 
the occurrence of the dread catastrophe which, so shortly af^er, closed 
the scene of this state of being on their eyes. 

"Jack Tier," called out Spike, some live minutes after Biddy was 
drowned, hut not until another observation had made it plainly apparent 
to him that the man-of-war's men still continued to draw nearer, 
being now nut more than fair musket shot astern. 

" Ay, ay» sir," answered Jack, coming quietly out of his hole, from 
forward of the mast, and moving aft as if indifferent to the danger, by 
stepping liglitly from thwart to thwart, until be reached the stero- 

** It is your turn, little Jack/' said Spike, as if iu a sort of sorrow- 
ful submission to a necessity that knew no taw, ** we cannot sparea 
you the room." I 

" I have expected this, and am ready. Let me have my own way, 
and I will cause you no trouble. Poor Biddy has taught me how to 
die. Before I go, however, Stephen Spike, I must leave you ibis 
letter. It is written by myself, and addressed to you. Wlien I am 
gone, read it, and think well of what it contoins. And now, may a 
merciful God pardon the sins of both, through love for his Divine 
Son. I forgive you, Stephen; and should you live to escape from 
those who arc now bent on hunting you to the death, let this day cause 



you no grief on my account. Give me but a moment of time, and I 
will cause you no trouble.'* 

Jack now stood upon the seat of the stem-sheets, balancing him- 
self with one foot on the stern oC tlie boat. He waited until the 
yBw\ had risen to the summit of a wave, when he looked eagerly 
for the man-of-war's culler- At that moment she was lost to view in 
the trough of the sea. Instead oi' springing overboard, as all ex- 
pected, he asked another instant of delay. The yawl sunk into the 
trough itself, and rose on the succeeding billow. Then he saw the 
cutter, and Wallace and Mulford standing in its bows. He waved 
his hat to them, and sprang htgh into the air, with the intent to make 
himself seen ; when he came down, the boat had shot her length away 
from the place, leaving him to buffet with the waves. Jack now 
managed admirably, swimming lightly and easily, but keeping his 
eyes on the crest^j of the waves, with a view to meet the cutter. 
Spike now saw this well planned project to avoid death, and regretted 
his own remiBsncsG in not making sure of Jack. Every body in the 
yawl was eagerly looking after the form of Tier. 

"There he is on the comb of that sea, rolling over like a keg I" 
cried the boatswainr 

"He's through it," answered Spike, "and swimming with great 
strength and coolness/* 

Several of the men started up involuntarily and simultaneously to 
look, hitting iheir shoulders and bodies together. Distrust was at its 
most painful height ; and bull-dogs do not spring at the ox's muzzle 
more fiercely than those six men throttled each other. Oaths, curses, 
and Appeals for help succeeded, each man endeavouring, in his fren- 
zied efforts, to throw all the others overboard, as the only means of 
saving himself. Plunge succeeded plunge; and when that combat of 
demons ended, no one remained of them all but the boatswain. Spike 
hod taken no share in the struggle, looking on in grim satisfaction, as 
the Father of Lies maybe supposed to regard al! human strife, hoping 
good to himself, let the result be what it might to others. Of the 
five men who thus went overboard not one escaped. They drowned 
each other by continuing their maddened conflict in an element un- 
suited to their natures. 

Not so with Jack Tier. His leap had been seen, and a dozen eyes 
in the cutler watched for his person^ as that boat came foaming down 
before the wind. A shout of " There he is I" from Mulford suc- 
ceeded ; and the little fellow wa.1 caught by the hair, secured^ and 
then hauled into the boat by the second lieutenant of the Pough- 
keepsic and our young mate. 

Others in the cutter had noted the incident of the hellish fight. 
The fact was communicated to WaSlace, and Mutford said, "That 
yawl will outsail this loaded cutter, with only two men in ii " 

"Then it is time to try what virtue there is in lead," answered 
Wallace. " Marines, come forward, and give the rascal a volley." 

The volley was fired : one ball passed through the head of the 
boatswain, killing him dead on the spot. Another went through the 
body of Spike. Tlie captain fell in the stern-sheets, and the boat in- 
stantly broached to. 

The water that came on board apprized Spike fully of the state in 
which he was now placed, and, by a desperate effort, he clutched the 
tiller, und got the yawl again before the wind. This could not Idst, 


^H however. Little by little his hand 

relaxed, until his hand relinqui^ B 

^H ed its grasp altogether, and the wounded ^nan sunk into the botua ^ 

^H of the stcru-sheeta, uuable to raUe even his bead. Again the Uc H 

^H broached-to. £very sea now sent 

its water aboard, and the jsm ■ 

^H would soon have SUed, had not the 

cutter come CElaocins down Hi ^| 

^H it, and rounding-to under its lee, secured tlie prize. H 



^H Tme golden Julian morn was gleaming 

ThU I can give lhe«, on thy to^ H 

^^m uVr roe, 

wrealliing, ^| 

^^B Tbe diarnood stan were waning one 

Immortkl honour, glory ne'er ta«i(H 

^H liy 

Renown, uotoall future limes beqi^H^I 

^H Mlien, \o i methouglit a riiion rose be- 


^^B fure me. 

A bright cxaxnplct, gtiidii^ ^''^^^^l 

^H Two maidens, beauteous as tlie rising 


^^M On the pule lirowi of one were towers 

A shining plat.'e in hi^cory — k "Hlifl 


Out-dazEling kin^ — tha >ajl 

^^m ftbining, 

drowns the star — ^^B^l 

^^B A glory burst like Here's from her 

A name to which all tiioe iu meed 9^1 

^H eyes 

render, ^| 

^^^^H Hut round the othcrS forehead I saw 

Whidi Change c&u ne'er dastrnhM^I 


FoUy mar." ^^H 

^^^^V Lnurula mud roses bright as brightest 


She ceased, and I was left alone na- 1 

^^1 Then, quoih Che Hrst, *'Myname, b»- 

guidc-d, H 

^H hivfNl, is Power : 

A Uttlc cnulled child to choow t» 1 

^K^^ 1 c*ntie tu theo, and woo thee for mine 

tween H 


Power and Fame ! — alas! alas! diviM 1 

^^^^B UValth, »cn»ndeur, titles^-these shall be 
^^^^^ thy (lower, 

Why should theee golden goddcM ■ 
be tieen ? ■ 

^H^ lint tliMU must seek, ooun, worship 

Why should not Fame and Power, liki 1 

^^B me 

smiling (iraces, 

^^B Tlio mnrlilp pnlnce gliUeriuff in itsf^lory. 

Wander along the earth to woo ai^ 

^^B Tiir iHtitip, ihii |K)wor, tlto attributes 

^^H of KtNKW, 

win ? 

Why Hhould not he who seeks the mA 

^^B Thtst 1 uaii give tliee, with a name in 


^H story :— 

Of Powur, gain them but by atdsf 

Sin ?• 

^H Canst thoii for these put forth thine 

^H vaglo wings?*' 

^H Then, quoth tite second, '* Pomp, and 

I know not—care not. Virgin Faar 

^^B |Hiwer, and ptiljioe, 


^H And ntyn) wealth and grandeur are 

To thee, and not to Power 1 yieU 


my soul • 

^H / cHiMHH glvti th«e garden, bowery ur 

Guide her, oh, g\)ide her throogfa thy 


crystal portal. 

^^B Kps|iIi<iuI(mU wiih its goms, nnd 

Blazon her name upon thy bannerol 

^^H I'ltiti'ii'il uith wine. 

What care I for tbe lures of proud do* 

^^B Tilli'ti 1 I'AUUoi vaunt, away cannot 

minion 1 


Dominion is of earth, and scenu of 

^H hi stKiili, wliat I can give, I scarce 

crime ; 

^^B mil iinmi* 

Oivc me, sweet Fame, to soar, with 

^H Thy blight soul tHki not gaud, nor 

boavenly pinion 

^H gnuily iM>ir«>r,— 

Above the paltry pride of earth sub- 

^H^ 1 know M/r,— know (f— what thou 


^^^^- lovVi Is l*'amo. 

^^^H • « ll v»ry rarely Impiwns," sftyn Mnclilavclli, •* or perhaps, never otscura. that 

^^^^^B a piltwt >iiihs hlumiU fmtn a huiiiUe stutlun to Rreat dignity without employtug 

^^^H tllW/iMVi'r/r.iHif.*' HfjUcthnt on l.i 

•y« Uh. ii, tap. 13. 





Wb are the only people in the civilized world who, though intent on 
the accumulation of wealth, Di?^lcct alt precautions for its defence. We 
have an army no way proportioned to our political power, or the extent of 
our (dominions ; and, if in itself our navy be large, it is so widely scat- 
tered over the surface of the globe, that the force we can at a short no- 
tice bring to bear on any particular point 19 much less considerable than 
might be at first expected. This state of things is traceable to many 
causei«, of which the principal are, our jealous attachment to freedom, 
and unwilliDgDess to be taxed for the support of great military establish- 
ments. But, like uU other nations, we must accoramodale our practice to 
the necessities of the times in which we live. There is no political com- 
munity aiming at greatness^ or ambitioub of taLin;^: a lead in the affairs of 
the world, wliich does not train a larger number of its citizens to the use 
of arms than we have ever done. The United States, though much given, 
like our:<C'lvcs, to comoierce and iudustry, have an organized and disci- 
plined militia of nearly one million of men ; France has eight hundred 
thousand of national guards ; Austria has likewise her mililia ; Prujtsia her 
land-wehr ; and Russia maintains a far more numerous, though less com- 
pletely disciplined domestic force. Great Britain alone, though standing 
foremost in the career of civilization, though by far the most powerful^ 
from the energy of her population, the amount of her wealth, the magni- 
tude and number of her colonies and dependencies, is content to rely on 
the undisciplined valour of her people for protection and security at home. 
Qur arrayt including the troops of the East India Company, does not ex- 
ceed four hundred and Hfty thousaud men, though our empire is now the 
most widely spread which the world has ever seen ; though we have 
belted round the globe with settlements, and arc still actively engaged 
in founding new colonies, and reducing fresh millions to obedience. 

In reviewing the events of these times, hintory will regard with extreme 
surprise the extent of our self-reliance, inspired though it be by the tra- 
ditions of victory and the sentiment uf indomitable courage. We j»er- 
suade ourselves that no enemy will be hardy enough to make a descent 
on these islands, and attack us in our homes, because the thing has never 
happened since the conquest. London, indeed, can make a prouder boast 
than Sparta, and say, that for eight hundred years her women have never 
beheld the smoke of an enemy's camp. To preserve this traditional glory 
untarnished is obviously, therefore, one of our chief duties as English- 
men. To say that we have for so many centuries been placed by our 
virtues beyond the reach of au iusuU so galling, and a calamity so terri- 
ble as invasion, ia to put forward the strongest of all arguments for using 
our utmost exertion to transmit this legacy of glory untarnished to our 

For some time past the journals of this country, as well as those of 
France, and, indeed, of most other states in Europe, have been filled 



with disquisitions on the practicability of disembarking a bovtile nrmm 
the coasts of Kent or Sussex, and marching upon and sacking Losda. 
The French press, conducted for the most part by youn^ writer* <tf 
ardour than knowledge, labours to give currency to the idea 
would be no difficulty whatever in the enterprize. It confiden 
cipates the defeat of our fleets at sea, the almost unopposed de 
of the French army, the utter rout or destruction of the few 
could oppose to the invaders, the captore and plunder of London, al 
the commission of all those crimes and excesses, which among tut 
neighbours have always been regarded as the best fruits of Tictory, 

Even in our own country several journalists have written in th« am 
spirit, actuated, no doubt, by the patriotic desire to rouse the ulMi 
from its lethargy by showing it the danger in its worst shape^ If thai 
has been some exaggeration, the error is lens mischievous than unfbaDil> 
ed conBdcnce. The best thing, however, is to state, as far as 
the exact truth, and neither to overrate the power of France, nor to 
derrate our own: Supposing our military strength to be equal to on 
population, and the extent of our territories, France would be a mm 
pigmy in comparison with us. Her population does not exceed tfaim- 
live millions, while our's falls little short of two hundred oiillions, tbats 
to say, comprises one-fifth of the population of the globe. But oo idM 
of our military strength can be gathered from this view of the nattff. 
Our empiro is scattered in patches over both hemispheres, dividad ^ 
oceans, and improKsed in different places with a ditferent character bydi* 
combined influences of climate, race, language, and religion, Francpii 
one compact unity, or nearly so, for all she possesses e^ctemal to bcr 
own shores is of comparatively little value, and would inevitably be sbon 
away by the first stroke of the sword of war. Her military establisk- 
ments, therefore, lie nearly all within a moderate distance of the capit^ 
and may easily be wielded by the central government, whether for ofen* 
sivc or defensive purposes. And what, then, is the real force of France; 
It has confidently been stated in the newspapers that it amounts to thrtc 
hundre^l and fifty thousand men, in the highest state of discipline, ani* 
mated by the worst feelings of rancour and hatred against this countrvi 
and inured to the most merciless cruelly in the wars of Africa, TbU 
view of the matter may suggest erroneous conclusions. The Frendi 
army actually consists of about three hundred and twenty-fire thousaa^ 
men, of which from 1 1 to 1 20,000 arc required for the pacification and 
defence of Algeria. Twenty or twenty-five thousand men are distribul^l 
through the other French colonies in Western Africa, the Antilles, aod 
the Pacific, so that a large reduction must be made from the formidable 
round numbers with which our popular speculators have hitherto dealt. 
Still the force of France is very great, and, in the estimation of military 
men, more than siifBcient to invade England in her present state of com- 
parative defencelessness. 

Much stress has, moreover, been very properly laid on the character of 
the French soldiers. They are not what they were in former days, the 
representatives of the cirilisuition of the kingdom, but a fierce, immoral^ 
reckless horde, approximating more nearly to savages tlian any other 
troops in the world. This has been rendered indubitable by the history 
of their campaigns in Algeria, where they have been guilty of more and 
worse crimes against humanity than any other army whose exploits are 
on record. Burning villages, massacring tbo inhabitants, shutting m 



Sap in cares, and roasting them there alive, with every other excess which 
▼lUany can conceive and brutality can execute, have been their habitual 
|r achievements. And yet they had nothing to retaliate on the Africanfi. 

[Neither the Kabyles, nor the Arabs, nor the Moors had humiliated them 
at Waterloo. Abd-el-Kader had not marched to Paris, or transported 
( Napoleon to St. Helena, and kept him there in imprisonment till his 

I death. Consoquonily, what they have done in Africa must have pro- 
ceeded from the natural promptings of their character. It would be al- 
ii together different la England. They would here have much to revenge, 
I since they could not fail to discover at every step trophies snatched from 
them on the field of battle, bitter mementos of defeat, the flags of their 
ships of war, magnificent pieces of artillery^ and statues and monuments 
' erected to celebrate victories over them. In our public records they 
would find the proofs of a thousand other facts and circumstances calcu- 
lated to excite their fury. What, therefore, the weak and defenceless 
portion of the population of this empire might expect to meet with at 
their hands, can scarcely be imagined even from reflecting on the myste- 
ries of the caves of Dara, or the infamies of Tahiti. Whatever the most 
degraded passions, lust, cupidity, or revenge, could conceive or perpe- 
trate, would unquestionably be accomplished. On this point there can 
be no mistake. 

The Duke of Wellington is said, in his letter to Sir John Burgoyne, 
to have demonstrated the practicability of France's landing fifty thou- 
sand men on the coast of England in less than a week afler the de- 
parture of our ambassador from Paris. On such points, his Grace's 
authority is the greatest that could be adduced. But his letter is not 
before the public, and the extracts which have found their way to the 
press, should probably be regarded rather as a weak version of the 
Duke's language than as the clear and powerful words he has actually 
employed. At least, there seems good reason to believe that the full 
force of his expressions is not to be gathered from anything with which 
the public have yet been made acquainted. Not, however, to insist 
on this, it appears to be generally admitted that France has now at her 
disposal an army of one hundred thousand men for offensive purposes, 
and that she possesses the means of transporting nparly half that force 
by steam from her own shores to ours iu the course of a single night, 
An officer of the highest rank, who visited the camp at Compiegne. 
and carefully examined the conditions of the French army, confirms the 
popular report that it is in the completest possible state of eflBciency ; 
that its artillery practice is most exact and admirable, that it is familiar 
with all our most recent improvements in gunnery, and that, in spite of 
an external varnish of politeness, the spirit by which it is universally 
pervaded is that of the most deadly hatred towards this country. For 
a long lime, the French Government has been moving up its forces 
towards the north, where they arc kept in formidable masses, almost 
within sight as it were of the shores of England, at Cherbourg, St. 
Malo, Brest, and other ports, where an ample supply of war steamers 
IB in constant readiness to transport them wherever their services may 
be required. 

On the subject of the steam navies of France and England, much too 
hlile infonnation is [Hjpularly possessed. If collected together, our 
steamers would no doubl suffice to defend our shores from the attacks 
of the whole world. But in point of fact, where arc they ? Scattered 



over every ocean and every ecu, protccUufr tlie trucks of commerce, or 
overawinf^ the pirAtc and the slaver. Comparatively few are retained 
at home, while those of France constructed and maintained purely for 
purpotes of a^resniuu, are kept perpetually within ciiU. Amoog 
those, there are nixtcen immensie atcamcr^, each capable of serrinj^ at 
transport to fifteen hundred soldiers durinjf a short voyage. Other 
and Bmaller war Hteamers^ acting as the baielUtcs of these, would divide 
the remainder of the invading army between them, so ihat a vast 
Hulilla, witli artillery, horses, and men on board, might be pu&hcnl over 
in twelve hours from the coast of France to our own. 

When Napoleon, in 1 803. meditated the invasion of Great Britain, 
he accustomed his cavalry horses Co exercises which would enable them 
to dispcnae, when necessary, with flat-bottomed boats. They were 
thrown into the sea and taught to swim to the beach. Heavy guns 
were likewise cast overboard with ropes attached, and afierwards drawn 
aahorc by men. To lure away our fleet, that of France was to have 
been dispatched ostensibly for the West Indies, with orders to take all 
our colonicH, burn the towns, and commit all practicable ravages in the 
interior of the islands ; but in reality, its orders were to double about 
in the Atlantic, and return to the channel, in order to facilitate and pro- 
tect the passage of the army. Similar mancouvres are probably now in 
contemplation, and will be put in practice tthould our negligence or 
avarice ever enable our vindictive ULM^hbuurs to realise their dreams. 

Let the country reflect on the dilemma in which we should be 
placed, were the Frcuch, immediately on the breaking out of a war, to 
imitate the policy of Napuleon. Unable to recoucilo ourselves to tbc 
capture or deatilulimi of the Elritish West Indies, and not being certain 
of the destruction of tbc enemy, we should be compelled to full on it 
with our own fleet. If it pursued its course towards the Gulpb of 
Mexico, we might possibly come up with, and destroy it there; but, 00 
the other hand, if it should escape our observation at sea, and make 
ita appearance off our coast at the same lime with the steamers; what 
would be the situation of tliis country ? To abandon our eulonies, 
would be dishonourable enough, but in the endeavour to protect theiSi 
to expose our own country to the horrors of invasion, would be some- 
thing infinitely worse. 

At the period to which I have referred above, Enghind, though iofh 
nitety h'sM powerful and wealthy than it ia now, was animated by an 
wdour and enthusiasm which we might possibly, under similar circum* 
atancea, display again, but like which, there is nothing existing among 
UN at preitcnt. The youth of ihe kingdom might literally be said to 
ruah to arms. At the beginning of the year, we liad a hundred and 
fiiYy thouiand men, before the end of it, six hundred and thirteen thou- 
»aniJ, of whuin four hundred and thirty thousand were volunteers. 
Againct such a population, Napuleou clearly jwrceived that nothing was 
lo he eflucted, and the breaking out of the Austrian war opportuoely 
relieved him from tlie necessity he would soon have been under, of re- 
linquishing his design of invasion, obviously from the conviction thai it 
was absurd and impossible. As it was events covered his retreat, and 
he enjoyed the honour of having projected the comjuest of England, as 
Vijf project the reduction of an empire in a dream. 

At prevent ihts country is pervaded by a very different apirit Etw 

aiuco the peace we have ncdulously applied ourselves to the arts of com- 

nercc and indudtry, to the improvement of manufacturc^t, to the found- 



iug of colooies, to the emancipation of trade, and to the aaiolioration ge- 
nerally of our civil and political institutions. And these things we, 
doubtless, should have done ; bvit there are other things which we should 
not have le^ undone, and among these must be reckoned a continuous 
application and study of the arts and processes of war. After the hard 
lessons we bad received from experience, we ought not to have required 
to be taught that in this world there is uo trauquilliiy or peace for man 
unless under the shadow of the sword, and that there Is" and should be 
no music so grateful to the ear of a civilized man as the roar of ar- 
tillery proclaiming to all whom it may concern that be is prepart-d to 
defend his freedom and independence at the hazard, and, if need be, at 
the sacrifice of his life. 

But war having been the cause to us of much calamity, of an immense 
national debt, and of great private sorrow and suffering, we hastily and 
credulously adopted the belief that it was the last of our great trials as 
a nation, nnd that we should thenceforward be able to play the cpiou* 
reans, and indulge in all the fantastic tricks of luxury and eflfeminacy. 
Were sailors to reason thus during a calm, they woutd most assurcHlly 
never be prepared to meet the hurricane. The wise course is to enjoy 
peace and dae weather while they last, but never to be lulled into forget- 
fulness of the truth, that vicisHitiide is the great fundamental law of nature, 
and that tenipesls are begotten in the bosom of calm and peace, as well 
in the moral as in the physical world. For want of reflecting on this, 
we arc now taken by surprise at the first mutterings of the storm in the 
distance. Happily, however, there is still leisure for preparation ; and 
happily, too* we now possess ministers who are fully alive to Ibe danger, 
and resolved to lake every necessary step towards meetinj^ it in a man- 
ner becoming the character of this great people, whose honour for the 
time is committed to their keeping. 

I desire it to be distinctly understood, that in what I am about to say 
I am only offering my own opinion respecting the plan formed by minis- 
ters for the defence of the country. That it will he found substantially 
correct, however, I make no doubt ; nor can it prove in any way injurious 
that the press should anticipate the designs of government^ because by 
developing a wise and moderate scheme of policy^ it must inevitably, to a 
certain extent, predispose the country to receive it favourably when it 
shall be hereafter announced in parliament. Meanwhile, it is satisfactory 
to believe, what is unquestionably true, that our rulers interpret accu- 
rately the signs of the tiuies, and comprehend the whole extent of their 
duties as ministers of this great empire. From a detached passage of 
the Duke of Wellington's letter, it might be inferred that Lord John 
HusHel was one of three ministers to whom His Grace had made his 
prudent representations in vain. But this is not the case. The 
present cabinet is obviously as fully alive to the necessity of making pre- 
parations to meet any assault from without as His Grace himself can be, 
as the public will bo thoroughly convinced, when, after the holidays, the 
government pbn comes to be explained in the House of Commons, 

It is reasonable to suppose, that when ministers took this important 
subject into consideration, they hesitated long before they could deter- 
mine whether it would be most desirable to make a large addition to the 
regular army, or to organise an immense miliiin, or to adopt the middle 
course of relying partly on the soldiers of the line and partly on what 
may be strictly denominated a domestic force. After mature delibera- 
tion, they would seem to have given the preference to the course last 



mentioned. For this many cogent reasons might be assigned. Th< 
militia is a constiluiional force, the very nature of which tends to 
strengthen our attachment to the institutions of the country, while il 
gives us confidence in our ability to defeud them. According to the 
fundamental laws of this realm, every Englishman should not only be 
permitted the use of arms, but expected to understand it ; that, in cttm 
of emergency, he may be able to enroll himself in the list of our national 
defenders. The mere soldier too frequently learns to look with iudiffer- 
ence on the land of his birtli^ from which, by the vicissitudes of war, bt 
is oflen kept in almost per[>etual estrangement. By passing constantly 
from place to place, he contracts a contempt for local associations ; and 
by leading the better ]>art of his life abroad, ceases to be actuated by the 
sympathies and feelings of home. The camp in the long run contes, 
therefore, to be regarded as hU country, and his fellow -soldiers as hit 
only fellow-citizens. 

The militia-man lives under totally different influences. He is only 
a soldier so far as discipline and the defence of the hearth and the altar 
are concemed. He enlarges his conception of home, without weakening 
the love of it. His patriotism is not confined to Lancashire, or Cumber- 
land, or Kent, but expanding with his experience, includes in its embrace 
our whole group of islands. He ceases to be the citizen of one (own or 
county, but becomes a citizen of Great Britain, equally devoted to the 
whole, having, perhaps, formed for himself personal friends in almost 
every part of it. This, of course, can be the case only when the 
militia is so far organised and maintained on the footing of a regular 
army, that it merely differs from il in never being called upon to serrv 
abroad. In ordinary circumstances the militia is strictly a local force, 
raised in a distant neighbourhood, constituted chicfiy of persons who 
know each other, and are oflen knit closely together by the ties of blood 
and friendship. Such men in the day of difficulty would fight gallantly 
side by side, knowing, as they must, that defeat would be fatal, not merely 
to that abstract existence called the state, but also to themselves, their 
wives and families, and all their hopes and prospects in this world. 

Consequently no service could possibly be more popular than that d 
the militia, when rendered aecessary by the exigencies of the times ; and 
these considerations, there is every reason to believe, wilt induce ministers 
immediately to organise a force of one hundred and forty thousand meo, 
of whom one hundred thousand will be raised in Great Britain and fortv 
thousand in Ireland. This may jar upon the ears of many as the first 
note of approaching war ; but we have deceived ourselves egregiously if 
we have been led to imagine, that because there has been a protracted 
cessation of hostilities, therefore we may be said to have entered on the 
period in which the swords of nmukind are to be converted into plougfa- 
sliares, and their spears into pruning- hooks. No such period of halycon 
calm is to be expected in our days. Our lot has been cast in the iron 
age of the world, and it is with iron that we must defend ourselves from 
the mischiefs with which we are menaced by the unbridled passions and 
profligate principles of our neighbours. 

One of the greatest reeomniendutions of a militia force is the compa- 
ratively small cost at which it may be kept up. Experience, I believe, 
has shown that with the strictest regard to economy a soldier cannot 
be maintained in this country at a smaller cost than forty pounds ster- 
ling per annum, whereas a militia-uiau may be supported for one-tenth 
of that sum, or four pounds sterling per annum, I mean when he is 






required to do duty only during uue mouth of tl>e year. At the first 
bituh it might aeem that the expense should only bo one-twelfth, but 
when we caosidcr that a niaoliine once put in motion is much more 
cmsIt Aod cheaply kept going perpetually, than it can with irregular 
fareaks nud interruptions be put in action occo&iouaUy, we bhall be able 
to flcooant to ourBelv^es for the factii of a calculation which, at first, a^i- 
pears unaatisfactory. Thus, however, it in evident that a hundred 
thousand niilitia-men would cost the country uo more than ten thou- 
sand troofis of the Uue, while in case of invasion we might reckon oa 
thrm with infinitely greater confidence, the dificipliue of a militia 
being qnite sutiicient to teach them to ftdl into their places on the 
field of bftttle, trusting to their inherent courage to enable them to 
stand their ground. 

Such a force could, moreover, be encamped as it were both in the 
interior and along the coast in every ctmnty in the kingdom. There 
cooid be no touching on the shore anywhere without meeting with a 
military population ; and if to the uaual regiments of infantry were 
added a corresponding strength of cavalry and artillery* every mile of 
our »ea-front might be regarded hs impregnable. The elTectf more- 
over, of these exercises on the humbler clasiies would be in ftll respects 
beneficial. They would bring them together, teach tbem to act in 
ooucert, lead to the cultivution of friendly feelings among neighbours, 
excite their appetite for knowledge, and give rise among them to a 
proper appreciation of foreigners which would lead generally to a 
rooted repugnance for their character and manners. It may be all very 
well in a few vagabond philosophers to cultivate coHniopolituu tenden- 
cies, and endeavour to break down the limits which separate the seve- 
ral commnnities of the earth ; but it would be absurd to cultivate the 
«une philosophy of indifference among the great musses of the popula- 
tion. Universal empire is an impracticable chimera. It is evidently 
the de«tiny of the numan race, and very fortunately, as their happi* 
nesi depends on it, to live in distinct political communities as long as 
the world endures. This, properly understood, signifies that from 
time to time there must inevitably be wars, because it is altogether 
impoaaible that the interests of different states should not sometimes 
chuh ; and if this be the case, it follows that, according to the irresist- 
ible laws of nature, the subjects of one state will always entertain cer- 
tain prejudices against the subjects of every other, and, in reality, 
ihould do so to enable them to contend manfully when the hour of 
Strife arrives. 

Whoever has lived among the French peasantry umst be thoroughly 
convinced that nothing is less cosmopolitan than their sentiments. 
They regard with unbounded prejudice, amounting in most cases to a 
tooted difilike, the inhabitants of all the surrounding countries, wbile^ 
vith respect to the English, this ditilike degenerates into a rancorous 
nd nnappeasablc hatred. If we were constructing an universal 
Utopia we might btipulute for the eradication of these feelings. But 
H, after all our speculations, we are compelled to take the world as it 
xtands, our wisest course, apparently, is to moke the best of our actual 
ntnation and work with the materials we possess till it shall please 
Providence to supply lis with better. Now, by the organization of a 
militia we should draw forth and give a proper shape and tendency to 
the boEtile feelingft of the British population against France. Know- 
ing tbe cause which forced them from their homes and interfered more 
or less with the processes of industry in which they are habitually en* 



gaged, ibey would learn to regard that cause with a proper def»re« of 
BTersion, and, in case of any attempt at invasion, would be animatal 
by Uie disposition to receive the enemy as he deserved. Popular 
KODgs> originating in the circumstances of the hour, would xpHng into 
existence and make the circuit of the militia-ljarracks, rousing tb« 
warlike propensity and strengthening the inherent passion of humin 
nature for steel. This, I know, is a doctrine which will be deprecated 
by Diony. But it is the doctrine of all patriotic nations, it is the doc- 
trine which has placed us foremost in the rank of civilised communities; 
which has given us a prodigious empire in Asia, which has rendered 
us masters of a hundreu colonies, and bestowed on us the power, if ve 
knew how to exert it wisely, to regulate the destinies of the world. 
When we reject it, therefore, and adopt its opposite, farewell to our 
greatness ! We may be very benevolent, very philanthropic, very 
cosmopolitan, but we shall be subdued and enslaved by the firf.t bar- 
barian who has the courage to land a well-organized and powerful 
army on our shores, and, with his foot on our necks, shall enjoy ample 
leisure to regret that we ever sufi'ered ourselves to be turned aside 
from the path of duty by a frivolous, vain, and maudlin philosophv, 
engendered by the firesides of dreamers, and tit only to obtain circula> 
tion among anchorites and old women. 

It will be a proud day for Englautt when she beholds one hundred 
thousand of her sons drawn out in battle array on her beloved s^jil, 
with arms in their hands, ready to protect its inviolability. The music 
of such a host will be sweet to the ear of freedom, sweet to the ear of 
peace, sweet to the ear of justice* and honour, and putriotisnfi. and 
whatever else is venerable in this world. It is conaequentl? to be 
hoped that, instead of throwing impediments in the way of gorern^ 
ment when it ])roceeds to develope the plans which it has formed for 
the protection of our coasts from invasion, the whole country wili en- 
tcr into its designs with enthusiasm and compel parliament at once to 
moke the necessary grants for our national defences. Taxation, in it- 
self an evil, will, in these circumstances, be tlie greatest of blessings. 
To secure us the possession of what we have we must consent to sacri- 
fice some small portion of it in creating the moans of security. Who- 
ever has a home or hearth worth defending, whoever has a beloved fa- 
milv or dear friends, whoever cherishes an uttacliment for our old be* 
rcditftry itif^tttnttons, for the familiar associations of town or countrVi 
for our literature, for our religion, will, instead of obstructing minis- 
ters in the execution of their wise plans, rather urge upon Parliament 
the necessity of giving them a wider range and loftier scope, and be 
ready to make all needful sacrifices for the purpose. 

In addition to the ordinary objections against organising a militia in 
England, a fresh set of arguments may be anticipated against the 
carrying out of the same plau in Ireland. Persons who know nothing 
of the Irish character, and are readier to consult their prejudices than 
their reason, will, probably, contend that it would be highly perilous to 
entrust forty thousand Irishmen with arms, more especially at a mo- 
ment like the present, when, as they conceive, disaffection reigns pa- 
ramount through the island, and the rage for the repeal of the Union is 
unbounded. It will do honour tuthe courage and sagacity of ministers 
if, despising these vulgar apprehensions, they determine, as I trust they 
will, to confide us frankly in the people of Ireland as in the |>eople 
of this country. No libel can be more injurious or unjust than 
that which accuses the Irish generally of disaflection. I'liat they 




are fur from l>eing content with their condition I admit, and they 
would be deserving of little respect if they were. Ireland ifi not 
in a state to nourish contentment ; for to give existence to this feeling, 
\ve must greatly ameliorate the condition of the people, or, which will 
answer the purpose still better, must enable them to perform this great 
duty themselves. But between the absence of social contentment and 
political disuffection there is a wide interval. 

Besides^ considering the mntcriuls of the Irish character, it would b« 
perfectly reasonable to contend that, even if disaffection did exten- 
sively prevail to raise a large body of militia in Ireland, and to arm. 
equip, and discipline it, would be one of the readiest means that could 
be devised of dissipating that feeling. The Irish arc a religions people, 
who sincerely believe in the sanctity of oaths. Having sworn alle- 
giance, therefore, to the crown, they would feel themselves to be re- 
moved, by the very act, out of the catagory of disaffection, und bound 
rather to assist the law in eradicating it. That in cose of iuvnsion they 
would favour the enemvi is what no man in his senses believes. The 
threat was a sort of rhetorical clap-trap iu the mouth of Mr. O'Con- 
nell, and many of his unfortunate imitators occasionally venture to 
repeat it, but it is obvious that while doing so they are haunted by the 
consciousness that they are playing with two edged tools, and that they 
run quite as much risk of wounding themselves, as of inflicting injury 
<in Great Britain ; in fact, they l<now very well that the Irish would 
do no such thing. Ireland and England are, in this respect, like man 
and wife ; they may quarrel between themselves, and Imndy luick- 
wards and forwards innumerable menaces and recriminatiuns, but the 
invader w ho should Hti*p in between them in the very worst paroxysm of 
their domestic resentments, would be apt to meet with a reception 
which would scarcely encourage him to repeat the experiment. The 
Irish are somewhat fond of noise, and take a sort of malicious pleasure 
in abusing the Saxons, but when circumstances have placed them side 
by side on the field of battle, they have never been behind the bravest 
or those Saxons in upholding the honour of old England, and hearing 
her flag through blood and danger to conquest or victory. 1 should 
like to know where the Irish ever turned tail, where or when they de- 
serted their colours, or deserved the name of traitors and cowards. I 
should be very sorry, in the wildest districts of Tipperary, to make such 
a charge. The truth is, that the Irish know we are united together by 
destiny, and, in spite of all the declamations of their mob orators, they 
love us, because we hare fought with them, because they have shared 
the dangers of our campaigns, because they partake of the glory of our 
conquests, and of all the prestige which belongs to imperial sway. 
Give them arms, therefore, and they will not dishonour them. Your 
musket will be as safe in the Irish hovel as in the Castle of Dublin or 
in the Tower, when it is guarded by the sanctity of an oath, and by 
that military enthusiasm with which no men are more deeply imbued 
than our llourishers of shellaluhs over the ^vatcr. 

In addition to the hundred and forty thousand militia which minis- 
ters should immediately organise, a small addition to the regular army, 
say ten thousand men, will be absolutely necessary, partly for the for- 
mation of artillery corps, and partly for the strengthening of the 
cavalry. Kxperience may now be said to have demonstrated that the 
possession of a powerful artillery invests even a small st^te with 
strength. It was this that gave the Sikha their renown in Asia, and 




rendered tbem formidable antagonisttt even to us* The same o1 
tion may be opplied to the petty Alahratta state of G walior. Of wUI 
enormous advantage, therefore, would not such a force be io the hi 
of a people like the English ? As it is, we are merely weak ht 
we are negligent. We possess more resources, more materials of} 
more means of conquest and self-aggrandisement, than aiiT 
people in the world. But we make no account of them, and are 
obstinate in our remissness, that wc mav almost be said to ioTite 
French, or any other half-barbarous people, to make a descent nj 
our coasts for plunder. Ifftiornnt as tliey are of foreign countries, 
know very well they would find a golden harvest here, which 
tempt whole swarms of half-naked vagabonds to slip out of 
wooden shoes, and itkip over to England, in the hope of clothing 
selves, and living respectably for the rest of their lives at oar 

Why, therefore, are we insensible to the danger we incur? 
Boman empiie was rendered accessible to the barbarians of the ni 
only through the sloth and inactivity of the provinces. People tb( 
as now, would think of nothing but amassing wealth and addicl 
themselves to luxury and pleasure, and the empire almundecl witfc 
pigmy sophists who defended their licentiousness in their declamatioii 
agdiuBt war. Confounding debauchery with humanity, they pretauM 
it was better to rcvt'l within the walls of to^vns, than bear arms amii 
the snows and swamps of the frontier. They» therefore, incesssntlf 
laboured to corrupt the youth, by drawing fearful pictures of the boi- 
rort) of war. Mars aitd Belluna were thrust from the temples of Rome, 
and a dastardly spawn of epicurean divinities installed in their pitoa 
We have entered upon the same career ; have paralysed the energia 
of government and parliament by an odious outcry about economy sod 
peace, as though there could exist a doubt in the mind of any mai 
that the only way to ward off hostilities is to be always preparedii 
enter upon them with vigour at the call of our country. 

It is not pusillanimity but prudence that counsels attention at tlic 
present moment to our natiurml defences. Properly prepared tni 
armed, we could easily defend these islands against the whole world, and. 
if need were, conduct retaliatory expeditions against every capital af 
Europe in succession, and more especially storm Paris, and give tht 
French one lesson more in the process of nntiunnl humiliation. But 
if wc persist in the neglect of the most obvious duties, what con poi- 
siljly come of it hut dis^nster? The government is manfully doing iti 
part. In addition to the thirty thou&and troops we possess scattered 
over England and Wales, fifteen thousand pensioners have been organ- 
ised, together with nine or ten thousand dockyard labourers. But 
this is not enough, Besides these and the militia, we must create a 
pttwerfiil artillery force, and greatly augment the strength of our navy, 
especially with steamers of large calibre, capable of playing a promi- 
nent ptu-t in the next struggle that ensues. 

Other precautions must likewise be taken, rendered necessary by the 
peculiar circumstances of the age. In some sense we have ceased to be 
islanders, the channel having, as it were, been filled up by steam. Our 
coasts, therefore, are little less accessible than the frontier of a continental 
counlry,8otiiatthenece«sityoflhrowing up fortifications on certain points 
has become unquestionable. Much in this way has already been done* 
Sheerness, Dover, Portsmouth, Plymouth, are defended by formidable 
batteries, and orders have just been issued for strengthening all those 




works. But tlie system must be extended. There are other large 
towns and cities on the shore which c»innot with prudence l>e left 
naked, to excite the cupidity of a hungry enemy, proverbially nddicled 
to plunder, aa well aa to every other excess of vice, cruelty, and bru- 
tality. Whatever sums, therefore, ministers may expend in judicious 
fortifications, — and it is to be hoped they will not in this respect be 
sparing, — parliament should grant with alacrity, while the public 
should be ready to applaud the grant. We must be possessed by a 
feeling of security at home, while we are engaged in aeveloping our 
design of colonizing and civilizing the world. 

One point, however, it seems necessary to insist upon now. If 
government take the steps which it may at this moment be fairly pre- 
sumed to meditate, no attempt at invasion will be made; and then 
certain economists M-ill inquire into the utility of our preparutions> 
ridicule our fears, and triumphantly argue that there was no nece&aity 
whatever for apprehension or expenditure- But it is to prevent, not 
to court invasion that we desire to see a militia organised, our navy 
augmented, aud our coasts fortified. We are not anxious to behold 
the enemy amongst us, we would much rather he should stay at home, 
nnd it is precisely in order to keep him there that we should apply 
ourselves diligently to the strengthening and multiplying of our na- 
tional defences. The sums of money will not be ill-spent which may 
preserve us from the calamities of war. Economy is good, but that is 
the wisest economy which saves us from the waste of miUions by the 
expenditure of a few hundred thousand pounds. Supposing the issue 
to be ever so fortunate, supposing we utterly annihilated the invading 
army, supposing we captured the Iteets, seized upon the colonies, and 
destroyed utterly the commerce of France, aa m all likelihood we 
should, let the economists consider at what prodigious cost we should 
effect all this, and take likewise into the account that, by a moderate 
expenditure now we may escape that prodigal waste of the national 

It is upon these views and principles that the whole system of Lord 
Pulmerston's foreign policy has been ba^ed. Instead of being as 
superficial persons have supposed, a warlike minister, his lordship is 
the most pacific of all statesmen ; but, thoroughly understanding hu- 
man nature as he does, he never dreams of preserving the tranquillity 
of the world by exposing the wealth and possessions of this empire as a 
bait to excite the ambition and cupidity of our neighbours. He has 
caused to be fell throughout Christendom the just influence of Great 
Britain, but, together with his colleagues, has hitherto failed to excite 
in the people of this country a proper consciousness of their own weak- 
ness. What views he takes of our present position we shall soon learn, 
and when he has delivered his opinion in Parliament the country will 
be in possession of all that humsin prudence and forethought can sug* 
gest. Meanwhile it is iufiuitely satisfactory to observe that public 
opinion is gradually adjusting itself to square with Lord PoJmerston's 
policy. Hash and ignorant persons prompted by vanity, or under the 
influence of still worse motives, laboured incessantly a short time ago 
to excite an universal prejudice against his views and character. The 
period of that delusion is past. We have now made the discovery 
that our intcrcfstsas a nation could be in no safer hands; and» reasoning 
from the past to the future, it will, in my opinion, be our wisest course 
to place the fullest confidence in his wisdom and genius. 

It i» universally admitted, at least here in Great Britain, that bis 



Grace the Duke of Wellington 19, in whatever relates to mili 
fairfi, the highest authority to whom we could appeal. The couoin 
ia already in possesBioD of his opinion. He has stated, in langutg! 
the most emphatic and solemn that could be employed by tnaD» dot 
our condition at this moment is unsafe, that an invasion would bi 
practicable, and that an enemy's army might even reach and uet 
the capital. This is the opinion of the greatest military commander nov 
living. Arguing from all the antecedents of Lord Palmerston's lilt 
carefully considering his views and sentiments, and comparing iM 
examining his speeches and his policy, I think I am fully justified ii 
concluding that his judgment entirely coincides with that of his Grace 
We have, therefore, the greatest of contemporary statesmen agreeii^ 
with the greatest general in recommending us to attend to the d^ 
fences of the empire. It cannot surely be, that any weight will, aftcf 
this, be attached to the advice of those who inconsiderately muDtais 
that great reductions arc practicable in the army, navy, and ordnaDC6 
Every man must have read with pain the declaration made the other 
doy, at Stockport, by Mr. Cobden, to this effect, He did not, m 
seems to be generally supposed, go the length of contending, thatvt 
may dispense at once with all our forces by sea and land, but suggest- 
ed, that out of the seventeen millions which we now appropriate to tltf 
defences of the empire, a considerable portion might be saved. 

As Mr. Cobden's opinion was received with applause by his oU 
constituents, and is far too prevalent among the people generally, it 
may, perhaps, be worth while to point out the untrustworthy founds 
tion on which it is based. During his tour on the continent, he chiefll 
associated with commercial men and political economists^ personl 
who, in at] countries, are addicted to peace, and inclined to attributl 
to others their own unwarlike predilections. It may be possible, aln^ 
to detect in Mr Cobden's declarations, the vanity of putting forwaid 
bold views, which he may suppose to be in advance of the age- Ud» 
fortunately, however, there is no novelty in them. Towards the de> 
dine of states they have been invariably advanced by all who set It 
higher value un the accumulation of wealth to preserving the inte|p'it|: 
of the national virtue by the predecessors of our political econorois 
by sophists and declaimers, by all, in short, who prefer ease and 
luxury to the painful and laborious exertion of energy. 


A letter on the subject of this article has just appeared from tite 
pen of Lord Ellcsmere, pervaded almost throughout by the true old 
English spirit. 1 say aimost, because there is one passage in which 
his lordship advocates a course which, should our country be invaded, 
1 most earnestly trust we shall never pursue. Should the enemy, 
taking us by surprise, throw a force of filty thousand men into Eng- 
land, his lordship thinks that, with the few regular troops at our com- 
mand, we ought not to hazard a battle; and that if the French were 
entering Loudon at one end, the guards should march out at the 
other. The advice is probably ironical, and designed to rouse us 
a sense of our danger. But if the event to which he thus all 
should ever occur, I trust the enemy will never be allowed to see 
back of an English soldier. Few or many, it will be the duty of our 
troops to present their breasts to the foe, and to perish to a man, ra- 
ther than suffer the capital to be entered unopposed. 

js to J 



On nearly all other points it afTords me great satiBfaction to 6ad 
iBt the observations I have ventured lo make are supported by the 
opinion of Lord Ellesmere. He may possibly be led by peculiar cir- 
cumstances to take at times a too sombre view of our condition. But 
to err on this side is far butter than to run into the opposite extreme, 
"'c ought to be awakened, however rudely, out of the slumber into 
p'hich we have fallen, and shall hereafter confess that we owe a deep 
debt of gratitude to those who now unite together for the purpose of 
rousing us. Hts lordship, in his excellent letter, discusses the ques- 
tion whether it be better to augment the regular army, or to organise 
f a militia force. The demands of government will probably be limited 
* by the disposition of parliament, while thts again will depend very 
much on the state of public opinion. If the nation can be made 
sensible of its danger, if men of station and influence like Lord Elles- 
imere will come forward in time, and by their judicious warnings give 
I an impetus to the sentiment of apprehension; if the press view the 
matter in the proper light, and heartily cooperate in accomplishing 
the good work, whatever is wanting will be done; the navy will be 
strengthenedt the army increased, a new artillery force will be created, 
and an immense body of militia will be called out. The question of 
expense may be easily disposed of. War with France, sooner or 
later, is inevitable, invasion is highly probable ; and should it take 
place, no one can be so stupid as to doubt the enormous expenditure of 
blood and treasure which it would occasion, not to hint at anything 
worse. By being armed in time, we may escape this. It is no matter 
of speculation, but an undoubted fact, that we possess the means of 
defending ourselves against the whole world, provided we will only 
make up our minds to use them. No one denies this ; our worst 
enemies are better aware of it than ourselves. They would never 
dream of assailing us, if they saw us on our guard. They merely 
hope to be able to take advantage of our sloth or heedlessnesfi, to land 
on our sliores by surprise, while we are thinking of money-making, of 
railway shares, of bills and discount, of Invoices and ledgers. They 
have felt how heavy our hand is when we think proper to use it. But 
coming now they would Bnd us asleep, and might easily seize and 
bind us in fetters which we could not speedily shake off. 

Lord Ellesmere seems to doubt the prudence of the writer in the 
"Morning Chronicle" who first drew attention to this subject; but I 
applaud Ins frankness, and think the country deeply indebted to 
bim for the startling disclosures he made. We are much loo apt 
to oppose a sort of m ineriiie to the exertions of Government in our 
behalf, and to fancy that all is well, because, immersed in other pur- 
suits, we do not perceive the dangers which are visible to them. Our 
attention has now been directed to the peril iu which we are placed, 
ond if we persist in being indifferent to it, we may fancy ourselves 
wise and magnanimous if we please, but posterity will pass a very 
different judgment on our proceedings, and be apt to stigmatize us as 
a base and slothful race, who would not devote a small portion of 
our wealth to preserve our country from invasion, our wives and 
daughters from violence, and ourselves from that infamy which ever- 
lastingly clings to those who prefer mere worldly coasidcrations to 
the preservation of their honour. 



I HAVE rather a leaning to old times and customg, in spite of their 
inconveniences: the very rubs*' that make the rough road long" are 
not without their charm, and from devouring the way to Gloucetter 
by the Great Western express at B(\y naileit an hour, I take very 
kmdly to nibbling on to Ross upon the Mazeppa, at the rate of seveo. 
And the comfort is, that this Mazeppa is lililt Hkely to be run away 
with. The Hereford Hetnian is horsed with a style of cuttle qutie 
different from him of the Ukraine, — is, indeed, altogether a glower 
coach, as well as far more respectable; but, as chatty and pleasant a 
conveyance as any one would desire to be connected with. 

** On we dftah !— 
Tcnrents leu rapid and leu ra*b,'^ 

IB not the way to describe his progress at all ; and, if the word ** head- 
long " be used with reference to him, it must be understood to applj 
to the possible proneness of the leader. 

The reader at once convicts me of a fellow-feeling for glow coaches, 
— and I admit it. I love the gossip of the road, and the private his- 
tory that travels about in parcels; trace out my rural Apicius by hii 
London oysters; and muse over 'Mouble-barrellcd dilcttantyism" 
over a hamper of pheasants. I watch, not obtrusively, the flirtations- 
of the coachman, — his imparted and received confidences, — his mys* 
teries with the turnpike-man or woman, — his oracular nods, and jeii^ 
and winks, and the eloquence of his elbow. I see into his tricks, too; 
his passenger set down short of the town, — his little breast-pocket 
parcels delivered with his own hand, — his haggling with the seedy 
ones, and his basket of glass with a hare's fur sticking through the 
wicker, He is best without a guard; for when his own guards he it 
off his guard, and you see deeper through the millstone of his Chester 
field. Then, his judgment of character is a thing to study. Hit 
banter is irrespective of dress; chains, and breastpins, flaming waist 
cDuts, and flaunting bonnets hove no weight with him. iHs eye pen 
trates to the gentleman through the oldest boat-cloak, and he recoj 
nises respectability under a sixpenny cotton. To say that, 

<* The Uau idtai which the mind auppmes, 
It one who dreues in the clothes of Mosfl*,*' 

may go down very well in the Minorics ; but will never do with 
He dreams of something deeper in his clothes philosophy. 

** Nice day, sir," — " for the time of^ year, — very nice day," " A little 
wet wouldn't do ua no horm." — " We wants rain very bnd up our way.** 
(This from a farmer who must throw in his protest : Dissentient, b 
cause a fine season brings good crops, and good crops promise m 
drawback, so he practises croaking all the year, to be perfect on ren 

How should we ever establish our little casual acquaintances with 
out an atmosphere? and how on earth^-or rather on moon — do they 






manage in the neigbbouring planet? How entirely obstructed they 
must be in their little intercourse by having all nice days, a tort- 
night long. No "growing day for the turnips," — no thinking "as we 
ebuJl liave a shower " long after it has begun, — no '* roughish day for 
them as be obliged to be out in it," — no '• what dreadful changeable 
weather, sure-lyl nothing but rain, rain, rain!" — no ''nioistish, ain't 
it ?" (when we are quite wet through.) Of what use is it for a man 
in the moon to " look out for squnlls," or ** to have an eye to wind- 
ward," or to " keep his weather-eye open," when he has neither wind 
nor weather (so to speak); and how helpless for a man of fashion to 
have no clouds to look up to when he meets a country friend in a 
lunar Pall Mall. 

We make but an indifferent start of it, for there is rather a defici- 
ency of tegs amongst the team, and a strong disposition to keep as 
many as possible off the ground ; and the road into the city might be 
improved with a little corduroying. We stop for a gossip at '* The 
Bell," (slightly altered since Tom Jones and Partridge ate their beef 
and greens in the bar with the landlady,) get a summit to the moun- 
tain of luggage, and, finding it is ** a nice day," from another passen- 
ger, bowl on to the Boothall. 

•' Here *s a young 'ooman for ye, mister," observes an elderly labour- 
ing man, in his Sunday clothes, proffering in the kindest manner a 
chubby girl and her box to the coachman. 

'* Going far, my dear ?" 

"If you please, sir, I 'm going to Mrs. Jenkins's of the Close." 

"Ay, ay; her '11 tell you all about it." 

*' Well, jump up. Nice day, ain't it ? Here, sit in the middle." 

" You '11 be sure, if you please, to put me down at Mrs. Jenkins's, 
at the Close, by Longhope, you know, at the corner of the lane. 
Ttiere '11 be one as will meet me there, 1 expect. You 'U be sure not 
to please to forget." 

•• I know. You live at Mrs. Jenkins's ?" 

** I 'm in a situation there. Mother lives at Painswick. Father 
brought me to Gloucester. Mother have been a'most dead with the 
influenzy ; wos obliged to have the doctor, however, for above a fort- 
Dight ; but a's better now." 

Soh I she 's determined not to be lost for want of n label. She has 
read in some railway-bill, "Passengers are requested to have their 
trunl'iK properly directed, as the company cannot, otherwise, be an- 
fwerablc," &c., — an admirable bit of caution, when people's trunks are 
difficult to identify after a smash ; but surely unnecessary in the case 
of a living young woman, knowing the road, and able to stop the 
coachman herself. But she can't trust to herself, with her thoughts 
far away at the old cottage at Painswick, — or, perhaps, with Bill. 
She is, no doubt, set in for a reverie. 

What a Ane old street is that down by the Boothall, in spite of the 
modem smug brick-houses thrusting themselves amongst the old 
ttagers. Poor old fellows ! they are getting rather shaky, and some of 
them seem to have dropped otf into a dose, and arc leaning their heads 
OB their neighbours' shoulders, and almost droppii\g their chins upon 
the passengers. I can't bear the thoughts of parting with them, not- 
vithstanding, or to think of their crazy insides being rummaged by 
impertinent commissioners, and their poor old drains bored into, and 



about; and tbeauelve*, perhaps* lacriSced U» MNn 

I can't, uooMnred, look at the vooden old fiKca that ooe^ 
kaev in the glorioui d^yt of peashooter* and pofrt-cbaises, what ve 
wed 1^; our pocket-atoney to add leaden to the teaoi ; aod ratlJed 
damn aoMmgat tbem after the drunken poatboya, aa if the very atooca 
were OBad, and tlieir old beads shook with the palsy. 1 eaon ideaiify 
the dd doors with the wondering iaces that came out to aee tlie fl*gB 
rrocn the chaise-windows, and the ribbons in the postboys* hats» and 
doubling whether it was a wedding or an expreta. Nay, I recogniie 
the very window where sat in mellow sumoier radiance the iat« red- 
uced old lady, attracted a little forward by the row, and who reoet:vcd 
on her inflamed features such a shower of hard marrow-lata that she 
yelled with rage and pain. And remember well how, looking from 
the small window behind, we saw her excited form protruding into the 
street, with shaking fiats and cap awry ; furnishing merriment for the 
whole half-year, and giving rise to the roost anxious wishes that we 
might renew the acquaintance at the next trip. And who that saw 
him can ever forget the well-mounted gentleman farmer, — surly with 
excess of dignity, — rich, no question, — a little lord in his village, — hit 
m the very eyes, and bending down with the smart ; then galloping 
furiously nfier the chaise, and lashing at the niodows till his hone, 
unable to face the punishment, bolts with his rider, and we sec him 
tearing up the street at full speed, in spite of every effort to pull him 

And associated with this old street was tliat extraordinary porter, 
— built upon the most conflicting principles, — whose legs, without their 
owner's leave, itraddled, like Apollyon, *' across the whole breadtli of 
the way ;*' and wbosa eyes were of such peculiar constructioa, that, 
wishing to identify a parcel on the ground, he was obliged to rzi:^ 
his face towards the sky. Such a fixture was this fellow for ihi:i\ 
years or so, that one can hardly believe in the possibility of his bt '. 
extinct. Coming from the ends of this earth, this roan never faiii'i 
us; looking, it would seem, towards the roof of the coach, while bii 
eycB were rolling about amongst the packages at his feet. 

In such old musings we come out upon the c*auscway, and see s 
young railway — offspring of tlie Great Western— just started on hi# 
travels towards South Wales. He sets out bravely enough, like man^ 
another young fellow ; coming over the flats with an imposing air st 
flrst, but soon sticking fast in the mud. and ending in a long score 
that we see no limit to. It would be wise in his parent to stop bio) 
before he gets into further mischief. 

We stop a moment at tlie turnpike. — 

** Nice day, missis." 

" Iss, us." 

" You haven't heard no more o' that paasle, have ye?" 

" No." 

" Didn't a call ?" 

- No." 

" Never said notlting to me." 

"Well to be sure." 

" Ah." 

*' Hum." 

•' Well." 



*• A' got Ihc fish, did aV* 

« Well." 

"Wish ye good day* missis.** 
" Wish ye good day, sir." 

Then on by tlie great square red house, that was said to liave as 
many windows as days in the year; and presently old May Hill is 
before us, with his scalp unsbavL'd as of yore. The legs are all down 
now, and we make up for lost time across the commoo. At Huntley 
we change horses. 
" Nice day, ain't it?" 
"How's the mare?" 
" Don't see no difference in her." 
" Have him seen her ?'* 
" Iss, — see her last night." 
" What did a' say r 
"Didn't say nothing." 
" What did a' do?'* 
" Didn'l do nothing." 
"What did a' think?" 

'* Didn't seem to think as a was much difference in her," 
*' Did a' have a mash f" 
- No/' 

"Well, you give her a mash, and'* — (trhigpers). 
Tlie deuce is in the mares. I never travelled any road in my 
life that there wasn't a mare ill. "Him" has generally seen her. 
Sometimes '* a's getting on nicely \' but nine timei in ten '* a' don't 
iee no difference in her." " Him" keeps his own counsel as to the 
treatment, and the consultation ends in a mash and a whisper. 

" 7*he old man didn't say nothing to you about sending down no 
oats with you ?" 
"No, a' didn't" 

'* We be shocking bad off for 'em." 

This is the wav with all the old men : they never do send down no 
oats. Why persist in keeping these worthless old fellows, instead of 
potting yomig stuff in their place ? 

A window opens. '' Won't you please to have sometliing to take, 
Mr. Williams?" 
" No, ma'am, thank ye, nothing to-day," 

"Think you'd better, Mr. Williams. Won't you please to walk in?" 
" Xo, Tm obleeged to ye, ma'am. I must be gomg." 
" Better please to take a glass of ale, Mr. Williams." 
** Not to-day, ma'am, 1 thank you." 

"Well, vxf}ild you just step this way, Mr. Williams? I won't de- 
lain you a monent." 
How's the reverie getting on, I wonder? She looks awake. 
You are almost at your journey's end, now ?*' 
Very near now, sir." 
"And so you are not in your reverie, after all ?" 
"Ko, sir; mother said as it was such n very nice day, 6ir, she 
ibought as I shouldn't want it, sir." 
"Oh 1 and so you Icfl it behind ?" 


"Oh, no, sir; I brought it along with mc in my box." 

•' Well, that was right ; but I suppose you showed it first to ^ 
sweetheart at Painswick ?" 

" Well, siTf I wore it o' Sunday ; but I haven't got no sweetheart, 
sir. I don't think o' such things as them, sir." 

« That's right— stick to that," 

" What did you please to say, sir?" 

" I didn't think you could have got such a thing in Painswick." 

"Oh, there's very good drapers in Painswick, sir: Willis and Mor- 
gan have as good a shop ns any I sec in Gloucester, however; and 
they have all the new things down from London, regular. All the 
gentlefolks conies to them, sir, for miles and miles. Mother lived in 
service with old Mr. Morgan, sir, before a' died — " 

*' Not afterwards, I suppose." 

** What did you please to say, sir?" 

** I suppose your mother got it cheaper on that account?" 

•' No, sir, a' didn't, — not a farthing. They never makes two prices 
to nobody ; and what they has marked in their window, they always 
gives, if you insist upon it, — that's the best o' them. They do have 
beautiful things down as ever you see in your life; not a bit dearer 
than Jones's, and twice the choice. Mother got a bonnet there, and 
I'm sure, if you was to go all over Gloucester, you couldn't find no- 
thing better nor cheaper, nor so cheap neither. Oh, no, there ben'l 
no belter shops nowhere than Willis and Morgan's." 

The coachman comes out with a short cough, and wiping his h'ps, 
and stuffs a paper parcel into his breast pocket. 

" You '11 be sure to please not to forget the whoats ?" 

*' I'll bring 'em down to-morrow, Jem. Now then, sir, if you 

Just beyond Huntley we pass the little dull red house in whtck 
used to live a Catholic family, which, in those old days, before eman- 
cipation bills were thought pussibks ur go much as dreamed of in the 
wildest fancy, gave an air of mystery to the place. You expected to 
see stalely forms counting beads as Ihcy walked about the garden, 
and cowled monks and friars stealing through the laurestinu^. with a 
whiff of incense coming out of the chimney. Then we get towards a 
wild and Welshy country, and presently pull up at a corner, where 
stands a man witli a smiling face, and his hand held up, that t}i« 
coachman may stop in time. 

"Well, Thomas!" 

" Well, Sally I" 

"How 6tf you?" 

" How be f/ou }'* And the owner of the reverie prepares to dis- 

"Thank ye, sir; don't you trouble yourself. I can lean upon tltis 
young man, sir." 

(Perhaps it is Thomas at Longliope, not Bill at Painswick.) 

" Well, Sally, you've had a nice day for travelling." 

"Iss, 'tis. Be you pooty well ? You don't look but poorly,'* 

(Heally, very probably Thomas.) 

** You havn't nothing but this here box, have you, miss?** 

" Only that, sir." 

'■ Here^ just you blip it down a bit, and I'll take it." 




of yourself. Him *11 


^Now, don't you go a straining 
y Thomas.) 
'* Ah I take care of that, Thomas ; there's a reverie in that." 
" Don*t you be afeared, sir; 1'!! take care on it" 
" Let it come on the wheel, can't ye, and 111 help you down with 
(Positively Thomas.) 

"Now you be all right, miss. Thank you, miss.'* 
" Wiih you good day, sir. Wish you a good day, sir. Now, you 
shan't do it all yourself, Dl be hanged if you shall I So you put it 
down, now, will ye, and give me hold of the handle.*^ 
(Happy Thomas .') 

Some floundering and puffing to get over the hill, A little way 
down is the place where the young railway is to quit his tunnel, 
— marked out by Dags and sticks ; and then we plunge into the deep 
despondency of the Lee. Do people survive to middle age in this 
dreary village \ There are always two men standing outside the pub- 
lic house, but they never speak. It is not even a nice day in the Lee 
— they have not the heart to say it. No sound is ever heard there 
hut the clank of the blacksmith s hammer, which never ceases. Oh, 
for some flaxen-headed ploughboy to whistle over such a Lee as this I 
We soon pass the church, and turning to the right, a tall solitary 
Scotch 6r-tree, more like a palm, comes in view. Up this branchless 
tronkj seventy feet long without a knot, it was once proposed by a 
sweet poetess that I should swarm in nankeens. But I anticipate. 

A few yards beyond this palm-like 6r is the house of Castle-End ; 
a modest, quiet, substantial edifice of grey stone, standing a little re- 
tired from the road, a small lawn interposing, with flower-bedsi ever- 
greens, and a paling. On the Icfl is a kitchen-garden and more 
shrubbery ; and behind, a farm-house, and barn, and outbuildings, and 
s dirty fold full of pigs, and cows, and poultry. Dull, many people 
would thiuk it; but it is better than the Lee; for here you have a 
riew of the Bailey (not the Old Bailey, though with hanging woods 
enough,) and the road is the great thoroughfare into South VVales. 

In this house, about this lawn and kitchen-garden and fold, and 
under this old fir-tree, 1 passed one long summer-day with L.E.L., 
not then a poetess, but a romping, black-eyed girl, in the earliest 
dawn of womanhood: she was comely, rather than handsome, but 
viih a play of intelligence upon her features more attractive than 

This was the residence of her aunt, a hospitable, kind-hearted 
Miden lady; and associated with her was another maiden lady of sin- 
|ttlar eccentricity, — if not mad, certainly next door to it; and the 
partition that separated the premises of the craziest scantling. Miss 
C. wns perfectly harmless ; and this fact being well known to visitors 
■I well as inmates, she was admitted to the family circle, notwith- 
standing her odd ways. One of her peculiarities was a way of break- 
ing in upon the conversation with a most rapid repetition of the 
words, " My lords and my ladies — my lords and my ladies — my lords 
sad my ladies," continued fur minutes together; and then she varied 
^tfa another strain of" Cabbage and carrots and cabbage and carrots 
snd cabbage and carrots" — -for an equally indefinite period. Any 
silusious to garden-stulT or the aristocracy was sure tu set her ufF; a 



single word would do it. The grace at dinner was framed with a view 
to tins peculiarii}', for it was said that on one occasioo a cIcrgyraaD, 
not previously cautioned, was taken up very shortly at the word 
"Lord" by Miss C. with ** Make us truly thankful, my lords and my 
ladies,^ Sec. Another strange way she had of stealing quietly about 
the room, under pretence of examining books, or other articles upon 
the tables, till she could arrive unnoticed behind a stranger's chair. 
This feat she usually contrived with consummate skill, tacking about 
as if she was waiting for a slant of wind; and when the victim was 
earnestly engaged in conversation or otherwise, she ran silently down 
upon himj and commenced operations. Drawing an imaginary carving- 
knife and fork, she proceeded to cut up the ^ji-nce cU nsUtartct ; and, 
as her lips were moving ail the time, no doubt she was helping a large 
party of my lords and my ladies to your primest cuts. Seated opposite 
to a mirror, it was not unpleasant to watch this process, and see the 
impartiality with which you were helped to the company ; first a slice 
or two of lean, then a bit of fat, with a just proportion of stuffing and 
gravy. Vou were even disposed to assist her researches with the 
light of your own local knowledge; as, for example, *< My dear madam, 
allow me to suggest that you are now in the wrong place for fat ; and 
the seasoning, I am disposed to think, is not thereabouts. Perhaps 
you will permit me to express a hope that you will cut mc handsome, 
in case 1 should come up cold another day. I hope his lordship finds 
me done brown ; but, if 1 should be a little raw in places, have no 
scruple in sending out a slice of me to be grilled. I trust her lady- 
ship relished the part you sent her, and may be induced to come 
again. There are parts of mc tender enough ; but, upon the whole, 
I am disposed to think I might be improved by a little hanging. I 
have a fancy that sweet sauce would go well with me. At any rate, 
1 must protest against being served up d to Tartwre," The poor 
lady would get quite hot in the process, and more off her guard every 
moment; so that I am convinced, with a little management she might 
have been led into an amicable conversation with the joint she wai 
carving; but any attempt of this kind was discountenanced. 

Under the old fir-tree. ** You see that bunch of hay and featberf 
in the fork of the branches ?" 

•* Yes ; a sparrow's nest, no doubt." 

" Oh \ I should so like a young sparrow. Dear little thing I I 
should pet it so much. Everybody has canaries and goldfinches 
screaming and giving one the headache. I want a bird that does not 
sing. I should so like a young sparrow. I should teach him nil sorts 
of tricks. I hardly know how to ask such a thing, but — if you would 
just climb up, and bring me a young sparrow, I should feel so much 

*' I fear that you really must excuse me. Not anticipating a plea- 
sure of this kind, I perhaps am not so well equipped. You perceive 
that this tree is entirely without branches, except at the top. This 
would be a trifling consideration under other circumstances — to the 
country boy, for instance; but 1 rather fear that 1 am not exactly 
dressed for this/' feeling the sharp edges oi the Hakes of bark which 
it was apparent would be most inimical to the Indian fabric. 

" I do assure you it's not rough; it is not, indeed ; — look here, 
how very smootli it is all the way up ;— there 's a kind of knot, you 



see, about half waj, where you coulil rest as long as you please; 
and you could put the sparrow (dear little thing !) in your hat, and 
rest tliere again aa you came down ; but coming down would be no- 

" Oh dear no, less than notliing, I am afraid. But here is a boy, 
perhaps we can persuade him." 

'' Oh yes I lie 11 go, I *m sure. Here^ young mao ; would you step 
iMrc a morocot. Yuu sec that round thing of hay up there?" 

" Iss ; that 's a sparrow's nisL I see the old 'un a guing in." 

*• Well, what 1 want you to do is, — I'm sure you '11 do it, — don't 
you call it swarming up a tree? Well. I *m sure you know how to 
swarm, and what nice thick boots you have. If i was a young man, 
I should be so proud if 1 could swarm up a tree. Tell me how you 
do it," 

" Do it? why, I takes hold o' the tree a this *n, and I grips Iiira 
with my knees, and turns my right foot back'nrds a that *n, and then 
I shores myself up ; that 's the way 1 does it." 

** WJiat a capital way T How long do you think it would take yoa 
to go up this tree? I dare say not more than a minute?" 

'* Should n't oonder. And wliat d'ye want when 1 gets tliere ?'* 

'* Do you know I 're set my heart upon having a young sparrow, 1 
should so much like to have one, if you would have the kindness to go 
up and bring me one, — a cock ifyou please, — dear little thing I Vou can 
drop it if you like, and we 11 hold the handkerchief. 1 'm sure you 
will, won*t you?" 

" A young sparra 1 1 Hoo, hoc, boo ! (walking off and turning 
again). A' wants a cock sparra 1 ! Hoo, hoo, hoo I (ten yards fur- 
ther). A* wants a — hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo!" 

Presently another boy came. ** Young man, did you ever climb up 
a tree?" 

" Iss, many on 'em." 

" Do you think you could climb up this one ?" 

"IsB, think I could." 

" So you say, but I think you are afraid to try." 

'* No, I bean't, not a bit on it. I ha' got up harder timn that 

'* Well, ifyou are not afraid, I wish you would go up and bring me 
down a young bird out of that nest, 13ut you are sure you would not 
fall and hurt yourself? " 

"^ 1 bean't afeard o' that. I could bring down nist and all if t 

'•Then go up, ifyou are not afraid." 

But he was a calculating boy, and began by measuring the trunk 
carefully with his eye, before committing himself. Then he got out 
his mental scales, and weighed the matter carefully. On the one 
side was u probable small gratuity, and a feather weight of fame; on 
(be other, labour, risk, abraded leathers, and a possible walloping for 
wearing out the stockings, 

" No, 1 '11 be daz/d if 1 do ! '* said the boy, walking smartly down 
the road. 

Still we must have a sparrow. '* In the ricks, perhaps, under the 
ihaich? that will be the place, of course 1 There's a ladder in the 
You go and get the ladder, and I 'II beat round the ricks with 



this long stick. The old one will be sure to fly ouL Never micul 
the gate. I 'tl come and help you to carry the ladder if you can't da 
it yourself." 

*' Well, as I 'm a living sinner, if somebody haven't been and left 
the rick-yard gate open, and all the pigs be got out, and they 're u 
Micheldean by this time, I 'II lay a guinea I Jack ! Jack ! there 'i 
Jem a-bcen and left the rick-yard gate open, and all the pigs be ^t 
out I Do 'ee mn down the road and see if you can see anything oo 
'em. Od rot 'un I if I could catch 'un I 'd thump 'un well I " 

I never saw her but this ooce, and as she tlien appeared, so does 
my recollection follow her through life, even to the last scene in that 
damp, hot, steaming house at Cape Coast, from whose mysteries the 
veil will never be lifted. 

Castle End is now to be let, as I see by a small modest annouDc^ 
ment upon the palings. It appears sadly shrunk and gone down 
in the world from what it used to be, as all old places do wben 
we revisit them. But excepting that the garden and the evergreeiu 
look a little rougher than formerly, for want of a tenant to look aAer 
them, there is very little difference in the place. The house, to bt 
sure, will never again witness such jolly doings with my lords and mj 
ladies, but the garden, in reality, may contain about the same quan- 
tity of cabbage and carrots as it dicl in Miss C.'s time, and the old 
fir tree seems to have about as large a head for the wind to whecxe 
and moan through, as it had when the cajolery failed upon the 
climbing boys. Landlord ! spare that tree ; for with it you would 
cut down some pleasant associations, not unmixed with serious and 
sad thoughts. Our reveries must, in the nature of things, partake 
of this piebald character; and yet, notwithstanding, 1 should be sorrj 
to pack up mine in a box, like Mrs. Jenkins's maid of The Close. 


" Like n dream 
or what our soul has Inretl, aiid KhI for ercr. 
Thy vision dwells with me.*' 


Ob ! that inch bliss were mine ! Bjr thj dear side 
To pAM one live-long summer's day uf love ; 
To know that thou wert mine — to call thi.>e bride, 
And feel that word was rati6ed above ! 
How wuulil ] look into thy dark blue eyes 
Anil read the very secreti of thy soul, 
And watch the light of love that in them lies. 
Which proudly brooks nor thraldom nor oontral. 
How would I nold thee in a Kraap of bliss, 
Armmd thy nt-ck how lovingly entwine. 
And press thy darlinff lips, and kiu— and kisS| 
And sip to madness their ambrosial wine, 
*Til) drowsily I sank to blissful rest 
Upon the soft, white pillow of thy bridal breast ! 

Univ. CoU. Durham. 

Cdthbeiit Beoc. 





*' Kent, tn the Oimmentanes Ca»ar writ, 
I* termed the civirst placAi of all this inle : — 
Sweet ii the country, iiecause full of richea." — Henry T/. 

In the present time, and under the present system, when all men 
rush through the country by rail-road, a perambulation or a quiet 
ride along the old beaten highway, is almuitt as rare a circumstance 
as an excursion through the centre of Africa. 

The old road from Canterbury to London was, in former days, a 
well-known route, and so full of interest, from its various associa- 
tions, that every stage was classic ground. A man could no more 
pass through the woodland scenery on the London side of Rochester, 
without thinking of Gadshill and his minions of the moon lurking 
about in the gloaming, and listening for the tread of travellers, than 
he could stop at one of the Chaucer-like hostels at Canterbury with- 
out being reminded of pilgrims, fat-paunched abbots, lusty bache- 
lors^ and merry-eyed wives of Bath. 

In such scenes, divested as they are of the pestilerous vapour and 
the squalor of the mining and manufacturing districts, the spectator, 
as he gazes over the undulating woodland, with here and there 
some old square flint tower of a village church peeping out, and the 
road seen w^inding over each wooded ascent, — might almost imagine 
himself looking upon England when tuck of drum startled the ham- 
lets around, and the York and Lancastrian factions beat up for men 
to feed their ranks. Nay, the old English landscape becomes peopled 
with the peasantry of those Shaksperian days, clad in one sort of 
rural coaturac — the broad high-crowned castor, the leathern doublet, 
or the loose smock gathered in with the broad belt at the waist. 

Aa I lay one fine morning in an old, rickety, square-topped, red- 
curtained bed, in a venerable room of one of the antique hostels at 
Canterbury, whilst the morning sun streanietl through the casement 
upon the uneven flooring, and shone brightly upon the oak panels of 
the wainscot, it struck me that, instead being whisked up to Lon- 
don by train, I should like to box the road, and observe its varieties, 
and look up its points of interest en route. After breakfast, there- 
fore, I hired a rough and ready pony, and, with the bridle under 
my arm, commenced my pilgrimage along the once well-known and 
well-frequented high road towards Sittingbourne. 

The first place I made a short halt at, after clearing the suburbs 
and ascending the hill without the city, was the ancient village of 
Harbledown. In this small place, and in the hospital built by Lan- 
franc in the year 1084, a precious relic was lormerly deposited, 
which was kept there as a sort of preparatory initiation to tlic wor- 
shipful^ on their pilgrimage to the shrine of Thomas a Becket,— 
the relic being neither more nor less than Thomas's old slipper, 
which "all pilgrims, poor devils, and wayfarers were enjoined mid 



expected to lust, prerions to their visit to tbe reritaUe tomb of 
saint binueif."* 

From this point the travcUer rontina« to aacend through a bcau- 
tifally wooded covntrj, till he reaches Boogfaton Hill. This bill 
and the track of grmUMl jiut traTersed, for about four milea, was in 
ancicDt daya a tfaid and aliaoai ijf C MHia bW forest, in which the 
boar, the gridj bcMr* and aa^r echcr MrfHsb of die chase, were to 
be foutul. And here the knightly aiMi the noble, with their attend- 
ant trains, were wont to pursae their tpott, with hound and horn 
and spear, in a somewhat more rode and dangerous fa&hion than the 
hunt is at present conducted. 

After passing the long street of Boaghton, on the rising ground 
somewhat to the right of the road, and standing in a fine green pad- 
dock or park, an antiquated-looking mansion or manor-house maj 
be observed. The appearance of this house, and its magnificent . 
stabling and offices, — its dilapidated look, and its desolate and de»fl 
serted state, had often, in former years, interested me. fl 

Passing on, I now saw Faversham on ray right, and stopped for a 
moment to glance at the chapel of Darington, formerly a Benedictine 
priory, consisting of twenty-six nuns and their superior.—caUed, 
from the poverty of their revenue, "the poor nuns of Davington.* 
A short walk further, and the pleasant village of Ospringe was 
gained, a stream of clear water running across iL On the north 
side are yet to be seen the remains of the once famous Maison Dim 
founded by Lucas de Viennes for the Templars ; whilst on the oppo- 
site side was the hospital for lepers, part of which may also be 

A mile or two further on, and we come to another long village, of 
one street, called Green Street. Here formerly the famous knight, 
Apuldorf, kept his state, amongst his numerous vassals and men-st- 
arms. He was the friend and boa camaradu of Richard Cocur-de- 
Lion. They were fralrcM jurati, — and the very name of Apuldorf, 
like that of his royal companion, was terrible to the ears of the 
Saracen. Castle Grove, as it is still called, has even yet some green 
mounds, to point out the site of the stronghold where he kept was- 
sail. The armour of this Kentish champion formerly hung in Leyn- 
ham Church. 

Passing Green Street, the eye now traverses a charming country, 
— woodland and meadow on the left, and to the right the Thame* 
and Mcdway arc seen emptying themselves into the main of waters. 

A short walk further brought me to Tong. Here I found the re- 
mains of ft very ancient fortress, built (saith tradition) by Hengist 
and Ilorsa in *50. A large moat would seem to have surroMnde<1 the 
stronghold ; but a mill has choked up n portion of it for upwanU of 
two hundred years. The miller, I was informed, whilst digging 
within the castle, discovered a brass helmet, and a number of stnafi 

As 1 prenared to mount my pony in order to pursue my way, it 
■truck me that he looked hungry. Perhaps some slight feeling of the 
sort which I began to experience myself might have been father to 
the thought. I tlicrcforc resolved to look up a quaint hostel in the 

• It wu tkia »li]ii»er wliich KrMmui ihc learned ft«iuinl«f1 uiK>n with coutempt »r>d 
dcriftioit, cm nccjuiun of bit viiii. deu-rilting it a* neither mure unr le» tlmu ibf 
uppwr Imthrr of an vid thofi, garni»bcd with one or two f rystnli Mt in copprr. 




iwn or village I came to, and m«kc n halt there for the impor* 
Lrpo»e of dining. A mile further^ and Sittingbourne appeared 

ingbourne, like all the stages on this road, a Tew years back. 
Tore railoadfl monopolized all travel, was a lively village. How 
lo we remember it in the palmy days of posting. Its inn- 
[lall live, and merry as the painting which describes the stable- 
the hostel in the days of Chaucer. What queer-looking 
on, knowing postboys, pimple-faced hostlers, and rapscallion 
lounged about the livelong day, in waiting for the nuuie- 
6rst-turns and stages that came tiring on. What shoutings for 
^n boj^s up, and first and second tnrns down we used to hear f 
I crackings of whips and startings of teams, and what knowing 
|b-hand coaches we used to see in those days. Then, what bril- 
[equipages, trunked and imperialed, and radiant witti female 

fiess, came whirling up to the inn doors every hour of the day. 
sprightly waiters flew about, napkin in hand, in attendance 
lithe various dinners, and what blooming chambermaids hurried 
land thither, their rooms filled with guests for the night, and 
w knowing where to accommodate fresh arrivals continually 


|b for Sittingbourne ! Like all the old towns on this and every 

kroad, thy glory hath departed from thee, — thy hostlers are 

p fallen," — thy inns shut up, — thy landlords have slunk away, 

beaked and pined for lack of guests. The very helpers and 

Bogs, who used to hang on, and take their life and being from 

lected grandeur of the portly coachman who drove the teams 

ided, are no more. The hostlers have wandered away no one 

where, to die of grief and chagrin no one knows how. The 

»f the numerous stables have long been tenantless. The signs 

the inn-doors no longer promise good entertainment for man 

l^t, and the railroad and the station have superseded Sitting- 

t a mile from Milton church, which is the next place the 
[er comes to, is a good-sized field called Campsley Down. This 
spot on which the Danes encamped under Hastings. The re- 
of ft moat point out the place where these robbers erected a 
' old. 

Alfred had a palace at Milton, which caused it to be called 
royal town of Alilton." 

ort walk further, and we come to a slight ascent called Caicol* 
On this spot the Kentish Britons were encountered by Caius 
nius, who had been detached by Cxej>ar with three legions and 
I cavalry for forage, on which occasion the Britons were beaten, 
ling over Standard Hill, we come to the ancient town of New- 
U Here are the very slight remains of the nunnery of New- 
I. By whom it was founded no record remains. Tradition, how- 
^ves its Gothic walls and cloistered seclusion an evil repute, 
ons of Newington strangled their prioreas in her bed, and, to 
be deed, cast her body into a deep pit. The crime was, how- 
scovered, and Henry the Third delivered the unscrupulous 
d who were guilty over to the secular power, to be dealt 
'according to their deserts. After this he filled their cloister 
en secular canons. This fraternity, however, seem to have 




been as bad a lot m the sisterhood they succeeded, for four of 
shavelings, very soon after their admission, murdered one of thi 
own brother canons, and they were ousted and executed in turn, 
much for the nunnery of Newington. 

We now left this neighbourhood of monkish misdeed, and. gird* 
ing up our loins, proceeded through the village of Rainham, p&ued 
over the old Roman road, the famous Walling Street, and stood upon 
Chatham Hill. Here we reined up for a time ; and. as vre pau»erl 
to regard the magnificent s|>ccimen of castellated grandeur which it 
here first seen towering over the neighbouring town, we reflected, 
for a moment, upon the fierce contentions of the Norman peril 
during which this old road mu&t have been the constant witness 
battle and slaughter, flight and pursuit. 

Descending the chalky hill, we come to Chatham, a town w« 
known to the united services. Here the traveller quickly forgets 
" o'ertaken past" in the bustle and stir of objects of present inten 
In the crowded streets of Chatham we fall in, at every step, withtl 
soldiers of the latest fields in which the British flag has been unfui 
ed. Every fourth man one meets in Chatham wears the uniform 
the unwearied, indefatigable infantry of the line. As we past 
into Rochester, a regiment just disembarked was marching into I 
town. Their medals told of the last-fought fltlds in India, and the 
came on in all the delight of again reaching homo, absolutely dandi 
and singing through the streets. 


** She that purifips die light, 
The virgin Lily« rsithful tu her u-hite. 
Whereon Eve wept in Eden for her Blinroe.*' 


Tuc earth lay dreaming tn ft gnldon light, 
The tall trees cast their shadows in the pool 
Where lay the water* lily glnanung tiright 
Amid the sedgy umbrage dun and cool. 
All rlad in fairent white like saintly nun, 
Or, like some veiled hride* in miptial dress. 
Who (evh anothur> heart in her*s is wound, 
Aiioihcr life of duty is begun. 
And trLMiiMeR iu Irt lovt- and lovelinesa,— 
Amid its shining leaves it Iny ut rest 
Iln:liiiod upon tlie water*s throbbing breast, 
Answering its ev'ry moiion, cv'ry bound, 
As though some mystic love lo them was given : 
The Vestal of the Wave, it lay and look'd to hearen ! 

Unlf . CoU. Durhnm. 


* Njfmjthma (9¥f^ ** ■ bride") aWa is iia boioolcal name. 





An eminent composer of the Mxteenth century, Claudio Monte- 
verde of Cremona, wns the first who ventured to break through the 
orthodox rules of counterpoint, which before hid time had been re- 
^rded as sacred and invioUble. Throwing nsidc the fetters imposed 
on him by the composers of earlier days, Alonteverde boldly struck 
out a path for himself. In like manner did Beethoven daringly 
break through pre-established rules, and, the consequence was, 
that in the early part of his career he was exposed to the same 
sort of censure which two centuries previously had assailed the 
contrapuntist of Cremona. His innovations far outstripped tho^e 
of ilavdn and Mozart, who, in their turn had deviated from 
the still more rigid laws observed by Handel and iSebastian 
Bach. But Beethoven was happily endowed with an independ- 
eoce of mind which enabled him to pursue his course heedless 
of critical reproof, and the miphty power of his genius soon tri- 
umphed over alt opposition. At the commencement of the present 
century Beethoven's grand orchestral compositions would scarcely 
have been listened to anywhere but in Germany ; and now no com- 
poser can be sai<l to enjoy mure universal admiration. He disdained 
lo copy his predecessors in the most distant manner, and, by his 
bold, energetic, and <n'iginal style, he carried off the prize of musical 

Ludwig van Beethoven was born on the IJlh of December, 1770, at 
Bonn. His father was a singer attached to the Electoral Chapel, and 
his grandfather, who is said to have been a native of Maestricht,i 
van music-director at Bonn in the time of the Elector Clemens. It 
liu been alleged that Beethoven was u natural son of Frederick the 
Great. This story, which is entirely devoid of foundation, occasioned 
great annoyance to Beethoven, who, however, satisfactorily refuted 
it. In a letter on the subject, addressed to his friend, Dr. Wegcler. 
(Utcd \H26f he, very much to his honour, requests the doctor ** will 
mike known to the world the unblemished character of his mother." 
fieethoven received elementary instruction at a public school, 
whilst his father taught him mui>ic at home, where he studied the 
pianoforte and violin. When practising the latter instrument, he 
*a» accustomed to retire to a closet in a remote part of the house ; 
>nd it is related, that, as soon as he began to play, a spider used to let 
itwlf down from the ceiliug, and alight upon the instrument. The 
young musician became interested in watching this spider, and in 
endeavouring to discover how its movements might be influenced by 
*iu«c. One day his mother happened lo enter the closet when the 
•pider had settled itself on the violin. Casting her eye on what Hhe 
supposed to be an un]>leasant intruder, she whisked it away with her 
Wlkerchief, and killed it. This incident is said to have priHluted 
« rnost powerful effect on the sensitive mind of Beethoven, and it was 

* Tb« Bnuexed ponrkit, enf^nretl hy purmtbsion of McKitrx. H. Cot'-ki and Co., is 
mvidrrrd hy Mr. Uharlifti C-Mriiy to be ibe miMt cnrrcct likeneft* of ilie tflclirtitrd 

f Thr prepMitinn ran attoolied to De«dioveti's iiAme denolM hit Kleminb 



some time before be recovered from the mclflDcfaoly into wfaidi t 

plunged him. 

At the age oC 15, Beethoven having attained great pro6c>ennr« 

the organ, was appointed organist to the chapel of th* Elector a C*> 
logncj and the emperor, Joseph II., settled upon him a Mnall p«- 
•ion. Being desirous of proGting by the instruction of Ha}^, la 
obtained the elector's permission to reside in Vieuna for a few yrwn; 
and in 1792 he left Horni for that purpose. All the talent ot'tamidi 
Germany was at that time congregated in the Austrian capital, mi 
I:ieethoven| then in his twenty-second year, was so chanoed withtfe 
congenial society by which he found himself surrounded, that belt* 
solved to make Vienna his permanent place of abode. *' Here wiQI 
stay," said he to himself, " even though the emperor should cot ef 
my pension." He carried this resolution into effect, and. wilhtkt 
exception of one or two visits to Leip^ic and Berlin^ be apent tfaei^ 
maindcr of hit life in or near Vienna. But he did not loo^ coBtin ^ 
the pupil of llaydn, witli whom he soon became dissatiafied. EvA 
at that early period of his life his temper was marked by capsiceal 
sintrularity, and a determined resolution to follow his own taste siA 
opinions in alt questions relating to composition and scoring, rcA- 
dered him r most refractory and wayward pupil.* He wo 
acknowledge himself to have been the pupil of Haydn, becau 
affirmed, he had never learned anything from him.t HTien 
\ti\ Vienna on his second visit to England, Beethoven rejotcMi at 
opportunity thus afforded fur their separation. He then begin 
take lessons from the celebrated Albrechtsberger, who^ like Ha; 
found him thoroughly untractable. 

Among the many distinguished acquaintance formed by IWd- 
hoven soon after his arrival in Vienna, may be numbered the priDet> 
ly family of Lichnowsky. Prince Karl I^ichnowsky, who had brrni 
pupil of Moxart, was the Maecenas uf the musical professors then is 
Vienna. The prince assigned to Beethoven a yearly fiension of ox 
hundred floriii». and he became the paternal friend of the voai|^ 
C(mipo«er. The princess, also a most accomplished musician, fS* 
tended to him theafi'eclion of a mother. The attentions lavished aa 
him by this illustrious couple were almost ludicrous; and, trulv, tbs 
eccentricities, and the strange temper of their />ro/<'^c, must frequcatly 
have taxed their indulgence to the utmost. Taking a retrospect of 
this period of his life, he observes, in a letter to a friend : **lht 

* IliH uiiwllllD^nPKx to cnnAirm to nilen ik FxempliBLMl in die following anwdtfto 
rnUtiMl liy Uiun, In liin ^'\olizrn uehfr Jirlhovcn," •' Onw ilav, ilurinir a walk. I 
WHH tnlkinic to liUn tif twonmiiectJtiTe Hrtli» whii-.Ii occur In nncof his eiu-1tf«t vinlli 
(jimrtitili In V nilnur, nnil wliiiJi, to my Hurpriflc. Baunil most haroinniDUBlv, B<a- 
tiovpii iliti nut knuw wlint I rapanc, and would not Iwlieve the interval ixmi1<1 br 
ItlUift. \\v M>nn firitdimi'.) tlin |iiec(< of niu»ic paper which he was in the liabitdt 
rarryiiiu ftlwut ivlih Kim, anil I wr«ne down cho passagt' with itA four parts. m)SB 
I hud lliiu pnivp.l niyn'ir m Iwrl^'ht, h*? luiid, ' Well, mid who forbidn them ?' Not 
kiiinrln^ whnt itimrikc (if thifi qiitstion. I was ulleni. nnd he rrpeAted it several lioMl. 
until I at hmj^th rvpllrU, • Why, it In one of the very fir»i rules.' He, hovever, stil 

repeuliNl hi* i|U««tittn, and I utLBwered, * AJarpiirf;. Kirnher^r, Fuchs. &c itifsiH 

nil out th<*iiUl«.' * WrII, then, / piTinit thviit,* u-a* liis final annwcr.'' 

f At thin un(n*a''io«« trt-atment, Haydn very nkiiimlly felt offended ; but btfif' 
pvpr tntP it ndKht Ih* ihnt he hiid harntH nothing from his mastrr, rat traort b4 
Huvdn's olaaslo aUgancc of style are rlenrly di»o»rniMe in tome o( ber 
•arly works. 



frincess treate<l me with g:rnHdmotherijf fondness, and sometimes 
could well-nigh have j>ersH«ded myself that she woiiUl have a 
I glass shade put over me, lest I should be touclied or breathed on 
I by persona whom she deemed unworthy to approach me." 

In this brightest interval of the great composer's existence, whilst 
he was mingling in the gayest and most intellectual circles of Viennese 
society, he conceived an ardent and romantic attachment for a lady 
of noble family. This affair is alluded to by some of his bio^a- 

Iphcrs, but in a manner sufficiently vague to warrant the inference 
that it was clouded in mystery. Beethoven's correspondence con- 
tains several letters to this lady. They are addressed to ''Julia." 
and from their tenor it is obvious that an obstacle more formidable 
than dittcrence of rank rendered n union with the object of his af- 
fections impossible. A paper, in his own handwriting, contains the 
following passage, evidently referring to this subject: 

'* Love — love alone is capable of conferring on me a happier state 
of existence. Oh, heaven ! let me at length 6nd her, — she who may 
strengthen me in virtue — who may hnvfulltf be mine," 

But, whatever may be the facts connected with this unfortunate 
attachment, it furnished inspiration for one of Beethoven's most ex- 
quisite productions, viz. the Sonata Op. 27- This composition is 
known throuj^^hout Austria by the name of the " Aloonlight Sonata" 
— a name intended merely to indicate the tender and romantic an- 
louring with which it is imbued. In the published copies, the title 
and dedication diff*er, from the style in which they appear in the 
composer's MS., where the following words are written at the head 
of the composition : '' Sonata quasi Fantasia dedicata alia Madama- 
zella Contessa Giulietta di Guicciardi." 

During an interval of ten or twelve years, the first performances 
of all Beethoven's works regularly took place at Prince Lichnowsky's 
musical parties. On the occasion on which the celebrated Razu- 
mowsky Quartett was first placed, the performers were, Schuppinzigh 
(first violin), Sina (second), Weiss (viola), and Kraft alternately with 
Linke (violoncello). In the frequent rehearsals of the quartett, Beet- 
hoven seemed to have infused into the souls of the performers some 
portion of his own Hublime spirit, and the result was a d^ree of 
perfection which enraptured the assembled cognoscenti. 

Beethoven's quartett mu§ic, which may be said to have opened a 
new world of art full of sublime conceptions and revelations, found 
worthy interpreters in the four great instrumentalists above named, 
over the purity of whose performance the composer watched with 
unceasing anxiety. In 1025, when one of his last difficult qnarletts 
was to be performed before a very select audience, he sent toScfuip- 
penzigh, Sina, Weias, and Linke, the puirts respectively allotted to 
them, accompanied by the following droll letter : 

" My dear Friends, 
" Herewith each of you will receive what belongs to him, and you 
are hereby engaged to play, on condition that each binds himself upon 
his honour to do his best to distinguish himself, and to surpass the 
rest This paper must be signed by each of those who have to co- 
operate in the performance in question. " Beethoven." 

In the year 1800, the grand oratorio of the " Mount of Oliver" was 
commenced, and whilst engaged on that work^ the composer expc- 

K 2 



rienced the first symptoinsof the deafness which subsequently became 
so fatal. He wrote the " Mount of Olives" during a summer sojourn at 
Hetzendorf, a village contiguous to the gardens of the imperial palace 
of Schonbrunn. At that place he spent several suoimera in complete 
seclusion, and there he composed his " Fidelio/' in the year 1805. 
Beethoven used to relate that he wrote these two great works in the 
thickest part of the wood in the park of Schiinbrunn, seated between 
two branches of an oak, which shot out near the ground from the trunk 
of the tree. Schindler mentions that, in the year 1823, he visited 
that part of the park in company with Beethoven, and that he then 
saw the tree which conjured up many interesting reminiscences. 

A lingering fit of illness, accompanied by increasing deafness, 
disabled him, for the space of two or three years, from proceeding 
with a work which he had long previously planned out. This wa« 
the Sinfonia Eroica^ intended as an homage to Napoloon> then First 
Consul of thcFrench republic* A copy of the sinfonia, with a dedi- 
cation to the conqueror of Marengo, was on the point of being des- 
DBtclied to Paris, through the French embassy at Vienna, when 
intelligence was received that Napoleon had caused himself to be 
proclaimed Emperor of the French. On hearing this, Beethoven 
tore off the title leaf of the symphony, and flung the work itself on 
the floor, with a torrent of execration against the ** new tyrant." 
So great was Beethoven's vexation at this event, that it was Innff 
ere he could be persuaded to present his composition to the world. 
When it subsequently appeared, the words " Per j'esUgiarc ilsovvcmrt 
dun grand'iiQiHO " were appended to the title. 

The next great labour of the composer was his opera of ** Fidelio," 
which was first performed under the title of " Leonora," at the 
Theater an der Wien. To this opera, Beethoven composed no less 
than four overtures, and rejected them all by turns. The splendid] 
overture in E (that now performed with the opera), was not writti 
till the year 181o. 

In 1«(H), the appointment of kapell-meister to the King of W< 
phalia was offered to Beethoven with a salary of (KK) ducats. How- 
ever it was considered discreditable to Austria to suffer the gr< 
composer, whom she pruudly called her own, to be transferred 
any other country. Accordingly the Archduke Rudolph, Prim 
Kinsky, and Prince Lobkowit/., offered to settle upon him 
annuity of 4000 florins, on condition that he would not quit Austrii 
— a condition to which Beethoven readily acceded. 

All persons of intelligence and taste, who visited Vienna, eagerly 
sought an introduction to Beethoven ; the consequence was that he 
was beset by visitors from all parts of the world, who approach^ 
him with the deference they would have rendered to a sovereij 
Among the eminent persons introduced to the great composer in 
year 1810. was Bettina Bretitano, belter known as Madame V( 
Arnim. This celebrated lady has described her interviews wi( 
the composer in her letters to Guthe, contained in the well-kno^ 
publication entitled, " Giithe's Briefwechsel mit einem Kind* 
Bettina paved the way to a personal acquaintance between GotI 
and Beethoven ; and these two eminent men met for the first Liu 
in the summer of 1812 at Tceplitz. 

• The idea ii said to have been tuggestcd to ihe oomjio»cr by Bcraadotie, 
that lime French Ambaauulnr in Vieiiiuk. . 



Whilst struggling with dedining health and constantly increaaing 
deafnesB, Beethoven produced many of his immortal works ; among 
uthers the eymphony in A major, and the *• Battle Symphony." The 
latter was composed in cominemoratiun of the battle of Vittoria. It 
is a magnificent specimen of that atyle of composition called by the 
GermSLtts ioHTfiaU'rei (musical- painting), and it pourtrays with graphic 
powe»s, through the medium of sounds, the horrors of war, and the 
triumph of victory. There is one passage in the piece, which though 
trifling in itself, is indicative of the master-mind of the composer. 
At the opening of the symphony, the air of " Alaribrook" is intro- 
duced as the national inarch played by the French troops whilst 
advancing. But as the battle proceeds, it becomes evident to the 
hearer that the French are giving way, and that they are falling in 
numbers before the British army. At length the band, which at the 
commencement of the conflict was spiritedly playing " JMarlbrook," 
i» gradually dispersed, and only one nfer is heard attempting to keep 
up the fast-fleetitig valour of his countrymen by the inspiring strain 
ot' the favourite march. But the solitary musician is wearied and 
dispirited, and he now plays " Marlbrook " in the minor key, slowly 
and sorrowfully, and in broad contrast with the gay allegro which 
marked its commencement. This is a true touch of nature. 

The firijt performance of the ** Battle Symphony" took place in 
the Hall of the University of V^ienna, in December 1812. and the 
proceeds of the performance were destined for the benefit of the 
Austrian and Bavarian soldiers disabled at the battle of Ilanau. 
On this occasion tlie leading mubicians of Germany took the most 
subordinate parts in the orchestra, all feelings of professional im- 
portance being merged in sentiments of charity and {wtriotism. In 
a letter of thanks addressed to the orchestral performers, lieethoven 
observes : — " On me devolved the task of conducting the whole, be- 
cause the music was my composition ; but had it been by any one 
elsCj I should have taken my place at the great drum just us cheer- 
fully as Hummel did, for we were all actuated solely by the pure 
feeling of patriotism^ and a willingness to exert our abilities for those 
who had sacrificed so much for u&/' 

The cantata, entitled Vie ghrreiche AugenWtck, was composed in 
honour of the Congress of Vienna, during which the allied sovereigns 
shewed marked attention to Beethoven, and the Emperor Alexander 
repeatedly visited him. 

From the year li^l5 Beethoven's life was overclouded by an ac- 
cumulation of unfortuntite circumstanct'Sj which rendered him de- 
plorably unhupjjy. The loj) of a portion of the pension settled on 
bini in \W& had greatly diminished his pecuniary resources. Added 
lo this, a nephew, who was under his guardianship, whom he tenderly 
loved, and for whom he had made great sacrifices, deeply afflicted 
him by his misconduct. 

His deafness speedily increased so much as to deprive him 
almost totally of the sense of hearing, and conRe<piently, to unfit 
him for conducting an orchestra. A touching instance of this 
unfitness is related by Schindler. It occurred when Beethoven was 
invited to conduct his "Fidelio" at the court opera house in 
Vienna. He took the iattpi cither much too quick^ or much too 
slow, to the great embarrAssnient ot the singers and the orchestra. 
* " 2," says Schindler, *' ttie efforts of Kapt'll-AIeister 





Umlaur^ kept ibe performers together, but, it was soon found 
possible to proceed, and it was necessary to say to poor Beethoven, 
'This will not <lo.' But no one had the courage to utter these 
words, and when Beethoven perceived a certain cinbarrassnient in 
every countenance, he motioned ine to write down Cor him what it 
meant. In a few words I stated the cause, at the same lime entreat- 
ing him to desist, on which he immediately left the orchestra. The 
melancholy which seized him after ttiis painful incident was not dis- 
pelled the whole day, and during dinner he uttered not a single word." 

Having completed his ninth symphony, he planned two great 
works. One was an oratorio, to be entitled '* The Victory of the 
Cross : " the other, which he proposed making the grand effort of his 
life, — the conclusion of his artietical exertions, — was to set Gutbe'i 
"Faust" to music. But these works, together with a projected 
requiem, were all laid aside, for the purpose of proceeding with some 
quartetts, which the Russian Prince Nicolas Oalitzin had com- 
missiontd him to compose. For these quartetts, the Prince agreed 
to pay the sum of ]2>'> ducats, but Beethoven never received a frac- 
tion of the money. On these quartetts he was occupied for aerenl 
years, his progress being repeatetlly interrupted by ill bealtht 
The 5r8t work produced after his partial recovery from a pn>> 
tractc<I indisposition, was the quartett. (No. 12) with the reourk- 
able adagio, having affixed to it the words: " Canzione S 
rengrazianientu in modo liilico offerta alia Divinita da un ^uartto." 
But the convalescence thus beautifully commemorated was not 
long duration. The composer was soon seized with inHammation 
the lungs, accompanied by feymptoms of dropsy, which confined 
to his bed, and utterly disabled him from writing. It is mclanchol 
to reflect that in this sad condition, Beethoven was painfully p 
by pecuniary difficulties. To the dis^jrace of the Viennese, w 
were then in the delirium of what was not inaptly termed the / 
fever f their own ^cat musician was neglected and forgotten, 
for a donation of 100/. sent to Beethoven by the Philharmom 
Society, who bad previously, on two occasions, invited him to h 
don, he must have wanted comforts and even necessaries. A 
lingering for some time in a hopeless condition, symptoms of 
speedy termination to his sufferings appeared, and he breathed ' 
last on the 26th of March, I«27. 

The character of Beethoven affords a curious subject of specii 
tion to the observer of the phenomena of the human mind ; and 
must not be supposed that the materials collected by the ioduil 
and curiosity of his various biographers are exhausted in the 
brief memoir of this extraordinary man. The struggle betw- 
conscious authority of the lof^y mind, and the internal convi 
defective personal qualifications (a struggle forcibly marked on 
character of Beethoven), remains yet to be portrayed. His aspr 
tion for the beautiful — unattainable even by his mastery over I 
resources of art, — his honourable contempt of vulgar ambition k 
sordid meanness — his blighted affections, — the gradual decay 
final loss of that faculty regarded by the multitude as the one 
which his very existence and claim to attention must depend,— (fo£ 
who would l)eforr have believed in the possibility of a deaf raui 
cian.^)— all these circumstances have yet to be traced in their oi>erat 
utitil the dreary end closes upon the great Beethoven ; dead, c 
before death, to the glory which was expanding round his name. 





dkB I have not the enviable power posseised by tlie lady in 
'ancreil, who could " describe in a fieotcnce, and personify in a 
phrase," I must duvotc several lines to the locality before attempt- 
ing to give an account of the diploaiatfc tV'to of Sultun Abd-ul- 
McBchidf to wliicli I hud lately the honour of being invited. 

The Huider I'ascimt the great grassy plain on wliicli it took place, 
it^ situated on the hilly shore of the Asiatic Hosphorus, in the rear of 
the towns of Chalcedan and Scutari, which as you know pass for 
suburbs of Constantinople. It lies to the left, behind the hill of 
Scutari, and has a prospect not directly upon the landing-plnce, but 
in a slanting direction towards the sea near the Prince's Islands. 

On tlie u])pointed day, u whole army of green tents was arranged 
in the most beautiful order, with the opening towards the Bosphorus, 
for sake of the cool breezes. The IIlll of Scutari, open on three 
sides, was especially appropriated for the discharge of rockets and 
6ring ; and on the verdant level was to be the place of the Sultan's 
kiosk, and tliat of the famous table tent, which cost Sultan Mahniud 
a million and a half piastres, and may be looked on as the ark of the 
covenant between Ulam and Christendom. 

Whoever seeks the favour of the Christians must of course, before all 
things, give tliem plenty to eat and drink, and the feast of the circum- 
cision of the sultan's two elder sons, offered a favourable opportunity 
for drawing closer the bonds of friendship in good occidental fashion. 
As the father of the great Sesostris caused all the boys in Egypt 
bom on the same day as Ins son to be reared at the royal cost, so 
all sons of Mussulman parents born within the last ten years in the 
neighbourhood of Constantinople and the Bosphorus, and who had not 
et received sacrament of Islam, were now to do so at (he charge of the 

tan. Eight thousand boys were inscribed and accommodated in a 

w and well-arranged wooden building, furnished with nine hundred 
beds; and, in addition to the necessary expenses, and a daily allow- 
ance of two hundred piastres, each boy was presented with a new 
robe as a baptismal gift. Five steam vessels were employed from 
* nning to evening, in bringing over the public, oil at the imperial 
.e, and with a care of which we in Europe liave no idea, other 
Doais made the round from San Stefano to the Black Sea, to collect 
boys with their parents or relations, and carry them buck again 
» ith the royal gitls. Three times a day there were discharges of 
ry, and at sunset began the hery rain of many coloured rockets, 
countless lamps glittered on the Haider Paschaand along the shores 

the tepid Bosphorus as far as Bujukderc. The whole body of officials, 
from tlie Grand Vizier to the lowest servant in a public office, became, 
Utr the time, dwellers in tents and the sultan's guests. Including the 
immediate servants of the sultan, and the guard on duty, not less, it 
said, than one hundred thousand meu were entertained by thi 
ial bolt. "Ad quid perditio Ihbc?" What upon earth 



finance Iscariot of the West ? Thirty millions of piftAtrea (seven and 
a half niiltions of fnuics). What a horrible waa»te cries some W^estem 
chihl of Mammon, devouring viih greedy glance all this oriental 


On the 23x6 Sept., at two o'clock^ the whole diplomatic corps, with 
ilieir secretaries and interpreters, were invited to an imperial 
banquet, and ** by |>articular desire, all in full puff." All that vanity 
has invented from Lisbon to Teheran, to disguise tlie poverty of the 
inside by the splendour of the out, was put in recjuisition by the 
difFerent representatives of western majesty. 'Hiirty of tlie highest 
Turkish dignitaries, resplendent in diamonds and gold embroidery, 
accompanied them. What a constellation of glories — how their dii- 
roonds Hashed back the radiance of the sun 1 As ill luck would have 
it, in the midst of all this splendour, a tremendous storm burst over 
the Hootus at midnight ; its violence was most unusual even on the 
Boaphorus. As for the dinner, it was not to be thought of, although 
so many of the guests had arrived ; the tents were flooded, the 
viands completely spoiled, and the plain of Haider Pascha became an 
im[>assable swamp. In the hope of better fortune, a second day, the 
2Bth, was appointed. Four steam vessels, a Russian, an English, soil 
an Austrian Lloyd's started together from Biijukdere. To revenge 
the former disappointment, Messieurs, the diplomatists, were more 
mugnificent than ever. The rivalship between the House of Boar- 
bon and the House of Hapsburg dates, as is welUknown, from above 
three liundred years ago, and although now, in more peaceful fashion 
than of yore, the old spirit i* ready to break out on every occasion. 
The Trench had an engine of two hundred horse-power stronger than 
the Austrian, and bad set otf full ten minutes sooner; luckily, the 
Imperatorc in which we had embarked, was one of the best of Lloyd's 
sailers in the Mediterranean, and the captain a picked man. We 
passed our panting rival triumphantly, and reached the anchoring- 
place considerably before her. But alas I it was a barren victory^ 
Wc lay ofi'the shore and beheld the long array of green tents, the 
wooden amphitheatre, the plane-trees, and the curious crowd wailing 
to feast their eyes on the glory of tlie West. The officer appointeJ 
to introduce thenmbassadors, was wailing to receive us, and carriages 
and horses in eupertluily were ready for our conveyance. 

** But the gods," says Herodotus, '* are envious of the happiness of 
uitirtalg." The wicked clouds were in waiting also. The landing be- 
gan with tlie strictest order and etiquette. The internuncio's boat, 
with its tco gondoliers in scnrlet and white, had landed lis Hrst cargO) 
and uur turn was coming, — when, crash! down came the tem|>e«t 
from the Balkan, with u howl and a roar, the thunder booming heavilj, 
the lightnings flashing vividly on Chnlccdon, and the clouds empty- 
ing a second deluge on the glittering diplomatists. How the crov«d 
scanipcreil I and how I ho bestirred and he-ordered gentry scrambled 
into the carriages ! Sonic Turkisli women lost their veils in their flight, 
and while and black-plumed diplomntit huls were the sport of the piti- 
less wind; some axlelrees broke, some of the riders tumbled, and— 
tell it not in Oath — more than one representative of a Lord's anointed 
kissed the hiimy plain of Hai<ler Pascha in their white kerseymere 
pantaloons. An <»ccasional watery glciim of sunshine awakened our 
hopes only to mock them ; and the lengthened faces and forlorn toi- 




]ettes that at lust preseuted themselves where the Turkish grandezza 
awaited them in solemn trunijuiUity may be better imugined than de- 

The meadow on which stood the sultan** kiosk, the theatre far the 
chief actors in the ceremony, and the great table-tent was en- 
closed on three sides. On the fourth the entrance was guarded by a 
heutenant-general and his battalion in battle array. The long corri- 
dor, leading to the hall of uitdlence, supported on columns, and In 
which was placed the orchestra, was well covered with matting and 
carpets; the temporary audience-chamber itself abundantly provided 
with tables, sofas, chairs, and divans; and on either side of the en- 
trance stood a Hlc of the palace guards, Homing in scarlet and gold, 
with (Jielr scarlet tchakos adorned, in addition to their gold edging, by 
a long green plume resembling a palm branch, and holding long gilded 
halberts in their hands. 

Nearly an hour was spent in mutual compliments and fine speeches, 
before the thunder of the artillery announced the approach of the 
sultan. At last the heavily embroidered, silver- fringed, blue silk 
curtain was raised. At the foot of the steps, Chusun Pascha, little, 
old, fat, and blue-eyed, was seated on a chair, to await hi.s clients till 
the audience was over. Chusun Pascha, full uf riches and honours 
as of years (he is full eighty), has a smile for every one; and if his 
hair and beard were not grey, might serve as a model for the head of 
Antinous. He has no longer strength enough to mount steps, or 
to stand for any length of time; yet he never fails lo be present at 
a grand ceremonial, and is the only Turkish grandee who has the 
right of sitting in the sultanas palace, or, qs some say, even in the 
ituperial presence. 

Since the reforms began under Mulnnud II., ihe sultan stands when 
lie gives audience ; and, with the exception of some arabesques on 
the walls, and blue silk hangings to the window, there was no furni- 
ture whatever in the room. A semicircle was formed, stretching from 
one side to the other, by the diplomatic corps and the Turkish digni- 
taries. The sultan entered from a £idc cabinet^ and stood still before 
part of the circle formed by his own subjects; and Ali Effcndi, mi- 
nister for foreign alTairs, interpreted, with every sign of the deepest 
rcTercnce, the words that fell from the royal lips to the dean of the 
diplomatic bodv, this time the French ambassador. No doubt his 
luujesty had his answer ready to the stereotyped civilities of the 
West, and has probably repealed it scores of times. The double mis- 
hap of the weather necessitated a few civil phrases in addition to the 
usual form. In spite of the formality of the expressions, we were nil 
oioftt anxious to hear the sound of the sultan*s voice. Unluckily, this 
was no easy matter. While in the Persian imperial audience-cham- 
ber people bawl at the shah, at ten paces' distance, in Stamboul sove- 
reign and servant spoke in so low a tone, that they were scarcely au- 
dible at three. To make amends, our western curiosity was gratified 
hy a most satisfactory stare at the eastern potentate. 

Abd-ul-.Meschid is above the middle height, broad-shouldered and 
Bnely shaped, with the youthful luxuriance and fulness of form on 
which the Asiatic eye is so well pleased to rest ; and his natural ad- 
vantages were further set olf by the elegant simplicity of a closc-lit- 
ling dark blue surlout, embroidered on the seams with gold, white 

love"*? DESERTTOy. 

pantaloons, and polUlied Kurnpcan chatusur^. NotwittistAiiding sonH* 
traces of the small-pox, his tace has much manly beauty, with iu 
high furclieail, fiuely arched brows, Bmal) mouth, and straight, well- 
formed D06C. The sultan has nothing of the look of premature deca; 
so often spoken of in Europe ; but in spite of his Caucasian blooi) 
by the mother's side, Abd-ul-Meschid has the olive-tinted skin of hit 
Turcoman ancestors. His profile is very handsome ; the moustache 
is short and thick, and his whiskers and beard kept within due bounih. 
His solitaire was a large diamond as bif; as a pigeon's egg* Suluu 
Abd-ul-Mt'schid is twenly-threc y^ars old, and, though not distnclio- 
ed to pleasure, capable of severe labour, and is undeniably one of the 
best-int^ntioned princea of our time. At the end of the ceremony, 
Baron Dourgueney and Count Sturmer presented some strangers sc- 
cidcntnlly at Constantinople, and who had also reccivc^d invitations 
through the minister of foreign affairs.* 

In private audiences the sultan speaks to individuals, a condescen- 
sion not permitted by Turkish etiquette on public occasions. With- 
out saying a word, his majesty fixes his eyes on the person preseut^d 
and tliat is a sultan's greeting, and, according to Asiatic notions, a 
signal favour. 

On dismissing us, the sultan and some of his great men remained 
standing and motionless, till the last of the glittering throng huJ 


* he Minifttro dcs oiTaires ^tranfci-res, par ordre de Sm 3]ajest£ Imperiale le Sv 
tan, prie Alon. — ilt* vnuloir bion ttMisU^r n\\ diner, qui aura lieu JeuJ 

procbain, 23 SepCembre, fi Haider Posuha, u hait heures a Ja Tiirquc. 




l^v c was lM>m one joyous evening, 
In a gluiice Crnin Ju]ia*& eye. 

And I tuund myKclferc innniing, 
Dixmied bcr willing blave to sigh. 

Darkening olotids feJl oW each innmant 
Nnl enlivenotl hy her smile. 

Or that praix'ful iairy figure. 
Stealing ail my peace ilic while. 

Angelic, pure, etliereol * 
f Ipavens ! she was oil divine. 

Vet I dared — « t:»>mnioii mortal — 
Hope, kind fate, and she was mine. 

Life wait clmrified, for all was giildta, 
Her halo idied it» lustre miind ; 

This indeed waa pure eJ)-siuDi. 
UsppiiMH on earth was found. 

Lovo lay down upon our threaliidd, 
!^niili[if{ all the livelong day. 

In u love-knot tied hia pinions^ 
Uesolved tu never fly away. 

But, fatal truth, one monUng early, 
Love had tost some little K^aoe., 

lie frovned and sulked, and slily pointed 
To my charmer'^ dirty face. 

N{'xi day I found lAwe very poorly 
With a horrid touch of vapours. 

For he'd seen my lovely angel 

Come down, in her hair-curl paf^ergL 

Incensed, he pncktid Win bow nud arni«-S| 
And leift the place without a sigit, 

For she breakfasted next morning, 
Without stays, and cap awr>'! 





^•^ Thoae few btttlM of which a contrary evcut would have estwntittUy varied liic 
drama of the world in all its luhftcqueni aceuM.'* — Ujillam. 


** Tb« tUmuiiu knew not, and could not know, how deeply ibe greatoeu of t)ieir 
uwji pi.isuricy, ojid tlii* fate uf the wliule Western wurld, were involved iu the de> 
MiructUm of the flet>t uf Athens in tlm hurbour of Symitisc. liad that f^real ex- 
peditioti proved victorious, the euergies uf Urfeci* duritig itie next eventful cen- 
tury trouid have found ihcir field in the Weat nu loss than in the £atC ; fJnvce 
and not Home might have coni]uered Cartlimffe ; Greek instead of JLatin mi((ht 
have t>een at thin day the principal element of the language of t^paln, of France. 
and of Iialv ; and the laws of Atuenii, ratlier than of Rome, might be (he fuuoda- 
tion of the law of the dvillsed woHd.** — As hold. 

Few cities have undergone niore memorable sieges during ancient 
and mediaeval limes than has the city of Syracuse. Athenian, Car- 
thaginian, Roman, Vandal, Byzantine, Saracen, and Norman, have in 
turns beleaguered her walls ; and the resistance which she success- 
fully opposed to some of her early assailants, was of the deepest im- 
portance, not only to the fortanes of the generations then in being, 
but to all the subsequent current of human events. To adopt the 
elouuent expressions of Arnold respecting the check which she gave 
to tne Carthaginian arms, ** Syracuse was a breakwater, which God's 
providence raised up to protect the yet immature strength of Rome." 
And her triumphant repulse of the great Athenian expedition against 
her was of even more wide-spread and enduring iniporUmce. It 
forms a decisive epoch in the strife for universal empire, in which all 
tlie great states of antiquity successively engaged and failed. 

The pre&ent city of Syracuse is a place of little or no military 
strength; as the fire oi artillery from the neighbouring heighis 
would almost completely command it. But in ancient warfare its 
position, and the care bestowed on its walls^ rendered it formidably 
strong against the means of offence which then were employed by 
besieging armies. 

The ancient city, in its most prosperous times, was chiefly built 
OD the knob of land which projects into the sea on the eastern coast 
of Sicily, between two bays ; one of which, to the north, was called 
the Bay of Thapsus^ while the southern one formed the great har- 
bour of* the city of Syracuse itself. A small island, or peninsular 
(for such it soon was rendered,) lies at the south-eastern extremity 
of this knob of land, stretching almost entirely across the mouth of 
the great harbour, and rendering it nearly land-locked. This island 
comprised the original settlement of the first Greek colonists from 
Corinth, who founded Syracuse 2500 years ago ; and the modern 
city has shrunk again into these primary limits. But, in the fiflh 
century before our era, the growmg wealth and population of the 
Syracusans had led them to occupy and include within their city- 
waJU portion after portion of the mainland lying next to the little 
isle, so that at the lime of tlie Athenian expedition the svaward |mrt 




«f Uk kaob U* boJ reecsK^ ifi tf of wm twdt oT«r» and fortified 
ffmm fasy ta b^, ^id ■■— Maliil the brgcr pwt of Syracase. 

TW k i l MMi i «4tkactec.flrtftH«fi«ncKortbrcity, traversed 
dib toob of load, whidb coaciBaei to do^ apwardi finam the sea, J 
md whath to the vaC of the old fitigriliwi. (tint b, towards the*! 
iiit pi u T of Sic3t,) riaca lyillj ftr a «Qe or tvv^ bvt diminishes in 
width, MMtd AhIU It I ■»■■>■ ■■ a \aa% ■■■«■ ridge, b e t wee n which 
Mid Moant Hybb a ■ accu w inn of chjana aad anercn low ground ex- 
tflids. On each iank of tfaU ridge the dco c m t is iteep and predpi- 
tmu from iti laainuta to the strip* of Irrel land thu lie imraediaul/ 
below it, both to the aoutb-west aad north-west. 

Tbe Btnal mode of auaiKng fortified towns in the time of the Pe- 
lopoonedao war wu to build a doable-wall round them, sufficiently 
■Irong to check any sally of the garrison trom within, or any attack 
of a relieving force from without. The interval within the two 
walU of the circumvalUtion was roofed over, and formed barracks, 
in which the besiegers pcrsted themselves, and awaited the effects of 
want or treachery among the besieged io producing a surrender. 
And, in every Greek city of those days, as in every Italian republic 
of the middle ages, the rage of domestic sedition between aristo- 
crats and democrats ran high Rancorous refugees swarmed in tlie 
camp of every invading enemy; and every blockaded city was sure 
to contain within its walls a body of intriguing malcontents, who 
were eager to purchase a party-triumph at the ex|>ense of a nntioiut 
disaster. Famine and faction were the allies on whom besiegers re- 
lied. The generals of that lime trusted to the operation of iherf 
sure confederates as soon as they could establish a complete block- 
ade. They mrely ventured on the attempt to storm uny fortified 
noHt. For, the military engines of antiquity were feeble in breacli- 
itig muHuiirv. bcfure the improvements which the 6rst Dionysius ef* 
fcclt'd in the ira'chiuiics of destruction ; and the lives of the boldeH 
jtnd iiiiMt hi|;hly-traincd spearmsn would, of course^ have been id!) 
M£piniidi'red in charges against undhattered walls. 

A city built upon the sea, like Syracuse was impregnable, save by 
tlir ciHiibiiuMi operations of a superior hostile fleet, and a superior 
lutHlilt' army. And Syracuse, from her size, her population, and her 
military nnd imvnl resources, not unnaturally thought herself secure 
fVoni finding in another Greek city a foe capable of sending a sufficient 
ariuanuuit ii^nimit her to raenuce her with capture and subjection. 
Uiil, in lh<* spring of 414 B.r. the Athenian navy was mistress of her 
harbour, and the adjacent »eas ; an Athenian army had defeated her 
tronpN, and cooped them within tiie town; and from bay to bay a 
bUK'kiuling.wnll was being rapidly carried across the strips of level 
ground and the high ridge outside the city (then termed Epipolor), 
which, if coiniiloted, wouhl have cut the Syracusans off from all 
Riicrour fVoin tne interior of Sicily, and have lef\ them at the mercy 
of ihr Athenian generals. The besiegers' works were indeed, unfin- 
iahtnl ; but every day the unfortified interval in their lines grew nar- 
rower, and with it iliiuinishetl all apparent hope of safety for thi 
tvrU'Huucrril town. 

Athenv waa now staking the Howerof her forces, and the accuma- 
UtttI l>uit» of fteveuty years oC glory, on one bold tlirow for the 
domiuiuti ^f the Western world. As Napoleon from iSIount C<rar 
de Lion pointed to 81. Jean if Acre, and told his sUff tliat the 




ture of that town woulil decide his destiny, and would change the 
face of the world ; so, the Athenian officers, from the heights of 
£pipo)£e, must have looked on Syracuse, and felt that with its fall all 
the known nowerft of the earth would fall beneath them. They must 
have felt, also, that Athens, if repulsed there, must pause for ever 
from her career of conquest, and sink from an imperial republic into 
a ruined and subservient community. 

At Marathon, the first in date of the Great Battles of the World. 
we beheld Athena struggling for self-preservation against the in- 
vading armies of the East. At Syracuse she appears as the ambitious 
and oppressive invader of others. In her, as in other republics of 
old and of modern limes, the same energy that hnd inspired the most 
heroic eiTorts in defence of the national independence, soon learned 
to employ itself in daring and unscrupulous schemes of self-aggran. 
disement at the expense of neighbouring nations. lu the interval 
between the Persian and the Peloponnesian wars she had rapidly 
grown into a conquering and dominant state, the chief of a thousand 
tributary cities, and the mistress of the largest and best-mannetl 
navy that the Mediterranean had yet beheld. Tlie occupations of 
her territory by Xerxes and iVIardunius, in the second Persian war, 
had force<l her whole population to become mariners; and the glo- 
rtoufl results of that struggle confirmed them in their zeal for their 
country's service at sea. The voluntary sulTrage of the Greek cities 
of the coa.4ts and islands of the .^gcan first placed Athens at the 
bead of the confederation formed for the further prosecution of the 
war against Persia. But this titular ascendency was soon converted 
by her into practical and arbitrary dominion. She protected them 
from the Persian power, which soon fell into decrepitude and decay, 
but she exacted in return implicit obedience to herself. She claimed 
and enforced a prerogative of taxing them at her discretion ; and 
proudly refused to be accountable for her mode of expending their 
supplies. Remonstrance against her assessments was treated as fac- 
tious disloyalty; and refusal to pay was promptly punished as re- 
volL Permitting and encouraging her subject allies to furnish all 
tbeir contingents in money, instead of part consisting of ships and 
men, the sovereign republic gained the double object of training her 
own citizens by constant and well-paid service in her fleets, and of 
iceing her confederates lo^e their skill and discipline by inaction, 
ind become more and more passive and powerless under her yoke. 
Their towns were generally dismantled, while the imperial city her- 
self was fortified with the greatest care and sumptuousness: the ac- 
cumulatcil revenues from her tributaries serving to strengthen and 
ulom to the utmost her ha%'ena, her docks, her arsenals, her theatres, 
wd her shrines ; and to array her in that plenitude of architectural 
nagnificence, the ruins of which stiti attest the intelluritjal grandeur 
of the age and people, which produced a Pericles to plan, and a 
Phidias to perform. 

All republics that acquire supremacy over other nations rule 
tliem selfishly and oppressively. There is no exception to this in 
either ancient or modern times. Carthage, Rome, Venice, Genoa, 
Florence, Pisa, Holland, and Republican France, all tyrannized 
orer every province and subject state, where they gained authority. 
But none of them openly avowed their system of doing so upon 
AJDciple with the candour which the Athenian republicans dis- 



played, when any remonstrance was made against the severe ex- 
actions which they imposetl upon their vassal allies. They avowed 
that their empire was a tyranny, and frankly statt^l that they 
solely trusted to force and terror to uphold it. They appealed 
to what they ca]le<l '* the eternal law of nature, that the weak 
should be coerced by the strong."* Sometimes they stated, and noftj 
without some truth, that the unjust hatred of Sparta against them-^ 
selves forced them to be unjust to others in self-defence. To be 
safe, they must be powerful ; and to be powerful, they must plunder 
and coerce their neighbours. They never dreamed of communicating^ 
any franchise, or share in otfice, to their dependents ; but jealously f 
monopolized every post of command, and all political and judiciu 
power ; exposing ttiemselves to every risk with unflinching gal- 
lantry ; embarking readily in every ambitious scheme; and never 
fiulfering diBiculty or disaster to shake their tenacity of purpose; 
in the hope of acipiiring unbounded empire for their country, and 
the means of maintaining each of the I3(i,00() citizens, who made up 
the sovereign republic, in ex^clusive devotion to military occups- 
tions, or to those brilliant sciences and arts in which Athens idreadjr 
had reached the meridian of intellectual splendour. 

She had hitherto safely defied the hatred and hostility of Sparta, 
and of Corinth, Thebes, and the other Greek states thut still adheretl 
to Lacedffimon as the natural head of Ci recce; and though entangled 
in a desperate war atboroCi which was scarcely suspended for a time 
by a hollow truce, Athens now had despatched "the noblest aruiS' 
ment ever yet sent out by a free and civilised conimonwealtli," to 
win her fresh conqucRta in the Western seas. With the capture of 
Syracuse all Sicily, it was hoped, would be secured. Carthage aivl 
Italy were next to be attacked. With large levies of Iberian mer- 
cenaries she then meant to overwhelm her Peloponnesian enemies. 
The Persian monarchy lay in liopeless imbecility, inviting Greek in- 
vasion ; nor did the known world contain the power that seemed 
ciipahle of checking the growing might of Athens, if Syracuse odc« 
could be hers. 

The national historian of Rome has left us, as an episode of hii 
great work, a disquisition on the probable effects that would havfl 
followed if Alexander tlie Great had invaded Italy. Posterity hai 
generally rcj^arded that disquisition as proving Livy's patriotism 
more strongly than his impartiality or acuteness. Vet, right of 
wrong, the speculations of the Roman writer were directed to the 
consideration of a very remote possibility. To whatever age Alex* 
ander's life might havebeen prolonged, the East would have furnished 
full occupation for his martial ambition, as well as for those achemei 
of commercial grandeur and imperial amalgamation of nations, i 
which the truly great quaUties of Jiis mind loved to display thero* 
selves. With his death the dismemberment of his empire among 
generals was certain, even as the dismemberment of Napoleoo'l! 
empire among his marshals would certainly have ensued, if he bad^ 
been cut off in the zenith of his power. Rome, also, was far weak 
when the Athenians were in Sicily, she was a century a 
wards in Alexander's time. There can be little doubt but that R 
would have been blotted out from tlie independent powers of 

* *Ai* mmtidTrnTH ri> nfcr** ir» *tf»mrmrifui «ari4#^ir/«i, TUUC. 1.77* 


id she beeu atUckei] at the ew\ of the fiflh century, d. c, by 
pniAxi urmy, largely aided by Spanish mercenaries, and 
■with triumphs over Sicily and Africa ; infitead of the 
[between her and Greece having been deferred until the lat- 
lunk into decrepitude^ and the Roman Mara had acquired 
vigour of manhood. 

fjrracuBans themselves, at the time of the Peloponnesian war, 
K>ld and turbulent democracy, tyrannizing over the weaker 
itiefi in Sicily, and trying to gain in that island the same or- 
Bupremacy which Athens maintained along the eastern coast 
lediterrnnean. In numbers and in spirit Uiey were fully 
D the Athenians, but far inferior to them in military and 
litdpline. When the probability of an Athenian invasion 
I publicly discussed at Syracuse, and efforts made by some 
riser citizens to improve the state of the National Defences, 
pare for the impending danger, the rumours of coming war, 
t proposals for ]>re[wration were received by the mass of the 
lans with scornful incredulity. The speech of one o€ their 
i orators is preserved to us in Thucydides,* and many of its 
light, by a slight alteration of names and details, serve admi- 
ir the party among ourselves at present, which opposes the 
Itation of our forces^ and derides the idea of our being in any 
nn the sudden attack of a French expedition. The Syracu- 
tor told his countrymen to dismiss with scorn the visionary 
irhich a set of designing men among themselves strove to ex- 
order to get power and influence thrown into their own 
He told them that Athens knew her own interest too well 
it of wantonly provoking their hostility: ''Even if the ene~ 
tre to come," saifl he, " .to distant front iheir resources, and 
\ to iac/i ft power as ours, their destruction ttumid be eattf 
wUaific. Their ships triil ttave enoni^h to do to get to our 
U all, and to carrti such stares of ail sorts as fpilthe ucedeiL 
Unnot, therefore, carrxf besides an arm// large enough to cope 
th a jjvputttlion as ours, Theif wlU have no fortified place 
%ieh to commence their operations, btU must rest them on no 
\ase tiian a set of wretched tents and such mean* as the 
If* of the moment tviU allorr them. Bui in truth I do not 
thai thetf rruuld even be able to effect <t discntbarkation, 
thcreforry set at nought these reports as altogether of home- 
tture; and be sure that ifautf enemy does come, the slate will 
pw to defend itself, in a manner ivorthjf of the national 

\ assertions pleased the Syracusan assembly ; and their 
rparta 6nd fa\'our now among some portion of the Eng- 
pUc. But the invaders of Syracuse came ; made gootl their 
( in Sicily ; and, if they had promptly attacked the city itself, 
llicusans must have paid the penalty of their self-sufficient 

rss in submission to the Athenian yoke. But, of the three 
who led the Athenian expedition, two only were men of 
ijAnd one was most weak and incom[>etent. Fortunately for 
ft, the most skilful of the three was soon deposed from his 

[ ri. Seo.30. tt $eq. Arnold** edicion. I have almotc Uiorolly tranicnbed 
ioal epiloRies of the original i|ieech. 

-»<- TTZ *cx :?*r??rrt iim.iS' jF the wokld. 

r-'axaxsuTii 37 1. £iirct.ii« Mini •San.r'c "I'lCe cr h2» feCklov-coontryinen, 
izii ^:ie zuer r:fn7«Af!zr rce. Ldiinics:!:*^ ir:£C earlj ia a skirmish : 
wnle. H'.-r! ?:r"r-T;ir-^ 7 *cZl sir aisr. toe f<isci.* ani Tsexllatiiig Xicias 
rsmjiniSiZ i::rvzALi£*i icii irrrru-t. \z aatnTM tiae cadividcd leadership 
;c ^2ts A^2a£!i:aii irmj ti::ii ieec. 1211 :j iziir br iltdnaxe orer-oution 
isd :Tfr-*=tr^.ff«res». fTfj jtr^iiics :c vicixsi which the cstIt part 
zt t^ :ciEri:=»:c:» ;iS±rei. ^cZl. rusi x^fer his. the AUwniaiii 
aexr.T ■» :c :2if zz-w^ *^^*7 i^r^Miiftf t2ie r»» jeTJr* of the Sirmca- 
scL:«w rjcos-i i^iai v-jiljx i^e -v.Lj?. Azni. iztbtetJcv-mentioDed, almost 
erRfj^fi. 1 .^:^'r:Ti.•nu Jirr "^inrjiae. tr-ra. baj zo baj over KpipohF,tbe 
crcr-irf&:c ;c "^ixa. w:iL.i rar^i-^'r biTie bccQ t'otloved br a capi- 

At ^sisisil:'-! :t lie S^Turisizs i*i aj^ t i" t Seen cooTened to 
i.sO'i*s lie rrrcrjfCT ;c .-Qgr^x -eyx-'.it-'xrs «:th the benders. 
w**fc :*e t-^ xi^«T '^^-^ift^ -r * JCiuircc of fuccoar vhidb the 
Ff'l>:ci:ri=esx'ft luii ieiciercec "U ^/rairsje. and which the culpable 
3e-^2xt!?^o? :c' VsTii* bj^ ZfX ei«i eronTourvd to intercept. The 
S*-i. :c t2e rsire -ltj: ^-.ier tbe ib> fufdance 01^ the Spartan 
G/^rcc,*. "jTOfti jc sccitf ii^Acaroe rrcc: ^rracuic. received coDiidcr^ 
aj-v* r!f!.r:'.-nMCMcz> frrci li* -xier S:cil£.."e*. aad tnmed the Athe- 
rii3 roKr-.-c "rj joririr^x ^< ^^ ytvcad in the extreme rear of 
Ervcije. Cry.j^-^ zLAT^rbeii rir-Aii*: tile uriortiSed interval of 
N:cLt* $ ;xrip* jrz^ ihi* besi^asc !*:»= ; irsi joining his troops with 
the ?>rac'-«i=: r.-r^as^ irzir *cce ic^xpKsetiis with varvin^ suooett, 
jpL.-^.- ibe ^AsZizj cTier N':oaj. ctot* the Athesiazu irom Epipolc, 
j.r.-.: > sr:l~'.i^:. ii^rz. ;7t,- a I 'sti iT,iz:rijf -'Cf iwKticc in the low groundi 

r.-.e ±iu"V:r .-c L\ Or^K^x w j* r.ow £x*d cci Syracuse : and every 
er^r-'.\ *■:' Aihsr* :V-"t vr^ :"p.-cu=oe cc the opportunity now offered 
o« vh«x:r^ 'y<r i:vb:z:.v. at.,-, jvrhaw. ot strikirut a deadly blow at 
her powi- La-^i" nsi'^f.-tvec^nr* frvci Corinih. Thebes, and other 
c:t:e*. r.ow reach^i :h< Sjracusir:* ; whi'e the ha£ed and dispirited 
Athe" pfr.eril!y Srsocach: hi* couatrymen to recall hin, 
ar.x.: rei»rvMr.:eu iza y^nr.zr pr.-^sec-tior. ot*the siqre as hopeless. 

B'ii Ather.? hii u:A.:e :: a r_:is.::i! rever to let di£culty or disaster 
dnve her bjck. rrotv. ir.v e-:erprse orce undertaken, so lone as she 
p«»$e4sevi the mex::* ofiuakiri: ar.y e5.*rt- however desperate, for its 
accinv.pi;*hii:e:^:. With :r.w:.':-^::AMe pe-tinacrty she now decreed in- 
stead of revMl',:r.^ her first ir.ramer.t t'rvKn before Syracuse, to send 
out a sevvnd. though her eRemie* rt-,kr home ha.! now renewed open 
warfare a^iair.^t her. an J by iw.ipyirc a penranent fortification in her 
territorv/h-ui severely d:*:re**ev: her |vpulation. and were pressiDj( 
her with almost a'i the hanUhips of an actual ste^. She still wai 
mistress of the sea. and she sent forth another tleet of seventy galleys, 
and another army, which seen:e\l to drain almost the last reserves of 
her military population, to try if Syracuse couid nnt yet be won, and 
the honour of the Athenian arms be preserved from the stigma of a 
retreat. Hers was« indeed, a spirit that might be broken but never 
would bend. At the head of this second expeilition. she wisely 
placeil her best general, Demosthenes, one of the most distinguished 
oihcers that the long Pelo}H>nnesian war had pnxluced, and who, if he 
had originally held the Sicilian command, would sixin have brought 
Bynicuie to aubmission. ills arrival before that city restored the 
superiority to the Athenians for a time by land and by sea, on both of 


P which elementfl the Syracu»ans had now been victorious over the 
% dispirited soldiers and mariners who served under Nicias. 

■ With the intuitive decision of a great cumniaiuler. Demnstlienes 
urf; once saw that the possession of Kpipolae was the key to the pos- 
Hpssion of Syracuse^ and he resolved to make a prompt and vigorous 
Rnktteropt to recover that position while his force was unimpaired, and 
p the consternation whicti its arrival hud produced among the besieged 
i remained unabated. The 8yracusans and their allies had run out an 

■ outwork along Kpjpols? from the city walls, intersecting the fortified 

■ lines of circumvallation which Nicias had comnieuced, but from 
( iwhich be had been driven by Gylippus. Couhl Demosthenes suc- 
ceed in storminff thia outwork, and in re-establishing the Athenian 

p troops on the hij^h ground, be mi^ht fairly' hope to be able to resume 
the circumvallation of the city, and become the conqueror of Syracuse. 

An easily-repelied attack was fir&t made on the outwork in the 
day-time, probably more witli the view of blinding the besieged to 
the nature of the main operations, than with any exptctation of suc- 
ceeding in an open assault, wilh every disadvantage of the ground to 
contend against. But, when the darkness had set in, Demosthenes 
formed his men in columns, each soldier taking with him five days* 
provisions^ and the engineers and workmen of the camp following 
the troops with their toois, and ail portable implements of fortiHca- 
tion, so as at once to secure any advantage of ground that the army 
might gain. Thus e^juipped and prepared, he led his men along by 
the foot of the southern HuTik of Epipula?, in a direction towards the 
interior of the island^ till he came immediately below the narrow 
ridge that forms the extremity of the high ground looking west- 
ward. He then wheeled his vanguard to the right, sent them 
rapidly up the paths that wind along ttie face of the cliff, and suc- 
ceeded in completely surprising the Syracusnn outposts, and in 
placing his troops fairly on the extreme summit of the all-important 
Epipolie. Thence the Athenians marclieU eagerly down the ^lope 
towards the town, routing some Syracusan detachments that were 
cjiiartered in their way, and vigorously assatHn^ the unprotecitd side 
of the outwork. All at first iiivoured thera* The outwork was aban- 
doned by its garrison, and the Athenian engineers began to dismantle 
it. In vain Gylippus brought up fresh troops to check the assault ; 
the Athenians broke and drove them back, and continued to press 
hotly forward, in the full confidenceof victory. But, amid the general 
consternation of the Syracusans and thcirconfederates, one hotly of in- 
fantry stood firm. This was a brigade of their Bueolianallies, which was 
posted low down the slope of Epipohe outside the city walls. Coolly 
and steadily the Elceotian infantry formed their line, and, uudi:<muyed 
by the current of flight around thern, advanced against the advancing 
Athenians. This was the crisis of the battle. But the Athenian 
van was disorganised by its own ]>revi»us successes; and, yiehl- 
ing to the unexpected charge thus made on it by troops in per- 
fect order, and oii the most obstinate courage, it was driven back 
in confusion upon the other divisions of the army, that still continued 
to press forward. When once the tide wna thus turned, the Syra* 
cuaana passed rapidly from the extreme of panic to the extreme of 
vengeful daring, and with all their forces they now fiercely assailed 
the embarrat^sed and receding Athenians. In vain did the officers 
of the latter strive to rcfunn their line. Amid the din and th« 




shouting of the fight, and the confusion inseparable upon a nighc 
engagement, especially one where many thousand combatants were 
pent and whirled together in a narrow and uneven area, the neces- 
sary manccuvres were impracticable; and though many companies 
still fought on desperately, wherever the moonlight shewed them 
the semblance of a foe, they fought without concert or subordina- 
tion ; and not unfrequently, amid the deadly chaos, Athenian troops 
assailed each other. Keeping their ranks close, the Syracnsans and 
their allies prest on against the disorganized masses of the besiegers, 
and at length drove them, with heavy slaughter, over the cHfTs, which 
an hour or two before they had scaled full of hope, and apparently 
certain of success. 

This defeat was decisive of the event of the siege. The Athenians 
afterwards struggled only to protect themselves from the vengeance 
which thcSyracusans sought to wreak in the complete destruction of 
their invaders. Never, however, was vengeance more complete and 
terrible. A series of sea-fights followed, in which the Athenian 
galleys were utterly destroyed or captured. The mariners and sol- 
diers who escaped death in disastrous engagements, and a vain at* 
tempt to force a retreat into the interior of the inland, becaintf 
prisoners of war ; and either perished miserably in the Syracussa 
dungeons, or were sold into slavery to the very men whom in tbetr 
pride of power they had crossed the seas to enslave. 

All danger from Athens to the independent nations of the Werfj 
was now for ever at an end. She, indeed, continued to striigf(le 
against her combined enemies and revolted allies with unpara11ele<I| 
gallantry; and many more years of varying warfare passed aw»y 
before she surrendered to their arms. But no success in subsequent 
contests could ever have restore<l her to the pre-eminence in entef- 
prixe, resources, and maritime skill, which she had acquired l>cforei 
her fatal reverses in Sicily. Nor among the rival Greek republicsi: 
whom her own rashness aided to crush her, was there any capableofj 
reorganizing her empire, or resuming her schemes of conquest. Th«] 
dominion of Western Europe was left for Rome and Carthage to Ji«-| 
pute two centuries later, in conflicts still more terrible, and withi 
even higher displays of military daring and genius, than Atbenfj 
had witnessed either in her rise, her meridian, or her fall. 


By tbfi dear silver tonn of thy bearcnly voicet 
By lli« npurkling blui> eyrs ol the miiid of my dintoe. 
By lliy bright sunny ringkUf were I on a throne, 
A lid Uiuu what thou art^ I should moke ibee my own. 

By tlie Hnile on thy lip — by the bloom on ihy che«k — 

By tliy hiokB ofafreclion- the wunls ttum dukt »peak 

By tbe heart wurm with love in tlial bosom of suow, 
I love Oiee-mudi more than thou ever can'st know. 

I love thee— I love thee— what can I tiay more, 
Tbiin U'l! nbat I 'we told thee no often Ixffure ; 
M'hilo othora may court thee, may flatter, and praiae. 
Forget not onr ymingeir and happter days. 




" And ye that from the stately brow 
Of Windsor's heighu th' eapante bdow 

Of f^rove. nf lawn, of mend lunrey. 
Whose turf, whoiitf shade, whose flovrert among 
Wanders the hoary Thames along 

Hia silver- winding way i 

'* Ah, bAppy hills ! ah, pleasing shade ! 
Ah, fields beloved in vain ! 
M'here once my careless ehildhood str&y*d, 
A stranger yet tu pain 1* 

Every thing in the neighbourhood of Windsor is redolent of Gray. 
Heru his jays began, and liis sorrows ended, but his poetry still 
breatties its inspirations in aU we see around. 

Pi^rhaps there have been very few scenes more flattering to tJie 
genius of a poet than the one exhibited at the sale of Gray's manu- 
scripts, at Evans's auction-room in Uond Street, in the winter of 164d, 
Every scrap of his writing was eagerly bought up. His Elegy, on 
one sheet of paper, was purchased for one hundred pounds; and his 
Odes for one hundred guineas. A letter sold for eleven guineas ; and 
almost every thing else in proportion. Dut what atruck me more 
than anything else at the Kiile of these numerous and interesting manu- 
scripts, was the fact that, from nearly his earliest boyhood to the latest 
period of bis life, everything had been written with an extreme neat- 
ness, very characteristic of the poet. Indeed there was a degree of ele- 
gance in all he did, and all he wrote, which, perhaps, has never been 
surpassed. One of his favourite studies was Natural History, and 
this ia shewn by the marginal notes which he wrote in his copy of 
LinnsDus, and in Uudsoi/s Flora Anglica. He also interleaved, 
and almost entirely filled the tenth edition of the Systenm Naturce 
of LinnEcus with notes and observations. He appears to have read 
Aristotle's treatise on Zoolugy, and explained some difficult passages 
in it, iji consequence of his own uhscrvaiions. 

It was evident, also, that he understood all the rich varieties of 
Gothic architecture, which he probably studied in his youth when he 
was abroad. He also aci[uircd a considerable knowledge oi" heraldry, 
and left behind him many genealogical papers which prove him to 
have become master of the subject. 

His notes in the catalogue of the pictures at Wilton, show that 
he had a fine taste for painting, and his sketches not only in the 
Systema Naturne, of the heads of birds, and of insects, hoth in their 
natural size and magnified, with some other drawings, prove that he 
was no mean proficient in the art of drawing. Nor was he ignorant 
of music, if we may judge by what had belonged to him, and which 
was sold wilh his books and manuscripts. 

Gardening would appear to have been a favourite amusement of 
Gray's, but especially floriculture ; and in his pocket journals, some of 
which were sold, he noticed the opening of leaves and fto'wtTS^ «i& 




wcU as of the birds, insects, &c., seen by him at different periods, 
and much of bis time must have been passed in these studies. 

But on much smaller matters he bestowed attention. A friend of 
mine purchased at the sale of his library, a book of cookery, ia 
which he had entered observations on tlte dishes of Mons. St 
Clouet and Mr. W. Verral, and which the poet has altered and 
amended. The 6y-lcaves are filled with recipes for savory stewi 
and hashes, and he remarks that he had tried one and found 
it bad. 

Such is a short sketch of some of the acquirements of Gray. But 
it is in his poetry that we trace his talents and genius : and how much 
of it is connected with this neighbourhood in which he lived, and 
how much has he [added to its interest? His Churchyard, as Dr. 
Johnson observed, "abounds with images which find a mirror ia 
every mind, and with sentiments to which every bosom returns an 
echo." It may also be said of Gray, that he was one of those fe« 
persons in the annals of literature, who did not write for the sake of 
pro6t; he evidently shunned the idea of being thought an author bj^ 
profession. Whether this was owing to a certain degree of pride, to 
his high sense of honour, or to his good breeding, may remain i 
doubt, but he certainly did not seek for advantage from his Hterfliy 

While he was staying; with his relations at Stoke, Gray wrote 
and sent to his friend West, that beautiful Ode on S^jring, which 
begins — 

*' Ln ! vhere ibe my bosomM hours, 
Fair Venus' train, appear, 
DiscloH tbe loni( expecting flowers. 
And wake tbe purjile year I" Ac. 

This ode he sent, as soon as he had written it, to Mr. West, bttl 
he was dead before the letter which enclosed it had arrived. It w» 
returned to Ijim unopened. This Ode contains n kind of present! 
ment of the death of one so much beloved, and the lines, so well 
known to the adtuirera of (iray, are extremely pathetic and beautiful 

Mr. W\*st died in the twenty-sixth year of nis age, and this cir- 
cumstance adds a double interest to this beautiful ode. 

The Ode lo Adversity, and that on a distant prospect of Eton, 
were hotli of them written within three months after the death of 
Mr- West. His sorrow, also, for this event, was shown in a very 
affectionate sonnet, which concludes thus — 

** I fruit1e«» moum for him that cannot hear, 
And weep the more, Iwcaute I weep in Taiu." 

Hut it was as a lover of nature — of these little incidents in rural lir« 
.^of facts and circumstances in what he saw around him, whether 
the varied scenery of Stoke, the "beetle with its drowsy hum,' 
and " droning flight," or the complaint of the " moping owl," that 
Gray's genius pleases most, and has done so much to immortalize h'' 
memory. Thot he studied nature, and wooed her charms in the de- 
lightful neighbourhood of Stoke, as well as in the wilder scenery 
Italy, cannot be doubted. In fact, his mind appeared to be pecuHarlj 
pd tn enjoy rural scenes and rural objects, tinctured as it wa 
dislike to the more bustling scenes of life, and this induce 


a voluntary seclusion from the world. Under »uch circumstance^ 
nature opened to him resources of which he eagerly availed himself, 
and which probably tended more than any thing else to dispel that 
dejection of spirit* and mental uneasiness of which he complains in 
several of his letters. It is, indeed, sad to think that a man of such 
talents as Gray, with so many acquirements, with auch virtues and 
such humanity, blameless in his life, and disintercseed in all his 
pursuits, should have suffered in the way he describes himself to 
iiave done. He appears, however, to have met death with great 

Id one of bis note-books, there » a flight sketch io verse of his 
own character. It was written in 1761. 

»' Too poor for a bribe, uid too proud to iciportuae. 
He bad uot the method nf making & fortune ; 
Could love, snd could hate, hu wu thouf^ht ftomewbat odd ; 
No very groat wit, he believe<l in a God. 
A post or k pciuioD he did uot desire, 
80 left church and ilate to Charles Towuabend aud s<|uire." 

The cause of Gray's quarrel with Horace Walpole has never 
been satisfactorily explained. Various causes have been assigned for 
but 1 recently heard one mentioned, which is sufficient to account 
the silence of Gray's biographer during the lire-time of Walpole, 
vheo the memoirs of Gray were writteu, and, also, fur the unwilling- 
Dtrii the former evinced to enter into the subject, except by charging 
himself with the chief blame. The fact, 1 have been assured, was, 
that Gray bad threatened to acquaint Sir Robert Walpole with his 
•od's extravagance and dissipation when they were travelling together 
Italy, and that Walpole, hearing he would do this, had opened 

ne of Ciray's letters. Gray very properly resented ihis as a 
It unjusti6able act, and parted from his companion. This will 
>unt for a passage in the manuscript of the Kev. W, Cole, who 

red in terms of intimacy with Gray during the latter part of his life. 

■When matters," he remarks, ** were made up between Gray and 
Walpole, and the latter asked Gray to Strawberry Hill, when he 
csmc, he, without any ceremony, told Walpole that he came to wait 
OD him as civility required, but by no meaus would he ever be 
tkere on the terms of his former friendship, which he had totally 

Mr. Mitford has observed, that this account does not seem at all 
inconsistent with the independence and manly freedom which always 
Sccompanied the actions and opinions of Gray. 

I am aware how very defective this short notice of him is ; but, 
residing in the neighbourhood where he lived, and constantly frc- 
ijueoting the spot where his remains were deposited, I could not 
refrain from adding mine to the many accounts of a poet so greatly 
idmircd. It has been said of him, that he joins to the sublimity 
of Milton, the elegance and harmony of Pope, and that nothing was 
•anting to render him, perhaps, the (irst poet in the English lan- 
guage, but to have written a little more, 


■V V. e. r^nrnk, txj». 

It ii a wy ammmam^ hm. 

I thattbe fegeod 
a ntire «i 

tbrooi^Hoat Europe. 
ia tbc Iqgcnd «lw^ caa afbrd tbe iT^tcst sup- 
MKfa a Uwary: tke ■BBaert vlij^ tW story pourtr»;s, 
a ffate of aocictj }ang anterior to the age oT the Tudoni 
tb^ beteg to a timte vbea die murder of wives needed doI to 
iMler ititf aader tbe fcm aT bv, the hero is not a king fctl 
■g MMclbi^ af tbe ooaftial wbicb aancnt pablic opinion imposo 

rB ^Bsyariini ; be is a clri i Mi «f tbe dbrbest period of the mid 
■gei^ wbca tbe oolj cbeck on tbe tynmnj of the lords of castlo 
was tbe chaact of tbeir being caiUed to aocooat bj some adventurous 
kai^t efrant. vba aaitnaafc la wdren gricvaooes bj tbe point «f 
Ui kace, and tbe edge of bis aword. Tbe aost telling inddeok b 
Iba Blorjr. tbe laabomoT Sister Anae from tbe tower of the csMk 
evideaitljr fixes tbe dale in tbe age of knight onatry; Blue Beardk 
dearijr one of those terrAle burgravefl whom Victor Hugo has lo 
vtridlj delineated, or, as seems to be probable, he is 

" Knight of tbe shire, aad rafraHMi than aO.'* 

la fad, there are few countries in western Europe which do nol 
claim Uie equivocal hoooor of having produced a Blue Beard, and we 
majr r^ard tbe ule as a kind of concentrated essence of serrnl 
legends and traditions relating to outrages perpetrated by feudal 
lurds during the feeble stage of monarchy, when, to u^ the vxpre^ 
sive language of t)ie sacred historian, it might be said of alrooil 
every country in Western Europe, " at ibis time, there was no 
king in Israel; every man did that which seemed right in his o«B 

In tlie recent development of provincial literature in FranCCt 
several strange and interesting local legends have been brought to 
light, which throw some gleams of explanation on tlic talcs that baw! 
become current in European tradition. Several of these relate to 1 
sup|>osed prototype of Blue Beard, and it will not be uninteresting to 
glance at the real history of some of these per&ouages as illustrativa 
of the sute oi' society in that age of chivalry, the disappearaoca 
of which is so deeply lamented by certain writers of sentimeQUl 

The Angevin Legend has the first claim on our attention, for it^ 
udvucates can jwiut out a castle on the bauks of the river belwecfl 
Angers and Nantes, which bears the name of Le ChdUau de Barit 
liUuCi and the position of which quite accords with the incidents 
the legend. The true nume of the ruin, is the Castle of Champtoie 
it is situated on the brow of a hill which is nearly covered with tt 
fragments of the ancient pile. Its appearance seems strongly c 
firroaiory oi the tale told by the peasantry^ that it was destroyed b; 

'hunderboU, and that its gigantic ruins ought to be regarded as 



permanent monument of divine vengeance. The tower which Sister 
Anne is supposed to have ascended, is cloven from summit to base; 
but fiume adventurous climbers who have ascended tiie ruins^ ilc- 
clare that it commands a wide extent of prospect, and chut from 
It they can see Uie gates of Angers, which are nine or ten miles 

In the fifteenth century, this fortified palace» (or such^ from its ex- 
tent, it appears to have been, betong;ed to Gilles de Retz^ Marshal of 
France, and one of the firmest adherents of Charles VII. The chro- 
nicles give a long list of the lordships and manors which were united 
in his domain ; they assert that his income exceeded one hundred 
thousand crowns of gold annually, intlependent of the large booty 
he collected from various marauding expeditions against the sup- 
porters of the PloDtagenets. 

Not only large profits, but certain feudal honours were attached to 
these manors — liotiuurs which, in our day, would he regarded almost 
as menial services. The lords of four manors had the right of bear- 
ing the litter vC every new bishop of Angers, when he mudu his 
solemn entry into his diocese. With curious minuteness, it was 
ordained that the Lord of Duollay should hold the right pole in^ and 
the Lord of Cheniille the left: the Lord of Gratccutsse was to hold 
the left pole in the rear, having for assistant on his right, the Lord 
of lilou. Now, two of those manors, Gratecuisse and Uuolliiy, be- 
longed to the Lord of Retz, and we have not been able to discover 
how he contrived to perform the double obligation imputed on him. 
Our researches have, however, shown that great importance was at- 
tached to the obligation, for we find it recorded in one of the chro- 
nicles, that at the installation into his bishopric of William Lemaire, 
in 1^90, Almeric dc Craon, son of the Lord of Buollay, claimed to 
carry the pole of I he litter in place of his father, who was confined to 
his bed by some dangerous illness. Alter a solemn investigation, 
such as the importance of the question required^ it was decidt;d that 
thit» sacred and hunuurabte service was purely personal, and that as 
the Lord of Buollay could not render it, his right devolved to the 
Lord of IVlHthefelon. This decision was the cause of much grief to 
AInicric de Craon ; he not only protested against it» but when ihe 
procession came near, he mounted on the shoulders of a stout archer* 
and in this singular guise, assisted to support the episcopal litter into 

Gilles de Rctz had barely attained his majority, when he entered 
on his rich inheritance of a castle ahuost as extensive as a town, 
numerous lordships and manors, a princely income, and the right to 
support two poles of an episcopal litter. He was, of course, sur- 
rounded by flatterers and parasites, who stimulated his passions, and 
encouraged him in every kind of extravagance, from which they were 
sure to derive some profit. One historian, said lo be a descendant of 
this potent lord, informs us that the most sumptuous part of his esta- 
blishment was his chapel and chuntry, in which no less than twenty- 
three chaplains, choristers, and clerks were engaged, and which was 
iumished with two portable organs, requiring six men to carry them. 
The service in this chapel was conducted with all the splendour and 
forms used in cathedrals, and the Lord de Hetz sent a deputation to 
the Pope, requesting that his chaplains should be allowed \.o 'w^a.x 



initres like the cauons iu tbe cathedral of Lyons, He was, tlfto, i 
great patron of mlraclc-pIays, and collected actors, morris-daDcen 
and singers from distant provinces, to act the Mysteries which hefv 
hibiled daily from Ascension-day to Whitsunday. 

But all this splendour of retif^ious worship was mere theatrical dii- 
play, which Gilles de KetE regarded with no deeper feeling than ibe 
mimes and farces which his dramatic corps acted when not eng%^ 
in the celebration of Mysteries. The brilliant solemnities of the 
Chapel were eclipsed by extragavant orgies in which debauched j^ 
vention was tasked to the utmost to discover new excesses and 
ties of vice. Every day young maidens were taken by force 
the cottages of their parents and carried to the castle, from wbencv 
none of them was ever known to return. 

Such excesses were sufficient to break down the most amplr 
fortune. Gilles de Ketz began to feel the want of means to support 
the state to which he had been accustomed; some of liis manors were 
sold, others were mortgaged to the merchants of Angers, and a grtil 
reduction was made in the number and the salary of the chaplains. 
To replace his fortune, the castellan devoted himself to the study (^ 
alchymy, and the means of transmuting the base metals into goliL 
According to the superstitions of the period, he was said tu hafe 
entered into a compact witii Satan, and to have stipulated with tbc 
prince of darkness to pay for his instruction in the forbidden arts, bt 
a tributary sacrifice of Christian children. In this part of the C4s* 
tellan's history, the Angevin writers recognize the explanation of 
the mysterious chamber which Blue Beard guarded by such severe 
penalties against the intrusion of female curiosity. 

Though we are far from giving implicit credence to the stories of 
ubominubic crimes said to have been perpetrated by ma^cions. 
necromancers, and alchymists in the dark ages* we cannot reject all 
such narratives as mere fictions. Many of the worst corruptions of 
Paganism, and particularly the Secret Mysteries, introduced from 
Asia into Italy about the time of the Antonines, long survived the 
establishment of Christianity, and were secretly propagated by men 
who may best be described as credulous deceivers. The union of 
enthusiasm and impusiure is common ; each has a tendency to pro- 
duce the oilier ; what are called pious frauds, have often been per- 
petrated with the best intentions: and those who have imposed upon 
the world by pretended miracles, frequently end by becoming the 
dupes of their own pretensions. Such we believe to have been the 
case with ihe necromancers and magicians of the middle ages; they 
believed that the spells of a mystic ritual would confer on them 
supematurn! powers, and they attributed their failures to some imper- 
fection in Iheir ceremonial, or to incomplete instruction. These 
mystics wore banded together in secret societies, or rather in secret 
sects, the members of which recognized each other by pass-words 
and signs, known only to the initiated. Some suspicion of the hor- 
rible deeds perpetrated at ihe meetings of these mystics was spread 
among the general public, and severe edicts were issued against 
their atscmblies both by the Pagan and Christian Emperors. Indeed 
the secrecy of the meetings of the Christians themselves was one of 
the reasons most commonly assigned for the perseculions to which 
they were subjected* 



Tradition and history equally point to Hindustan as the parent of 
these myslerioua fraternities in which asceticism was frequently com- 
bined with licentiousness, and in whicli sometimes the bond of union 
was community in crime. The horrible associaiion of tlie Thugs, 
whose ritual prescribes assagsination as a duty, has continued to our 
own times. Indeed, we find that in the middle ages the Indians, that 
is, the Hindoos, were regarded as the best teachers of magic, and 
were as much reverenced aa the Chaldeans in the later ages of the 
Roman empire. 

If Blue Beard's secret chamber was a place consecrated to the 
practice of those mysterious abuminationsj in which some of the se- 
cret societies notoriously indulged, there is abundant reason for his 
affixing the penalty of death on the intrusion of ihe uninitiated. 
Gillesde Retz had secret chambers in all his castles, and he engaged 
adepts from various countries to work out "the great projection" 
under his directions. '* He hud heard," says M. dc Houjoux, "that 
there existed men who, by certain rites and sacrifices, and the exer- 
tion of a firm will, acquired supernatural powers, and tore away the 
veil which shrouds incorporeal forms from bodily vision ; he heard 
that such persona became lords over the fallen angels, who were 
subject to their connnands, and obeyed even the slightest intimation 
of their will, He therefore sent out emissaries who traversed Ger- 
many and Italy, penetrated into the mobt savage solitudes, searched 
the densest forests, and descended into the deepest caverns, where, 
according to report, were the haunts and dwellings of the worshippers 
of the prince of darkness." 

One of the earliest associates who presented himself to Gilles de 
lletz announced himself as an Indian sage. His figure was imposing 
and severe; his eyes dark, but fiery; his beard long, white, and 
|iointed; and his manners, though grave, had the easy grace winch 
marks men accustomed to the best society. It subsequently appeared 
that the pretended Indian was a Florentine mountebank, named Tre- 
lutij who had picked up some vague traditions about oriental magic 
while trading in the Levant. Prelati led his patron to believe thai 
Satan could only be propitiated by the sacrifice of children, and nu- 
merous innocents were murdered in the secret chamber, whose cries 
of agony were sometimes heard in the remotest parts of the castle ; 
but any of the domestics wlio attempted to penetrate the mystery 
were instantly put to death. 

The purveyor of Innocents for sacrifice was an old woman named 
La Meffraie; she contrived to introduce herself to young children 
who tended Hocks, or ivho wandered about as beggars; she caressed 
them, gave them sweetmeats, and thus enticed them to tht; castle of 
Champtoie, or to that of Luze. where the pretended Indian worked: 
and those who once entered either were never known to return. So 
long as the victims were the children of peasants, who might have 
been supposed to have strayed accidentally, or to have runaway from 
the privations which they endured at home, little enquiry was made 
on the subject ; but boldness increasing with impunity, the children 
of some wealthy citizens were stolen, and coniplaiuU were made to 
JoImi V. Duke o( Brittany, the liege lord of Gilles dc Retz, who gave 
orders for the arrest of the niarshnf, and the seizure of his castles. 
I The traditional account given of the arrest of Gilles de Relz V\«» ■&Q'av^ 



similarity to the incideDt of Sister Anne in the story of Bine 
There was a painter in Nantes who had a very beautiful wifej 
brother had been engaged as a chorister in the cha{>el of Chamj 
but after some time he had inexplicably disappeared. When shei 
complaint to justice) the authorities hesitated to attack a place M 
lified and so strongly garrisoned as Champtoie. She offered to i 
duce them into the castle by stratagem, and related the plan sbi 
formed for the purpose. On a certain day, as had been cooa 
she pretended to stray into the domains of the marshal^ and wt 
mediately seized by some of his emissaries as a victim of his luil 
conveyed as a prisoner to the high tower. In her first intei 
with the marshid, she obtained such inBuence over him, tha 
entrusted her with the keys of the castle, that she might amuse 
self in the gardens while he returned to the laboratory, Shi 
scended and unlocked the postern gate, and then asceuding ti 
tower, hung out the Hag which had been agreed upon as a si 
One tradition says that the soldiers were rather tardy iu tiieir ar 
and that she was on the point oi being the victim of the roan 
brutality, when her husband and friends arrived to her re 
** They found," says M. de Houjoux, *' in the castle of Chaiupio 
large chest full of the calcined bones of children, to the nu: 
about forty skeletons. A similar discovery was made at L 
other places which the marshal frequented. It was calcuU 
more than one hundred and fifty children had been murdered 
extemiiuating monster 

Bodin tells us that when Gil!ea was interrogated by the judg« 
confessed, or rather boasted, that he had committed crimes suffit 
to procure the condemnation of ten thousand men. From the rec 
of his trial in the archives of Britnnny, it appears that he was 
ceeded againjut both civilly and ecclesiastically. His judges wen 
President of Brittany, the Bishop of Angers, and Jean Blouin, i 
to the Inquisitor-Ueneral of France. They found him guilty o 
possible and some impossible crimes^ adding to the record, thi 
contessed many other things so unheard-of that they could not be 
(ifiaudita et innamihUia), He was sentenced to be led in chaii 
the place of execution, and to he burned alive at the stake 
appointed was the 23rd of October, 1440, — "a date," says th 
nan, " about which there can be no doubt ; for all the people of 
and Maine by common consent whipped their children on that m 
ing, so as to impress the precise date on their memory." This stn 
njnt'tnunic process is still a favourite with the peasants of Anjou 

Whimsically enough, the monument erected to the exterin 
marshal wasbelitrvedtohave what may be deemed an expiating in 
for the cruellies he had inflicted on children during his life, and 
general whipping he procured them at his death. It was decon 
with a statue of the Virgin, uhich still bears the name of* La \^ 
de Cree Lait," because it possesses the power o^ enabling nur 
mothers to produce abundance of that aliment in which infi 

We come now to a rival prototype of Blue Beard, whoce cla 
advocated both by the bards and the historians of Brittany. It 
saintly legend, and has the additional merit of introducing a 



t m 









miracle. We must therefore translate it as literally as monkish Latin 
will allow. 

**In the year of grace 530 there lived near the river Blanet, in the 
country of Vannes, a holy personage named Welian, a native of the 
island of Britain^ who had visited the continent as a missionary^ and 
hod been enabled to build a noble monastery by the contributions of 
the peasants and the alms of the faithful. His sermons and his utira- 
des were renowned throughout Brittanny, and had introduced him to 
the notice of Werek, Count o( Vannes, who highly respected his 

** Now there reigned at that time over the country of Comouailles 
a wicked lord named Comorre, who had heard of Weltan, and wished 
, to see bim. The saint, in hopes of converting him, went to visit this 
murderous wolf, accompanied by some of his monks. Finding that 
his instructions produced some sensible effect on the mind of the 
count, he a^eed to remain at his court until he had completed the 
I process of his conversion. 

I "-A little before this, the Count of Comouailles had visited the 
I court oi' Vunnes, and having seen Zuphina, the eldest daughter of 
Count Werek, fell desperately in love with her. He proffered mar- 
risge, but was peremptorily refused, on account of the cruelty with 
which he had treated his seven former wives, all of whom he had 
mnrdered just as they were on the point of becoming mothers. This 
Rjection so grieved him that he spent the days in tears and the 
nights without sleep. At length he entreated Weltan, or, as he now 
' began to be called, Saint Gildasius, to use his inHuence with Count 
Werek, that he might believe in the sincerity of Comorre's repent- 
ace, and grant him the hand of his daughter. Weltan or Gildasius 
undertook tlie task, and succeeded. 

''The marriage was celebrated with great pomp. Zuphina came to 

ike castle of her husband, and was treated with uU the respect due to 

her rank, beauty, and virtue, until she exhibited unequivocal signs 

thftt she was about to become a mother. Comorre then began to re- 

gland her with sinister glances, and to utter obscure menaces, by 

vliich she was so much alarmed, that she renolvcd to escape to her 

^ber. Early one morning, just before dawn, leaving Comorre fast 

■ferp, she mounted her palfrey, and set forth unattended on the road 

tu Vannes. 

, ** When the count awoke, he missed his wife, and having heard of 

Wt evasion, guessed rightly the direction of her flight. He called 

[ (dr his boots, ordered his fleetest steed to be saddled, and gave chase 

uie utmost force of whip and spur. Zuphina was almost within 

j-,.i.; of Vannes when she discovered her pursuer. She immeJialely 

from her palfrey, and endeavoured to hide herself in a grove 

willows. Comorre, on finding his wife's steed riderless, dismount- 

and, after a close search, discovered Zuphina, and having dragged 

from her hiding-place, brutally strangled her, in spile of tears und 

ities. A peasant, who accidentally witnessed the transaction, 

jht intelligence of it to V^unnes. Werek assembled his guards, 

having ineffectually chased the murderer, ordered the body of his 

l^hter to be transported to the town, while he hasted to make his 

ICtoplaint to St. Gildasius. 

The saint, affected by the father's grief, which neither tears nor 




groans could relieve, consented to foUow him to VanDcs; 
road be turned aside to visit Comorre io his castle of Quci 
to reproach him for the cowardly murder. In anticipAlion of 
visit, Comorre had ordered the draw-bridges to be raided, 
portcullises let down. The saint, unable to obtain ada3i$sioo» 
a handful of dust and tiung it against ibe towers^ four of wl 
mediately fell, severely wounding Comorre and his associates. 

** The saint then resumed bis route to Vanues, and on reaci 
castle, demanded to be led to the bier of the murdered 2 
Wlien be was brought to the chapel where she lay, he took the 
by the hand, and said in a loud voice, 'Zuphinot in the nami 
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I command thee to arise a^| 
unto us whither thou hast departed/ ^ 

*' At these words the lady arose and declared that angels hi 
engaged transporting her soul to Paradise, when the summ4a| 
dasius compelled them to restore it to her body. ■ 

" Comorre was soon punii^hed for his crime : at the sural 
Werek all the bishops of BritUuy assembled at Menez-Bre, i 
minoted an excommunication against the Count of Corn( 
efficacious, that* as the chronicler assures us, " he suffered 
Arias, and burst in sunder." 

Burgundy has set up a third rival for the prototype of 
in the person of the Count of Saulx, wliose cruelty to his wili 
the subject of a very indifferent ballad, not worth the troi 
translation. The ballad is taken from a very ancient roma 
which only a few fragments have been preserved. From 
learn that during the time when Burgundy was governed 
dukes, a certain Count de Saulx, having taken an inexplii 
to his wife, shut her up in the den with his bears. Her gen 
so won on these savage animals, that they caressed her as i 
had been "lap-dogs or pet doves.^' But this example of tend 
in beasts was so far from mollifying the count, that it only idc 
his fury. He threw her into another dungeon, and fed her **< 
bread o( sorrow and the water of affliction.** Some hint of th 
duct was conveyed to the laJy's brothers : they hasted to ci 
count to explain Iiis conduct ; hut he took the lady trom her | 
arrnye<l her in robes of state, and compelled her by furious mi 
to tell her brothers that she had no reason to complain of the 
nient she received from her husband. Their suspicions, hoi 
were roused by her emaciated appearance^ but they feigned sa 
tion, and pretended to take their deporture. When the coui 
lieved (hem at u sufficient distance, he hastened to the chami 
his ludy, resolved to murder her without further delay ; but j 
lie raised the sword to strike, her brothers, who had secretly reti 
rushed into the room and slew (he cowardly assassin, eSier whM 
brought their sister home in triumph. jl 

We think that traces of these three legends may be found tt 
rault's story of Blue Beard, and that instead of his having ban 
fiction on a single tradition, he endeavoured to make it a It 
resuvi6 of the many legends of tyrannical husbands with whks 
popular literature of France abounds. ~ 

»re, 1 


s wili 

>m d| 






^ brash past asentinel at ISO Rue St. Honore, at Paris, you go 
i the archway, and you are in the great court of the Messagerioa 
^s. A dozen of the lumbering diligences are ranged about it, 

tseek out, amid the labyrinth of names posted on the doors, the 
r end of your travel. There is a little poetic licence in the use 
ie5. and yon will find Russia, and Syria, and Gibraltar posted,— 
ftieans only that you can be booked at that partitnilor desk the 
Ige QpoD the way. 

fe each office is drawn up Us particular coach or coaches ; and 
tude of porter*, with coat-collars trimmed with lace, are piling 
fem such tremendous quantities of luggage, as make you tremble 
j safety of the roof; to say nothing of your portmanteau, with 
fcest collars, and shirts, and dress-coat, and bottle of Macassar 
its bellows top, and perhaps at the very bottom of the pile. 

e mass accumulates, the travellers begin to drop into the court 
themselves about the diligence. The heavy leather apron at 
over the top ; the officer comes out with his list of names, 
they are numbered, each takes his place. The author for in- 

as number three of the couph^ in which he is jammed between 
fully large French lady, and a small man with a dirty mous* 
Kud big pacquet, which be carries between his legs, so as to 
limself to the full as engrossing a neighbour as his more gentle 
kin at the other window. These three seats make the coraple- 
r that particular apartment of the diligence, which faces the 
and is protected by glass windows in front. 
interior counts six by the official roll : there are, perhaps, a little 
i^rl and " papa/* vrho have been speaking a world of adieus to 
' friends, that have attended them up to the last moment, as if 
^rc about setting sail for the Crosettes in the South Pacific, 
ire young men, students, perhaps, who have had their share of 
[od adieus, and there are one or two more inside-travellers, over 
ears have been shed in the court. 

( these do not make us full. The rofonde has its eight more : 
« men in blouses, farmers, dealers in provisions, stock-drivers, 
servants, and German bagmen. Nor is this all : three mount 
, and puff under the leathern calash in front. The coachman 
ie% his place, aHer having attached his six horses with raw hide 
The conductor liHs up his white dog, then mounts himself. 
'flow from every window. There are waving bands in the court, 
matic handling of umbrellas ; and the whip cracks, and the ma- 

little guard with bis musket, at the entrance, stands back ; — we 
^ through. The conductor shouts, the cabmen wheel away, the 
rks incessantly, the horses suort and pull, and the way clears, 
ftr woman with cakes upsets all in her haste to get away ; two or 
angry-looking boys prowl about the wreck j a policeman comes 

the boys move off — all this is the work of a moment. 


" Yfr-e-e/' says the coaclimaii» as lie cracks his whip ; — " (iar-f-w/ 
sftVB the conductor to the crowds crossing ;— " wow-wow-wow,** yelW Ui 
Bimrly white dog; — " Painii P' exclaims llie fat lady ; — ■•' Le diM!* 
sayB the man with the dirty moustache ; and down the long Roe SL 
Honore we thunder. 

There arc no such pretty little half-town, half-country resideomii 
the neighbourhood of the French cities, as one aoes Id the ravirou tf 
all British towns. First, outside the Barriers^ come the jTitiffjFMMi 
and eating-houses ; then great slattern nutiMHS Ramies, for saA m 
prefer a long walk and dirty rooms^ to paying town prices. Tlw* 
lessen in preicusions as you advaucc, and leogihuu into haif-villiget of 
ill-made and ill-kept houses. The inns arc not uufrequent, and m 
swarmed by the wagon-men on their routes to and from the city. Tlusi 
pass at length, and the open country of wide-spreading grain-fields ap- 

Perhaps it is nearly dark (for the diligence taJies ita depanare il 
evening) before the monstrous vehicle clatters up to the first inn of i 
little suburban town for a relay. The conductor dismouut«, aod Um 
coachman is succeeded by another — for each has the care and mantp- 
raenl of his own horses. 

Of course there is a fair representation of the curious ones of the v3* 
lage. and if a passoDgcr dismount, perhaps a beggar or two will plead ii 
a diffident sort of way, — as if they had no right, and hoping yoa lai; 
not suspect it. The conductor is the prime mover, and the cyDOsnre (tf 
all country eyes ; and his lassoled cap and embroidered collar are 
envy of many a poor swain in shirt-sleeves. Even the postmaster is 
the best of terms with him, and bids him a hearty Lou goivj aji the 
coachman cracks his whip, and the dog barks, and we find ourseln 
the road again. A straggling tine of white-washed houses each side t 
broad street, with one or two little inns, and a parish church looking 
older by a century than the rest of the houses, make up the portraiton 
of the village. 

Whoever traveU in a French diligence must prepare hinasclf to meet 
with all sons of people, and must, more especially, fortify himself against 
the pangs of hunger and want of sleep. Those who have been jolted 
a night on a French road jtxir^, between a fat lady and a man wbo 
smells of garlic, will know what it is to want the latter; and twrlve 
hours' ride, without stopping long enough for a lunch, has made many 
persons, more fastidious under other circumstances, very ready to buy 
the dry brown buna, which the old women offer at the coach-windoiMl 
the last relay before midnight. — How wishfully ia the morning hop^| 
for, and how joyfully welcomed even the first faiat streak of light in 
the cast 1 

The man in the comer rubs open his eyes, and takes off his uigh^ 
cap ; the fat lady arranges her head-<lres8 as best she may ; — and so^H 
appear over the backs of the horses evidences of an approaching; town. 
We pass market-people with their little donkeys, and queer-dreaaed 
wumen in sabots, with burdens on their heads; and heavy-wolled houses 
thicken along the way. 

Soon the tower or spire of some old cathedral looms over crowds of 
buildings, and we bustle with prodigious clatter through the dirty streets 
of some such provincial town as Auxerre. Along a stone building, 
stuccoed, and whitewashed, with the huge black capitals, Hotel de P 






over the door, is announced a breakfast-place. Tho waiter or landlord 
as far more chary of his civilities than at an English country inn; all, 
incFuding the fat lady, are obliged to find their own way down, and to 
the breakfast-room. 

The first attempt will bring- one» perhaps, into a hug^e kitchen, where 
a dozen people in white aprons and blue ore moving about in all dtrec- 
tionSf and take no more notice of you, than if you were the conductor's 
dog. You have half a mind to show your resentment by eating no 
breakfast at all ; but the pangs of hunger are too i^lrong ; and they un- 
fortunately know as well as you, that he who rides the night in the dili- 
gence finds hiniS4:^lf at morning in no humour for fasting. 

If you ask after breakfast-quarters, you are perhaps civilly pointed to 
the door. A rambling table, set over with a score of dishes, and a bot- 
tle of red wine at each place» with chops, omelettes, stewed liver, pota- 
toes, and many dishes whoso character cannot be represented by a name, 
engross the lively regards of the twenty passengers who have borne us 
coiu])any. Commands and counter-commands, in the accentuation of 
Auvergne or of Provence, calling for a doxen things that are not to be 
had, and complaining of a dozen things that are, make the place a 

" Gari^on^^ says a middle-aged man from the interior, with his mouth 
ful of hot liver, ** is this the wine of the country ?" 
" Ouij mojuieuri and of the best quality." 

" Man Dieu ! it is vinegar I And of what beast, pray, is this the 
liver }^ taking another mouthful. 

" Ctsi de vcav, monsieur, and it is excellent." 
** Par ff/vt4 ! ^ar^o/i, you are facetious ; it is like n bull's hide." 
The fat lady is trying the eggs. " Bonne T she pipes to the waiting- 
woman, " are these eggs fresh ?" 

"They cannot be more fresh, madame." 

**Eft, iieiij* with a sigh, " one must prepare for such troubles in the 
country ; but, mon Dieti ! what charming eggs one finds at Paris !" 

" Ah^ cest fjrai, mofiamef* says a stumpy man opposite, — ** c^e^t hien 
vrai ; jc suiit de Paris^ madante.*^ 

*• Vraiment P' replies the lady, not altogether taken with the sjicak- 
er's looks, " I should hardly have thought it."* 

If the stranger can by dint of voice among so many voices, and so 
much gesticulation, get his fair quota of food, he may consider himself 
fortunate; and if he has fairly finished before the conductor appears to 
say all is reudvi hv is still more fortunate. 

At length all arn again happily bestowed in their places ; the two 
franca paid for the breakfast, the two sous to the surly gar^im, and we 
roll off from the Hotel de Paris. 

Every one i» manifestly in better hnrnour : they are talking busily in 
the inferior ; and the fat lady delivers herself of a series of panegyrics 
upon the Bouvelards and Tuileries. 

Meantime we are passing over broad plains, and through long 
avenues of elms, or lindens, or poplars. The road for breadth and 
smoothness is like a street, and stretches on before us in seemingly in- 
terminable length. 

There are none of those gray stone walls by the wayside, which hem 
you in throughout New England ; none of those crooked, brown fences 
which stretch by miles along the roads of Virginia ; none of those e^i^tt- 



lasting pine woods under which you ride in the Carolmap, your whofis 
half buried in the sand^ and nothing green upon it but a sickly shrub of 
the live oak, or a prickly cacnis half reddened by the sun ; nor yet are 
there those trim hedges which skirt you right and left in English land- 
scape. Upon the plains of Central France you sec no fence — nothing 
by which to mc^asure the distance you pass over but the patches of grain 
and of vineyard. Here and there a flock of sheep are watched by an 
uncouth shepherd and shaggy dogs ; or a cow is feeding beside lh« 
grain, tethered to a stake, or guarded by some bare-ankled Daphne. 

There are no such quiet cottage farm-bouses as gem the hilUside* of 
Britain ; no such tasteless timber structures as deface the landscape of 
New England ; but the farmery, as you come upon it here and there, it 
a walled-up nest of houses ; you catch sight uf a cart — you see a grou|i 
of children — you hear a yelping dog — and the farmery is left behind. 
Sometimes the road before you stretches up a long ascent ; the couduc* 
tor opens the door, and all save the fat lady dii>mount for a walk up th» 
bill. Now it is you can look back over the grain and vineyards, woven 
into carpets, tied up with the thread of a river. The streak of road will 
glisten in the sun, and perhaps a train of wagons, that went tinkling b; 
you an hour ago, is but a moving dot far down upon the plain. The air 
is fresher as you go up ; glimpses of woodland break tlie monotonv i 
here and there you spy an old chateau; and if it be spring-time or early 
autumn, the atmosphere is delicious, and you go toiling up the hilUt r^ 
joictng in the sun. I 

In summer, you pant exhausted before you have half walked up m 
hill, and turning to look back — the yellow grain looks scorched, and ih« 
air simmers over its crowded ranks; — the flowers you pluck by the waj 
are dried up with heat. 

In winter, the roads upon the ptains arc bad, and it will be midnight 
perhaps before you are upon the hills, — if you breakfast as 1 did at 
Auxcrre. 1 found the snow half over the wheels, and with eigUl 
horses our lumbering coach went toiling through the drifts. 1 

Such is the general character of the great high-roads across Francej 
but there is something more attractive on the retired routes. J 

F will remember our Iramp in summer-time under the hcavyoH 

boughs of the forest of Fontainblcau ; and how we looked up wonde^ 
ingly at tree-trunks, which would have been vast in our American val' 
leys ; he will remember our hinch at the little town of Foasard, and tbi 
inn with its dried bough, and the baked pears, and the sour wine. Hi 
will remember the tapcsitried chamber at Villencuvc du Hoi, and thfl 
fair-day, and the peasant grrU in their gala dresses, and the dance ill 
the evening on the green turf: — he wilt remember the strange oM 
walled-up town of St. Klorcntiii, and the pretty meadows, and the caoal 
lined with ])oplarB, when our tired steps brought to us the first sight— 
(how grateful was it I) — of the richly-wrought towers of the cathedral 
of Sens. He will remember, loo, how farther on toward the mountaiofc 
in another sweet meadow where willows were growing* I threw down nif 
knapsack, and took the scythe JVoiii a peasant boy, and swept down ibl 
nodding tall heads of the lucerne, — utterly forgetting his sardonic sroil& 
and the grinning stare of the peasant, — forgetting that the blue line ol 
the Juras was hfting from the horizon, — or that the sun of France wil 
warming me, and mindful only of the old perfume of the wilted blow 
soms, and the joyous summer days on (he farm-land at home. 



h to take our stop at some, not too lar^e, town of the interior; 
^1 shall it be ? Chalons-sur-Saone, with it;* bridge, and quayn, 
lows, — or Dijon, lying in the vlneyardii of Burgundy, — or Cha- 
, in tJic great sheep plains of central France, — or Limoges, still 
tnon-n, prettily situated among the green hills of Limousin, and 
m of the department Hauie fienne f 

he just by the Boule d'Or, in the town last named, that I quH 
in the diligence. The little old place is not upon any of the 
lies, eo that the servants of the inn have not become too repub- 
* dviUty, and a blithe waiting*maid is at hand to take our 

in doorway in the heavy stone inn, and still plainer and steeper 
I conduct to a clean, large chamber upon the first Boor. Below, 
iitlle saJofit some three or four are at supper. Join them you 
f you please, with a chop nicely done, and a palatable vtn 
It is too dark to see the town. You are tired with eight- 
hours of constant diligence-riding, — if you have come from 
i I did, — and the bed is excellent. 

uduw overlooks the chief street of the place; it is wide and 
h round stones, and dirty, and there are no side-walks, though 
f 30,000 inhabitants. Nearly opposite is a ca/e, with small 
Stees ranged about the door, with some tall (lowering shrubs in 
es, and even at eight in the morning, two or three persons are 
upon their chairs and sipping coffee. Next door is the otfice of 
for Paris, Farther up the street arc haberdashery shops, 
-rooms of the famous Limoges crockery. Soldiers are passing 
and cavalry-men in undress go sauntering by on tine coal-black 
ind the Guide-book tells me that from this region come the 

all the cavalry of France, 
aid comes in to say it is the hour for the tahle tfh6u breakfast, 
ild hardly believe, that there are travellers who neglect this best 
c;e8 for observing country habits, and take their coffee alone, 
liah grimness. What matter if one does fall in with manner- 
aercial travellers, or snuff-taking old women, and listen to such 
as would make good Mrs. Unwin blush ? You leam from all 
DU cannot leam anywhere else — the every-day habits of every- 
le. Do not be frightened at the room full, or the clatter of 
the six-and-twenty all talking at the same moment : go around 
quietly, take the first empty chair at hand, and call for a bowl 
nd half a bottle of wine. 

\ no Paris breakfast, with its rich, oily beverage, and bread of 

f or Lyons breakfast, with its white cutlets; but there are as 

'era as at a dinner in Baden. One may, indeed, have coffiH!, 

o odd-fancied as to call for it ; but I always liked to chime in 

humours of the country : and though 1 may possibly have 

to the caje to make my breakfast complete, it seemed to 

lost nothing in listening and looking on — in actual experience 

ys of living. 

er carries with him upon the continent a high sense of personal 

Uiat must be sustained at all hazards, will find himself exposed 

rable vexations by the way, and at the end — if he have the 

perceive it — be victim of the crowning vexation of reluming as 

as he went. It is singular, too^ that such ridiculous presump- 



tion upon dig-nity is observable in many inatances — where it rests with 
least grace — in the persons of American travellers. Whoever makes 
great display of wealth, will enjoy the distiDction which mere cxhibtiioa 
of wealth will command in every country — the close attention of the 
vulvar; its display may, besides secure somewhat better hotel attend- 
ance ; hut whoever wenrs with it, or without it, an air of /laufeufj whether 
affected or real, whether due to position or woni to cover lack of position, 
will find it counting him very little in the way of personal comfort, and 
far less towards a full observation and appreciation of the life of those 
among whom he travels. 

In such an out-of-the-way manufacturing town as Limoges, one sees 
the genuine commis voifageur — commercial traveller,* of France, corre- 
Bponding to the bagmen of Kngland. Not as a class so large, ihey raot 
also beneath them in respect of gentlemanly conduct. In point of 
general information they are perhaps superior. 

The French bagman ventures an occasional remark upon the public 
measures of the day, and gomctiraes with much shrewdness. He is 
aware that there is such a country as America, and has understooit 
from what he considers authentic sources, that a letter for Buenos .\yre* 
would not be delivered by the New York postman. None know heller 
than a thorough English commercial traveller, who has been '* long upon 
the road," the value of a gig and a spanking bay mare, or the character 
of the leading houses in London or Manchester, or the quality of Wood- 
stock gloves or Worcester whips; but as for knowing if Newfoundland 
be off the Bay of Biscay or in the Adriatic, the matter is too deep 
for him. 

The Frenchman, on the other hand, is most voluble on a great many 
subjects, all of which he seems to know much better than he really 
docs ; and he will fling you a tirade at Thiers, or give you a caricaturo 
of the king, that will make half the table lay down the mouthful they bsA 
taken up, for Laughing. Modesty is not in his catalogue of virtues. 
knows the best dish upon the table, and he peizes upon it without fori 
lity ; if he empty the dish, he politely asks your pardon, (he would take 
his hat if he had it on,) and is sorry there is not enough for you. He 
help himself to the breast, thighs, and side-bones of a small chicken, 
pose of a mouthful or two, then turn to the lady by his side, and 
with the most gracious smile in the world, " Mille pardons^ yiadai 
mait pons ne mangez jxi« de voiatVe?" — but you do not eat fowl ? 

His great pleasure, however, after eating, is in enlightening the mn 
of the poor provincials as to the wonders of Paris, — a topic that nc 
grows oid, and never wants for hearers : and so brilliantly does he 
large upon the splendours of the capital, with gesticulation and empl 
sufficient for a discourse of Bossuet, that he makes his whole audi 
solicitous for one look upon Paris as ever a Mohammedan for one ol 
ing at the Mecca of his worship. 

A corner seal in the interior of the diligence, or the head place 
country-inn table, are his posts of triumph. He makes friends of | 
about the inns, since his dignity does not forbid his giving a word to i\ 
and he is as ready to coquet with the maid-of-all-work as with the U' 
lady's niece. His hair is short and crisp ; his moustache stiff and thi 

* A claw or m«n who negotliita businiins between town and rountr}* di 
mnnufartiin'rH nnd their %ale sgenu— citmniMii Uiall Kuroiwan countries. 



and his hand fat and fair, with a signet-ring upon the little finger of 
bitf left. 

Such characters make up a large part of ihe table company in towns 
Uke Limogeii. In running over the village, you are happily spared the 
pUgtic of cal£ts-</e-/?lace. Ten to one, if you have fallen into conversa- 
tion with the eommis royap^ur at your side, he will offer to shew you 
over the famous crockery -works, fur which he has ihe honour to be 
travelling agent Thus you make a profit of what you would have been 
afcwl to scorn. 

There are L'urious old churches, and a simple-minded, grey-haired 
VM^er to open the side chapels, and to help you to spell the names on 
tombs: not half so tedious will the old man prove as the automaton 
ealhedral-shcwcrs of En;?land, and he spices his talk with a little wit. 
There are shops, not unlike those of a middle-sized town in our country ; 
ftill« little air of trade, and none at all of process. Decay seems to be 
ilampcd on nearly all the country-towns of France ; unless so large as 
to nuke cities, and so have a life of their own, or so small as to serve 
on!}' as market-towns for the peasantry. 

Countr)' gentlemen are a race unknown in France, as they are nearly 
w witli us. Even the towns have not their quota of wealthy inhahitantSy 
acept 50 many as are barely necessary to supply capital for the works 
of the people. There is no estate in the neighbourhood, with its park 
Ud elegantly cultivated farms and preserves ; there arc no little villas 
espping all the pretty eminences in the vicinity; and even such fine 
kouses OS are found within the limits of the town wear a deserted look, 
—ihe stucco is peeling off, the entrance-gate is barred, the owner is 
Bving at Paris. You see few men of gentlemanly bearing, unless you 
except the military officers and the priests. You wonder what resources 
lan have built such beautiful churches ; and as you stroll over their marble 
flooTF, listening to the vespers dying away along the empty aisles, you 
•onder who are the worshippent. 

Wandering out of the edge of the town of Limoges, you come opoa 
badges and green fields; for Limousin is the Arcadia of France. Queer 
old houses adorn some of the narrow streets, and women iu strango 
brad-dresbes look out of the balconies that lean half-way over. But 
Sunday is their holiday-timc> when all arc in their gayest, aud when the 
freen walks encircling the town — laid upon that old line of rampurts 
•liich the Black Prince stormed — are thronged with the population. 

The bill at the Hou/e tfOr is not an extravagant one ; for as strangers 
«re not common, the trick of extortion is unknown. The waiiing-maid 
drops a curtsey, and gives a smiling bonjonr, — not, surely, unmindful of 
Ike Utile fee fche gets, but she never disputes its amount, and seems 
piteful for the least. There is no "boots'* or waiter to dog you over 
iothe diligence; nay, if you are not loo old or too ugly, the little girl 
««lf insists upon taking your portmanteau, and trips across with it, 

d pals it in the hands of the conductor, and waits your going ear- 

=tly. and waves her hand at you, and gives you another " bon ro^at/e,^ 
I makes your ears tingle till the houses of Limoges and its hijih 
era have vanished, and you arc a mile away down the pleasant banks 
he river Vienne. 


^""«^« «.rc„., „ ,, 

'^^oxv not 

'mmortai dun-- 

« »uch ^ " W'A.t bu„ '*" f^^nb. *' °f the 




fcnig-hts." It assuredly required much tapestry, and a great many nisheSi 
to make a comfortable boudoir fur lord or lady out of rough stone colls, 
vith walls twelve feet thick, and windows of extreme minuteness. 

We followed the guide, now reinforced by his lively young wife, who 
was very communicative, to a most dismal spot, which they showed as the 
burial-place of Count Pierre, who seemed to hold a high place in their 

We found ourselves^ after groping along several dark passages, and 
' descending a flight of steps, in a vaulted chamber, the floor of which is 
much decayed, and the stones ovcrgrowa with dank grass : beneath this 
is a large vault, which was the receptacle of the family's dead in bygone 
times; and here Le Petit Charlemagne's bones were laid : whether they 
remain there still is probably unknown, aa much so as himself or his 

The piftnd^ salU of the castle is a splendid chamber, with pretty, an- 
cient, pointed windows in pairs, supported by slight, graceful pillars, and 
having in the cmbriisures stone seats, from one of which I looked out 
"IK)n the beautiful lake glowing with burnished gold, crimson, and pur- 
, pie, as the magni6cent sunset sent the scene through all its dolphin 

'■^ Tlie last itill loveliest, till *dt gi^ue, 
And all i» t^rey." 

The Breplace of this room is fine, and the groups of small pillars on each 
iide of it very beautiful. 

In a lower salhy also with fine ranges of windows, is exhibited a tor- 
ture-pillar, which suggests hideous imaginings. It is fearfully close to 
Ibe probably daily inhabited rooms, and the groans of the sufferer must 
b;t« been awfully distinct in the ears of the lords, knights, and retainers, 
vbo, "in the good times of old," were perhaps carousing close by. 

Tippoo Saib was accustomed at his banquets to indulge in the luxury 
bT a sort of barrel-organ of a peculiar construction, which imitated the 
groans of a tiger, and the shrieks of a British soldier whom the beast 
*il devouring as represented, the size of life, by this singular instru- 
»Mit of music* Count Pierre, the lord of ChiKon, was apparently 
coDtrnt with Nature in all her unassisted force, and, as he sat at meat, 
(Qjoyed his victim's groans fully as much as tlie semblance of them 
pioased the mind of the Eastern tyrant 

The roof of the hall is of fine carved wood-work, and in this spacious 
chamber are collected the arms of the Canton in formidable array. The 
fVrisoD of the castle, for it is a military depot, consists at present of four 
*oldiers, whose duty does not seem very distressing, for three of them 
vere out on business, or seeking amusement, and the hero remaining at 
Wne to guard the fortress, we found busy picking a sallad for the daily 
■Bol, OS be sat on the parapet of the drawbridge, with his legs dangling 
vrer the wall, by no means in a state of hostile preparation. 

On our return to Vevey wo met another of the garrison, heavily laden 
nth viands which he was carrying to the castle, no doubt having tluly 
prorvided for the chances of a siege. 

The kitchen, which once was put in requisition for a somewhat more 
'lirnudable party, is a spacious place, with fine pillars, and a gigantic 

* It is 10 Iw seen at iXm MuMium of the ludia House. 


Tbe ouUuiUe is, of coars«, not fbrgoiten : m. horrible hole u still 
shown, which one looks cantiooslj down, with shuddering and loathing. 
It is fifty feet deep, and sofficientW secure to prevent the refractory froa 
giTiBg any more trouble to those who caused them to be transfored fion 
the torture-pillar to this resting-place, nhere they need 

^ Fear no more the hcftt of the sun.** 

Our guide and his lively wife had a dispute, though they must bare \ 
told their story often before, about the actual depth of the lake. One 
said it was four hundred, the other insisted upon the fact of its bdnf 
eight hundred feet deep. As they were very warm on the subject, I oon- 
teoted myself with repeating the lines of the poet, with which I was quits 
satisfied, in every way. 

"■ lAke Lcman ties by CbiUiHi's waUs : 
A thouMamdfett in depcb below 
Its massy wmteri meet and flow : 
Thus much the fathom-line was tent 
From ChiUon's snow-white battleinettt.'' 1 

Murray says the lake is here only two hundred and eighty feet in deptks : 
all I cared for I beheld, that it was deep, and blue, and clear, and loray* 

" A mirror and a bath for beauty's youngest dangfatov.'* 

Tbe deathless island, with its *' three tall trees," rose out of the traat' 
parent waters, like a beacoD pointing to a spot of glory : to me it seemed 
that the whole scene, lake, islands, castle, mountains, shore, belong t* . 
England, through one of her most unapproachably gifted bards, befbrt ' 
whose sua the whole host of scattered stars troop away, and are remen* 
bcred only in bis absence. 

It appears to my enthusiasm to be as useless to compare any other 
poet of the day, however good, with Byron and Moore, as it would bet0 
name any of tbe minor mountains, splendid though they be, with Mont 

Our drive back to Vevey was much more agreeable than our approaek 
to Chillon : in the bright and betraying sunlight all the villages looked 
vulgar, flaring, and dirty, and the hot stone walls white and weary ; bat 
now that the day was fast declining there was a soft grey tint spnii 
over every object, and the deep shadows gave much beauty to the sceMb 
No one in travelling should venture to judge of any appearance thik 
meets the eye on a first view, the second appreciation is generally thit 
which docs most justice. 

I had thought the greatest part of the road ugly on my way, and now 
all seemed changed into grace and beauty. Countless stars were scatter* 
ed over an intensely blue sky ; flashes of harmless summer lightning re- 
vealed the distant peaks, and played over the surface of the wide cabi 
lake ; and, as it grew yet darker, the lights in the villages of the oppo- 
site shore sparkled and flickered, like glow-worms in the grass. A hogt 
furnace at Mcillerie threw up its broad flames into the gloom, and ili 
brijjht red reflection cast down into the dark waters at its feet, produosl 
a singularly wild and startling effect, as if a solemn sacrifice were gtHOg 
on in honour of the " spirit of the place." 

That night at Vevey was magnificent, and most enjoyable did I fiol 
the charming room I occupied in the finest of all possible hotels on thi 



cdg« of die glorious l&ke. I bad so ofieo, during my rambles tbia sutu« 
mer, luxuriated in the splendours of 

*< Night with all her tUn." 

thit tbis was oqI^' one of a series of cnjoyioeuts wbicb I fully npprc- 
citled* — and, although the Lake of Como is, in my miud, uuiquc in love- 
linwf, yet it has certaiuly a powerful rival in Lake Leinau ; and, though 
by day the latter, eicept when Mont Blaac is visible, is not equal, yet at 
D^hi it may compete with the most charming spot in the world. 

From Vevey the whole drive to Geneva is a garden all bloom, riches, 
ind laxuriancc, improving as the great town of the lake is approached : 
in the neighbourhood of Lausanne the scenery is beautiful, and, scatter- 
ed in all directions are !^uch charming country hotutes that they seemed 
throw into shade all my memories of delightful English residences. 
Ou the banks of this famous lake are sites unequalled probably in 
pe, — for where besides can be beheld a whole range of glorious 
tains, with their monarch rising above all, their feet in the blue 
and their snowy heads in the sky ? And in the midst of majestic 
like this exists rural beauty in all its pastoral perfection, — parks, 
livus and meaduws, — gardens, groves, and glades, all combining to 
aiake the poetical Lake of Geneva the bfau idful of the romancer and 
tlte painter. 

The cathedral of Lausanne baa an imposing appearance, and possesses 
irr&ral features of interest, and the walks and terraces surrounding the 
town are all dctigbtfulty situated. 

I strained my eyes to discover, below the road on the borders of tho 
kke, the little inn at Ouchy, where Byron is said to have wriiteo rapidly 
lis affecting '* Prisoner of Cbillon :" the new road does not descend to 
ike lake, as was the case formerly. 

There is a venerable, gloomy-looking castle at Morges* said to have 
liren built by that mysterious lady. Queen Bertha, of whom historians 
and poets have recorded both good and evil, and whoi^c real story, and 
wen existence, is by no means clearly designated. 

We paused at Coppet, and, guided by an animated and talkative old 
•oman, went up to the house, and walked about the formal grounds ; 
but there was no means of seeing the cemetery in a grove where Neckar 
lod bis daughter lie enshrined. The house is in good repair, and neatly 
Sept, the floors of beautiful inlaid wood, and the furniture extremely sim- 
ple. Madame de Stnifl herself never cared about the repairs or beauti- 
fting of her abode; she only professed to have an excellent cook and 
jSinity of room for her friends. Her hospitality was genuine, and her 
oeart all warmth and kindness: her memory seems tenderly cherished 
by all those to whom she was known. Our old guide was very niysteri- 
OQt in her hints about Benjamin Constant, Madame Recamicr, and 
itveral other accustomed guests, and told us a variety of stories of her 
hiving been employed to convey billets from one to the other of the de- 
voted friends of Coppet, concluding every anecdote with exclamations in 
praise of the unbounded generosity, kindness, and goodness of "la meil- 
Wre des femmcs et des mattresses," 

The well-known portrait of Madame de Stael by David bangs 
ID the principal room, together with that of her father by Gerard, 
ttd a very interesting likeness of her mother, who was a pretty 
by an artist whose name seems forgotten. The desk and 



inkatsod of Corinoe are fthom ; but they are no tongcr in the stud; 
where she was arcustomed to vrite, which U a clrcumstaBce to be re- 
gretted : indeed, it struck me that there was more of ibe lovely R«- 
caiDter at Coppet than of her distiofuishcd fneod, who declared that she 
voald ^Te all her geoius for the otber^s beauty, so incoosiftent is human 
rauon and wisdom. The chamber occupied by the admired lady is still 
de^ed in its faded tapesliy, and ooe abaost expects to see her scAntily 
clothed form glide forth from some nook shrouded by brocade curtains. 

An immense tulip-tree wares its large leaves at the entrance of tbe 
garden court, and a luxuriant clematis has climbed all over the iron 
gates and rails, throwing its perfumed wreaths on every ornamental pro- 
jection. There is no beauiy in the architecture of the house, nor are the 
grounds attractive : but there is quiet, and repose^ and a pleasant memory, 
lingering round, that makes an hour pass deliriously in the haunts where 
the inimitable Corinnc rejrretted Paris, and charmed her guesta. 

We were much amused by our chattering and communicaliTe gnidt 
drawing us aside as we entered the house afier strolling with her, ind v 
she handed us over to a housekeeper whose department was the iuteriori 

" Prenex bicn garde," said she winking significantly, " de ne pas mtetf 
prononcer le nom de Benjamin Constant ici. car ja jaseuse que void tB 
forroerait Tidee que j'ai ete tant soit peu babillarde a I'egard 
cette pauvre chcre madamc. Moi, qui ne parlo jamais des a 
d'autrui. Ces sortes de gens ne sont pas a meme de compreadrc k 
delicatcsse de Tamitie, voyez vous." 

Poor Corinne t the petty scandals of a village, or a world, can ano 
her no more, and none of those who shared her counsels aud her affec* 
tiuns are left to be affected by tales which have ceased to gratify rivtU 
or interest admirers. 

I can conceive few situations more agreeable than to have obtainedt 
we did at Geneva, good apartments overlooking the lake, at the handsoBrt 
Hotel des Bergiies, wbich is one of the best of the good which abound in 
Switzerland. When it became quite dark in the evening, the clear watft, 
and the ranges of bright lights along the shore reminded me strongly of 
the Canale Granct^&i Venice, and it was difficult for any thing to be more 
enjoyable than the spot and the moment 

I understood that Mont Blanc had not been visible for some time; to 
us it had not yet appeared throughout our journey in its neighbourhood, 
and I trembled that, like many a traveller, I should be forced to leave 
Geneva without a glimpse of the giant form which sometimes shows it- 
self clearly for weeks, and at others is shrouded in impenetrable clouds, 
as it was now. 1 entreated to be awakened if at daybreak the monarch 
deigned to ap{)ear, and, having left my curtains open in expectation, I 
was able to sleep. 

The next morning, however, was dim and unpromising ; and though the 
sun became bright and powerful during the day, yet the canopy of clouds 
which veiled the distance did not disperse, and i was fain to turn awajr 
my eyes from tho space between the Mole and Mont Saleve, where the 
liatighty sovereign of these regions— was not. 

Rut, even though Mont Blanc is invisible, there is much round Ge- 
neva to compensate in some degree for his proud sullenness. First, 
there is the purple Khunc, with sparkling waters, so rich in colour, and 
''4IOUS in career, that it yields to no river in Europe. 

and wild rush along the headlong waves, as if the whole city 

0t% imruil 



must inevitably be swept away in its course; nnd strange it is to stand 
on the frng-ile bridges which cross it from the streets to the quays, and 
feel the vibration caused by its impetuosity^ and watch the angry gam- 
bols of the spirits of the torrent. 

The deepest sapphire, thu darkest lapis lazuli are poor in tint to the 
iffondrous richness of the colour of the Rhone as it issues from the a2ure 
lake, and rushes madly along^ towards its junction with the furious Arve, 
who^e Lurbid waters, pouring down from the eternal glaciers, deform 
,the transparent purity of ihc fated stream which camiot evade their con- 

Hour af\er hour one can stand watching the play nnd strife of the 
beautiful waves, and listen in amazement to iheir ceaseless thundering 
din as they chafe and struggle amongst the rocks which bristle along the 
bottom, and deride their fury. 

Many of the ugly, shabby old houses which used to deform these 
shores are removed, and some tine buildings, in mudeni taste, have 
taken their plnce; but there are still strange, dirty, broken-down-looking 
tenements in plenty, which are almost too squalid to be picturei^que. 

The pretty island of Jean Jacques is a favourite evening promenade, 
and it is realty delightful tu take a chair beneath the magnificent and 
gigantic poplars which adorn the spot, and listen to a fine band, the 
echoes of whose melodies are borne far over the waters, and resound 
along the charming shores covered with country houses, on promontories 
stretching out into the expanding lake. A pretty suspensiou-bridge con- 
ducts to this pleaaure-tslandj and the whole has a most agreeable effect 
from the shore. 

The antique cathedral of Geneva rises grandly from a mass of build- 
izigs, few of which have much to recommend them to notice but the 
I general aspect at a distance of the town is imposing. It is better not to 
enter it, and have a favourable impression destroyed, for, particularly in 
the lower town, it is as ugly, slovenly, dirty, and disgusting a place as 
can be well met with out of France. 

There are no good shops to be seen, and all the riches of jewels and 
watches, for which Geneva is celebrated, arc hidden in upper floors, 
which it requires much exploring for a stranger to discover, and, when 
found, they present very litile attraction to any one accustomed to the 
splendid display common to Paris and London. Watches and jewellery 
are, however, cheap here, and many persons may think it worth while to 
acquire some of the treasures which struck me as wanting both grace 
and novelty. 

A very pleasant stroll on a summer evening at Geneva is on the ram- 
part walk close to the inn, which overlooks the lake and river. Here all 
the " rose hues " of sunset which tinge the opposite Alps are seen in per- 
fection ; and it is delightful to observe the fleets of snowy sails and 
darting prows skimming along the surface of the waters, and ever and 
anon tiring their saluting guns, which every echo answers far and near, 
in hoarse and gentle murmurs. 

Opposite is the shore where stands Lord Byron 'i villa, Diodati, from 
whence he made so many excursions on the lake and amidst moun- 
tains destined to retain the memory of Childe Harold and Maufred, 
names that have superseded those of St. Preux and Julie, and all their 




It has been well said by an acute writer in the " Reruo des 
Monde*/* apropos of the works of the once celebrated Mademoiselle^ 
Scudery : — " There is a reciprocal reaction, the exact measure of which it 
is difficult to determine, between authors and their period. It hu fre- 
quently been asserted that literature ia the picture of society; but ia 
many instances society is rather the picture of literature. M 

"In all civilised times there has existed a class of persons who ifl 
inevitably induenced by it; ^hose fondness fur reading is accom- 
panied by delicacy of mind, a lively imagination, and a proneness to t^ 
flection. To certain minds the appearance of a particular book is M 
event of importance equal to the most violent revolution. The bistorrtP 
many persons might be recounted in a relation of the different writio^ 
which have moved and agitated them; as Madame de Stael gaid, *the 
carrying off of Clarissa was one of the events of her youth :' whether it be 
the sorrows of Clarissa, or those of another, every poetical imaginition 
may be similarly affected. 

" For every one, in their favourite line of reading, there is a woild 
internal revolution ; feelings which generally remain undisclosed, 
are unknown to the writer who has roused them. Sometimes tbev 
velope themselves in actions, whose mystery is inexplicable to the lool 
on. Imajrination has, no doubt, the greatest share in our pasaions; bf 
iinaginalion every object is embellished and rendered pure, all fiction is 
allowed, by this influence, to reign paramountj and our minds are invo- 
luntarily gnided by this invisible agency. From this cause it has hap- 
pened that literary persons sometimes confine their feelings entircljf IH 
their works. Their emotions are but the reflection of their writiugj?" 
their strongest sentiments are but reminiscences ; and when they tliiak 
they are giving way to passion, they are merely adding a page to litera- 
ture. With regard to romances, this is eminently true ; we cannot, 
therefore, but feel a certain emotion in looking over those of a bygone 
lime, even though the interest they excited is evaporated, and the Un* 
guage of pasKiou, once tliought so vivid, sound cold in our ears. When 
we read the Nouvellc Heloisc, Julie and Saint Frcux, cause us little 
emotion ; but that which cannot fail to do so, is the reflection that §u 
many souls, now quenched iu oblivion, have been deeply agitated, hare 
mingled their very beings, and given way to secret raptures, with those 
two imaginary personages, and loved and suffered with the hero and 
heroine of that celebrated fiction. 

*' There is, therefore, but little philosophy, perhaps, in disdain 
from false delicacy, the study of such works, incJiocr^s though thev ma^ 
really be as literary productions, for they are generally highly iiuporlaot 
in reference to the history of manners and ideas. 

" The influence of first-rate works is, of course, greater and mora 
enduring in the end ; but the influence of romances which have 
successful is always most extensive and most remarkable on contem 
rary readers. 

" The actual common-place of these romantic fictions is stifiScieut to 
render them more popular and more powerful over the mass of the 
public. The highest order of poetry addresses itself only to delicate and 
cultivated minds : in order to preserve its exalted station it seeks events 
and circumstances which it loves to represent in a sphere more removed 
and less accessible to common intelligence. 

** Hence it results, that amongst the romances which have exercised a 

mora J 



passionate influence over a whole g^eneration, there are few that ought to 
be judged by a severe literary standard ; they belonged to their time, and 
have disappeared with It. Thoy sbould be studied as historical docu- 
ments, as wc study chronicles and memoirs. They are the journals of 
a time gone by : we find iu them personages decked in the diverse cos- 
tumes which human passions have successively adopted, always the same 
tn fact, but variable iu their appearance. Seen in this light, the popu- 
lar romances of the day may occasion numerous interesting observations, 
and dcvelope curious coincidences." 

1 have hoinetiines been surprised at my own insensibility in remaining 
unmoved at the reading of the adventures of the lovers of Lake Leman, 
and was not sorry to meet with the above passage, which not only satis- 
factorily rescues me from my self-charge of indifference to beauty, but 
gives the best reason for the inordinate success of Uousseau^s romance 
in its day, and its failure at the present. One would not willingly be- 
lieve that the time can ever come when Byron's name will he as coldly 
recollected amongst these magnificent scenes as that of Rousseau — be 
that as it may, he is still the presiding genius of the place, and his me- 
lody wakes in every breeze: how he contrived to enter so much imo 
the false sentiment of the most earthly of all poetical lovers, 1 cannot 
understand, but he probablvi like a good actor, merely assumed the feel- 
ing for the occasion, in order the more to carry away his auditors. 

" What 'b Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
Tliut Uo should weep for her ?" 

We took several walks in the neighbourhood of Gcncvaj all extremely 
agreeable, and showing much comfort and retinement. The ranges 
of pleasant country-houses, standing iu gardens and shrubberies, cannot 
be excelled in the outskirts of London, and are far neater and better 
than those near Paris. I imagine a residence there must be one of the 
most enjoyable things one could obtain, and am not surprised that so many 
English, who are always seeking for pleasing sites, are established on 
the borders of the Lake. 

The uncertainty of the weather occasioned a corresponding indecision 
in our movements. The head of " the monarch" was still shrouded in 
clouds, and bright and warm though the sun was, there seemed little 
chance of the sky becoming clear. We were obliged lo abandon the 
intention of taking the magnificent route of the Tele Noire, to arrive at 
Chamouny, and giving up the lake voyage altogether, at length resolved 
lo brave the apirits of mist and storm, and take post to Saint Martin, 
hoping that the troops of grey clouds which obscured the air at noon^ 
might, with the usual pcrverseness of mountain weather, disperse and 
bring us good fortune. 

Wc set out, then, on a sombre but^y no means unpleasant afternoon; 
but as we advanced, neither the Jura, the Voirons, nor even Mount 
Saleve, always hitherto visible to us at Geneva, permitted us a glimpse 
of their peaks, though rarely hidden from Chcsne. 

Wo crossed the boundary stream of the ForoUj and at Anraroasse 
were ngain in the Sardinian dominions, a fact intimated to us by the 
necessity of stopping iu the road a quarter of an hourt while " our 
papers " were examined or supposed to be examined, so strictly, that the 
zealous individual who guarded his native land against our treasonous 
machinations, was forced to charge four francs for I he Iruuble wft WAi 
given him. 


Still tbick, though beautiful, wreaths of snowy mist hang over the 
crowding billsi as we condnued our way above the valley of the Arve, 
whose wide, white bed was nearly dry, and whose numerous stone 
bridges seemed to hang in useless grace over the exhausted torrent. 

At Bonneville we rested two hours, and wandered about with the 
hope of seeing something interesting : in a corn-field we encountered a 
talkative woman, who used her utmost art to discover at which inn we 
had put up, and in spite of her former civility, instantly abandoned us in 
disgust, when she found that we had chosen one which was a rival to 
that she wished to recommend : having got rid of her, we had leisure 
to reconnoitre the old towers and turrets of the once extensive and 
strong castle of Bonneville, and the defending fortresses of the town 
walls. The eternal snows of Mont Blanc are finely seen from the high 
fields here, and I did see them on my return in all their glory, but now 
the distance was all grey, and not a peak pierced the dull sky. 

The Lords of Faucigny once dwelt here in great strength, and were 
doubtless formidable neighbours, and the fair Beatrix of Savoy pro- 
bably held here more than one Court of Love, in what was the Hotel 
Rambouillet of the day ; for alike in character were those pedantic and 
poetical re-unions, where questions of no-meaning was decided. 

Beatrix, whose beauty was the theme of all the poets of her day, ti 
said to have built this castle. Few of her compositions have been 
handed down, but the following has the merit, rare in those times, of 
being addressed to a legitimate admirer, no other than her husband, 
Kaymond Beranger, who probably, to judge by their tenor, breathed hit 
lays at the feet of some other idol. 


I FAiM would think thou hast a heart. 

Although it thus its thoughts conceal. 
Which well could bear a tender part 

In all the fondness that I feel, 
Alas ! that thou wuuld'st let me know. 
And end at once my doubts and woe. 

It might be well that once I seem'd 

To check the love I prised so dear. 
But now my coldness is redeemed, 

Aud what is left for theo to fear? 
Thou dost to both a cruel wrong ! 

Should dread in mutual love be known T 
AVhy let my heart lament so long, 

And fail to claim what is thy own ! 



R^ons immense, uns«archabl«, unknown. 

Bask iu the Bpleodour of the wlnr lone. Mohtoouebt. 


Life ftt Naxere. — Oiir fnvnuntp Hunter Jrmqiiim The Garden by MiwnltKUl. — 

The CliiDaie, — Its Purity and Uealthfulneu. — The wet and dry Seasoos.— A 
cal*mawling Sereawler. — An Alarni.— Sunday.- — An extnujrdinary Visit. — Our 
Departure from Naztire. 

Noisci.B6flLY and quickly the hours speil on ! — weeks rapidly 
transpired ! — and still we lingered amid the delightful shades of 

Every day brought with it some new sources of enjoyment ; and 
objects of novel interest were continually arising to gratify our 
senses. Hunting was our principal amusement^ and hardly a day 
pa&sed by without our enj^aging in it. l\Iany were the rich pfumagcd 
birds that we killed, while wandering amid their own beautiful wild 
woods; many the curious animals that met with a speedy death 
from our trusty guns; and by no means scanty, the number of 
bright-hued serpents and horrible-looking reptiles that we caught 
crawling through the tall grass, or stealing beneath the thick shrub- 
bery of the forest ! 

Our hunting-excursions were always undertaken early in the 
morning. Before the sun had shed his first beams over the enchant- 
ing scenery of the garden, we were always up and accoutred for our 
morning's ramble. 

Our Indian hunter, Joaquim, generally accompanied us, and 
grateful are we to him for the many sporting tactics into which he 
initiated us, and for the possession of many splendid and rare birds, 
which we should not probably have procuretl without his assistance* 
He was ouite young, not being more than nineteen or twenty years 
of age, ot light olive complexion, a perfect Apollo in form, and a 
QMxlel of a sportsman in every sense of the word. The slightest 
lound never failed to catch his attentive ear-— in a moment he knew 
from what kind of a bird or animal it proceeded, and prepared him- 
•elf for instantaneous action. So delicately would he move onward 
towards his prey, scarcely touching the ground with his uncovered 
feet ; crouching so skilfully beneath the clustering bushes as hardly 
to occasion the vibration of a single leaf; cutting away the thick 
vines and creepers which run before him with a lung knife which he 
carried in his right hand for this purpose. All this would he do, 
without any intimation being given to the unfortunate bird or ani- 
mal of his approach; having once flxed his eye upon his victim, 
e»cape was useless — death was certain ! Raising his light flint-lock 
gun with quickness to his eye, his aim was sure, and the startling 
report which fullowed was the inevitable death-knell ofhis prey. 

While in the forest, Joaquim wore no clothing save a coarse pair 
of pantaloons — a common powder-horn was strung around his sym- 
metrical neck— a small pouch of shot was suspended from his waist 

— 1- X .:— If* z*zck^'. :e ;i— -e-i i '-r\ ::' t«rc.:«:.xi (np« — in his right 
hA.-i WIS 1^ -.:r.c 'i-:rV — ^^z h_* .ec'. 3_i £i;:hi;il ff^o — and this wm 

We *d:::ni jwec: 3 rrs ^1- :w3 :r tiiree hours in the woods in 
the rz:rri~x . r^.i—-~^ :^ tie ?.:sceT::a. we rvzaled our««lves with 
1= eAC-.Ze»i: rr-nkiisc ---ier the rjnrdaa. recJereil the more 
liclectij'e TTZd the eijrjTje -s-e h^i tjie::. ir.d the circumstances 
u=-itfr -vzizz •*■£ ii^Z'XzSz'i'i .- 

A::iT :hj —eal. v.-s rext rperir ;:; wxs to *k:n and preserve the 
best *rei::=i=::* ;: the rij-^ -=J-e-i biria we hal killed in the 
f^T<e<z. F:t *''!* r irr-r-se. "j i— iih.e c;::=t«ai5:on :^whom I fami- 
\:ir'j cal'.e-i ,'.-■» i-; wjj -^ :•-: t: seit "-i—jelf at a long table, on 
the riitsrr. liie :' the .-iliinz- w>rTe hf prepared the specimens 
w::h the >a-."1 ci i- =xT^r::-j:='l ±.-t:*t. Tr.e b.:d:es were first taken 
out. i l-ttle jj-senic thcTt ?r" .'».!e-i cc the surtice of the skin, and, 
List'. v. the skirs were ±'.:i .-twith ccctjn tj their natural size, then 
put •>.:.•♦ proper ^hiy^ x~l r'lCzl :r. a. b-;arJ. in an exposed situation, 
to dry. A virictr ■::' tr:r:jil c:ri*. sc^e creen, some veilow, and 
other* rtd. cor.tristeJ. t-'--ih-T ir. :h= sur-shine. ;« truly « gorgeoas 
spectacle sVr a ra:ur-.;I:s: * eve. 

At Xazere we took J>rer iz :r.e o'clock — three o'clock is the 
customarr hour in i!;e c:tv. Th:* n:eal with us was a very simple 
one. consisting ot" scup. bci'.ei bee:, cabbage, beans, and sweet 
potatoes. This, with ir.e adi-tioc of a v,inety of fine fruits, (of 
which there were at ie;i*t twenty distinct species to be found in the 
garden.*) was oiir usuji bi'.i. of fare. Sometirces we killed in the 
forest birds of the pheisoiit "iind. al*. of which are esteemed delicious 
fooxl. On acoour.t of the ii::t.-ri-oe of Chico we were obliged to 
depend on our own resources for cooking them. AUhoush we had 
not had much e\p«Tier.ce in this lire, yet we succeeded with the «• 
sistanoe of some jKirk. butter, sd'i, reppcr. ai; J a gridiron of our own 
construction, in rendering them palatable to our heart's content. 

The afternoons were sper.t by us either at the Ro^cenia in reading 
some interesting book beneath the >h;uie ot' blooming orange-lreef, 
traversini; the embowered walks ci the garden, dictiiting letters to 
our friends at homo, or in \isiting our diiTerent kind friends in the 
city, uhose t;enerosity and friendship we can nev;r forget. 

A paradise, indocd. wa> the Hoscenia do Xazere by moonlight !— 
a second Kden ! — but alas I %«ithoiit an Eve! So numerous were 
the trees of the garden that they constituted a fairy-like grove, and 
80 thickly matted together wore the branches overhead that the 
moonbeams fell like a shower of gold through the foliage. The 
bright birds might be heard chanting their vespers among the trees, 
while hundreds of singing insects were buzzing in every bush. The 
ftir itself was redolent with the sweete&t perfume, a starlighted canopy 
wu overhead^ and we, perhaps, were enjoying it all under the ve- 
rtndah of the cottage, in talking with our hunters, or the pretty In- 
diwi maidi, who haunted with their presence the flowery shades of 
our beautiful garden. 

Allour momenU were replete with enjoyment. We were quite 

luppyl.i.and why should we not be living together in such a 

^Ic and charming spot, where the flowers bloomed throughout 

, and where everything anpcareil to be animated with beauty, 

, and song? Besides, tiie climate was of such exceeding 



purity — so aromatic with the incenae of flowers — and of such ileli- 
cious blandnesfl, that it was truly a luxury to live in it. Consump- 
tion, with all her kindred and accompanying evils, has never as yet 
invaded this mild atmosphere ; and more than this, even coughs and 
common colds are almost entirely unknown. All diseases which 
owe their origin to changes of temperature in the air, cannot he en- 
gendered here, for the variation in the atmosphere does not amount 
to more than twenty deforces from the commencement of the year to 
its close; ninety degrees being the maximum, and seventy the mini- 
mum temperature, according to just and careful experiments made 
with the thermometer. 

Without reference to temperature, the year is, in the province 
of Para, about equally divided into two seasons, namely, the wet and 
dry. The former commences about the midtlle of December and 
may be said to extend to the middle of June, altliough from the ist 
of i\Iarch the rains gradually decrease. Throughout the rainy sea- 
son severe showera fall daily, seldom occurring, however, before 
three o'clock in the afternoon. They are usually accompanied by 
bright lightning and terrific thunder, and continue from one to three 
hours. The rain comes down with such extraordinary violence, and 
in such great quantities^ that one who had never witnessed a storm 
in the tropics, would be astonished beyond measure, and lilled with 
emotions of awe, if not of grandeur and sublimity. 

During the period^ extending from the middle of June to the 
mitldlc of July, and which has been called "the dry season/' com- 
paratively little rain falls in the city, while in some of the neighbour- 
ing islands it hardly falls at all. The reason why the rains are more 
frequent in the city is undoubtedly owing to its superior elevation. 
as well as its location near the mouths of several tributary rivera. 
Even on the islands, where showers fall so seldom, vegetation 
flourishes most l!uxiiriantlv% the copious dews affording that nourish- 
ment to the plants and flowers which the clouds of heaven deny 

The rainy season had just set in when we arrived at Nazerc. On 
account of the sandy state of the soil, we could not have established 
ourselves at a better place; for here^ one hour of sunshine never 
failed to erase all traces of the severest storms. 

No danger need be apprehended from sleeping in the open air in 
this delicious climate at any period of the year. Indeed, we our- 
selves, have frequently passed the night in our hammocks, swung 
under the commodious verandah of the cottage at the Roscenia, 
without sustainiug the slightest injury. 

Our slumbers at Nazere were sound and refreshing. True, we 
alept Httle for the first few night*, owing to the nocturnal serenades 
of an old torn cat ; but we doubt whether anybody, of any nerves at 
all, could have slept better under similar circumstances. We really 
had some thoughts of resorting to narcotics for relief I We were 
provoked — irritated — and at last became desperate. 

" That villainous cat shall die," exclaimed Jenks, in a passion. 
" What, with all his sins on his head I " said 1 ; "just think of ihe 
enormity of his offencea, my dear air, before committing so bloody 
an act ; pray, give him some little time for repentance 1 *' 

"Not a single day, by heaven!" replied my companion; 
ghall die to-morrow ! *' 


On the following mominp we observed the doomed grtn 
quietly rep"sing on a Utile grassy knoll within a short distal 
tne house. Now was tlie time ! But feeling some reluctance 
the perpetrators of the murderous deed ourselves, we called 
Joaquim to do the business for us. h 

He willingly assented. Having loaded his gun. be i| 
himself within a suitable distance, took deliberate aim, and firct 
horrible shriek — most heart-rending and awful — immctliately 
upon our ears. But when the smoke had cleared away- no cat, 
or dead« was to be seen. He had vanished in the adjacent tfait 

Two weeks passed by, and our nights continued to be undid 
ed. We felt certain that our tormentor was nucnberetl amon 
dead. But what wait our astonishment one morning, while wc 
seated under the verandah* to see this dialK>lical cat enter 
Wiiy before us, and advance with a downcast, saddened, an4 
ant air. up towards the house. 

"Verily /' said Jenks, '* I have always beard tijat a cat 
lives, now I believe it." 

We were slightly infuriated at first, and determined to 
more effort to rid ourselves of this caterwawHng monster, 
soon as our wrath had somewhat abated, we came to the mfl 
conclusion of " putting him on his good behaviour " far a * 
season/' and, strange to say, he never serenaded us again. 

A little circumstance occurred one evening that gave ■■ 
alarm. My companion had gone to the city, and 1 was left ^ 
alone at the Hoscenia. While reading a book under the vera 
by the feeble light of a single lamp, I was suddenly addressed 
strange voice, and looking up, I beheld a black fellow that ] 
never seen before, standing at my elbow. 

"Senhor," said he, "load your gun, and lock up the hoj 
there are robbers concealed in the garden." 1 

Saying this, he disappeared so quickly that I did not have tii 
make any inquiries of him concerning his startling nam 
Whether to believe the black or not I hardly knew, but as I i 
not imagine any other motive to have prompted him than a t 
to put us on our guard, it appeared probable that he had j 
correct information. I therefore loaded my " revolver," and, 
it in one hand, and my sharp wood-knife in the other. I anxi* 
awaited the arrival of my companion. It was about midnight i 
he reached the Koscenia, and of course he was much surprised ^ 
I had related to him all that had taken place. ■ 

The night passed by — no robbers made their ~f| nnrr B 

ver afterwards f>aw the black who had in such a mysterioufl 
tier — in the silence and darkness of night — warned me of impec 
danger. 7'his was the only incident that occasioned us the slig 
uneasiness during our entire stay at the Roscenia — moreover, W) 
not meet with a single accident. M 

Sunday was the most noisy day uf the week with us. On tij 
we had numerous visitors from the city ; some of whom came O 
the Roicenia for sporting purposes, keeping up a continual firii 
the garden from morning until night. This was extremely disa| 
able to us. as it prevented us from indulging in wholesome rea 
and useful reflections, as we would have preferred. There is no 
set apart for religious purposes in Para. Sunday is a perfect I 





nml is more particnl.irly marked by revelry ami cliRsipation 
by morality and sacred observances. Every Sabbath uiorning 
j&r^o de Nazere was the scene of a military display, performed 
brilliant cavalcade of gaily-dressed officers, and mounted citi- 
After going through with a series of military evolutions on 
^rgo, they often stopped at the Roscenia, for the purpose of re- 
ing themselves with fruit and wine. They were a gay and ap- 
itly happy set of feiiows, very gentlemanly in their bearing, and 
ated and cheerful in conversation. 

liteness to strangers is one of the striking characteristics not 
of the people of Para, but of the Portuguese in general, AU 
everybody you meet in the streetj provided yoti have a gentle- 
y appearance, will oFer you the deference of taking off" hia 
and at the saiue time saluting you with the popular expression, 
, senkor ! or "Long live, sir!" Besides l\\\», the Brazilians 
nore hospitable and social than they have ever had credit for in 
Moks of travellers. The reason, probably, why they have been 
idered so distant and reserved in their manners towards fo- 
lers, is on account of their general ignorance of all languages but 
own. Those at Para who coidd speak English we tbund to be 
?dingly sociable and friendly, and disposed to render us any aa- 
nce we desired. 

aving been al Nazere nearly two months, we began to think 
usly of taking our departure. We had made a complete collec- 
almust, of all the birds and animals to be found in its vicinity, 
les many extraordinary insects and carious shells. We had lived 
tly, in solitude, in the midst of romantic natural beauty, and 
experienced, perhaps, as much pleasure as human nature is 
ble of. Need it be Kaid, then, that we had become exceedingly 
hed to the Roscenia, and looked forward to the period of leaving 
th a kind of melancholy reluctance., mingled with sorrow and 


few days before our departure we were honoured with a visit of 
Qgular a character, that we cannot forbear giving the reader a 
'description of it. It was quite earlv one morning that a large 
motley assemblage of individuals halted before the gateway of 
loscenia. What they were, or for what purpose they came, we 
1 not surmise. They were so ceremonious as to send a young 
in advance to solicit permit^sion of us for them to enter. We did 
lesitate to grant the request, and soon discovered that our wor- 
/iflitors constituted nothii^g less than a religious procession, who 
come out to the Largo de Nazere in order to procure donations 
he benefit of the Roman Catholic church,— a email pecuniary 
ing being expected from everybody, 
le whole number of persons who entered the Roscenia could not 

been less than forty or fifly, — of which number at least one- 
were women and children. In front of all marched half-n-dozen 
ts or padres, ilressed in flowing scarlet gowns, hearing large 
ihades of dazzling reel silk suspended over their heads. At^er 

came a group of bright- eyed damsels, crowned with garlands 
wers, and profusely decorated with golden chains anrl glittering 
ets. In the rear of all was a number of young children, aport- 
/ith each other in all the freedom of innocence and nudity com- 
L With huge bouquets of splendid flowers in their hands, they 

L. XXIII. ^ 



looked like & band of little Cupids about to render deference at the 
court of Flora. Contrasting tlie striking colour of their dresses, and 
ornaments, and flowers, with the ever-living verdure of the over- 
hanging trees, they constituted a brilliant spectacle, such as we had 
never before gazed upon. 

One of the damsels, bearing a handsomely -carved s&lver of so)id 
silver, presented it to us for the purpose of receiving our donations. 
Unfortunately we had but very little of the circulating metliura on 
hand — merely a few vintens — all of which we threw at once upon 
the silver plate. Our pecuniary resources being now completely ex- 
hausted, judge of our consternation when the plate was handed to us 
a second time, for further contributions. 

J now threw a bunch of cigars on the plate, and the result was 
just such as I had anticipated. Instead of taking the slightest 
offence at what T had done, they seized the cigars with eagerness, 
and I was obliged to distribute all I had in the house among tbero, 
before they wmdd be satisfied. The cigars being all distributed, 
wine was asked for, with which we proceeded to supply thera. Butij 
alas ! what were the two gallons of port we had purchased ibe day 
before towards satisfying such a thirsty crowd ? 

Before taking leave of us, a sweet little maiden handed me a 
miniature image of some one of the favourite saints, which she Je-i 
sired me to kiss. I took the image, and proceeded to do as she re^. 
quested ; but, by some unaccountable mistake I missed the ima^^ 
and impressed a warm kiss upon the pouting lips of the youthful 
damsel — a sacrilege, indeed! for which I atoned by kisMng the 
image many times! It is to be hoped that the reader will beai, 
lenient and forgiving towards the writer for this misdeed aa was tl>f ] 
pretty maiden herself. 

Shortly after this the whole party withdrew, with many thanks] 
and benedictions, leaving us in a most deplorable condition ; all ourj 
provisions being eaten, our wine drunk, and our cigars smoked. 

We were sad, indeed, when we took our final leave of Nazere. Ui 
was on a mild and sunny adernoon, and all around was quiet 
serene. No sounds broke upon the stillness, save the rustling of the] 
leaves, the murmur of the insects, and the chattering of the biriUj 
Our thoughts liarmonized with the plaintiveness of the scene; ft 
we remembered that we were relinquishing ybr ei>er the blissfi 
garden, where we had whiled away so many pleasant hours. 

Strolling slowly on towards the city, we frequently stopped far 
few moments by the way, to exchange salutations with our Indiil 
neighbours, and to tender to all the pretty maidens our partii 
adieu. Joaquim accompanied us as far as the Largo da Palvoi 
where, aUer shaking us each heartily by the hand, whde a tear sto 
in his noble eye, he bade us farewell. We were extremely sorry 
lose so valuable a hunter, and, in testimony of our esteem and appi 
ciation of the services he had rendered us, we presented him with 
single-barrelled gun, which we had purchased for him in the city. 

It was near sunset when we arrived at Mr. Campbell's house, 
lofly stone dwelling, with balconies fronting each of the up] 
windows. Here we intended remaining for the ensuing week ; 
the expiration of which time we proposed making an excursion 
Caripe, a neglected though beautiful estate, situated on a si 
island witliin twenty miles of Para. 

^U^n^^jcJ/te^4£e^^'ti^ i!ff4g^;,Ju^ /ui^t 



Whether a certain place, the latitude and longitude of which are 
rnore a matter of faith than of geographical certainty* be *' paved 
^rlth good intentions,'* may sometimes be doubted, seeing that a 
liundred pound note* the realization of the best intention in the 
wrorld, and on the part of the most prudent personage in the world, 
tias seen the light. Tom Pringle's intention, happily conceiveil, and 
briUiantly executed, was not abortive, and therefore, according to 
tile iipophthegm, was not to be found among the burnt offerings of the 
lower regions, 

Tom Pringle was a man of purpose, as immovable as the well-worn 
stool that was screwed to the Hoor of one of "the oldest houses in 
the city." He formed a resolution at the end of seventeen years* 
assiduous clerkship — a good <* intention," if you will, to become inde- 
pendent^ and he cherished it too warmly to let it out of his own 
keeping, much less that it should be found among the splendid 
abortions with which the unchristian locality above mentioned is said 
to be paved. 

Few men, with an ambition higher than Tom Pringle's stool, ever 
consent to be servants, without the lurking hope of being at some 
time or other master. Tom was not exempt from the aspiration. 
He conceived the idea, he brought it forth with much travail. 
He was in general somewhat of an unstable disposition. He went to 
liU office in Threadneedle Street, at nine A. m , left at 6vo p. m., 
■nth tiie precision of the postman, and somewhat with the haste of 
thst functionary. He was getting grey in the midst of these peripa- 
tetics. It occurred to him as he occasionally ogled a bit of looking- 
giass thrust between the leaves of some blotting paper, that he was 
getting a few supplementary wrinkles. Baldness, " crows* feet " at 
the side of both eyes, were pretty plain indications tliat he was not 
the man he formerly was. 

Tom would sometimes strive to beguile the ennui of "office hours" 
bj a harmless flirtation with the pretty Cinderella, who usually made 
the office fire. She, in her turn, endured rather than permitted 
those little escapades. When these would become rather obtrusive, 
•he never failed to remind him of the enormity, and of the difference 
ween their ages. The little slattern, riant and coquettish as 
enteen summers, and the privilege of poking the office fire, and a 
e fun at the clerk could make her, stale noiselessly out one day 
r a short lecture on the platonics of the clerk. 
Tom could not endure that his setf-Tove could be thus rebuked 
br the maiden. He was willing to attribute to the coyness of his 
female friends certain averted glances, which plainly hinted that 
"/outh and age cannot yoke together,'* and the knowledge made 
Mm sad. Somebody has said, and with truth, if you want to sec 
*hat changes time and the world may have wrought in your out- 
ward man, look the first female acquaintance you meet in the face, 
ind her reception of you will settle the question. The little Cin- 
"lerella of the office fire, did tliat office for Tom Pringle- He be- 

V S 



came grave and abstracted on resuming his seat at his desk nexr 
day. His foot oscillated} like his thoughts, from the stool on %vhicti 
he sat. He rocked his body Lo and fro, as if, like a resUess babe, 
he wanted ta compose it. 

In a fit of splenetic abstraction his eyes made their way tlirough 
the vista formed by the day-book and ledger, and fixed themselves 
sternly on the patisadings of an old church that overshadowed his 
little sanctum. A thousand times, in blither mood, and before any 
body cuuld hint anything about *' iron locks," or ere a crow's fool 
disturbed his serenity, had he looked through the same viista, and 
his eyes lighted on tire same stern old pile. Then, there was no 
corrugation on the brovr. But the tittle maiden had worked wonders. 

"It won't do,'* said Tom, "not by no means; no use in staveing 
them oK*, they will come, and the tittle un's eye as it took in my 
bald liead and front, crows' feet, and all that sort of thing, is as good 
&& a sermon and no mistake; soh, sohl" and Tom remained for 
full seven minutes and a half in a peevish abstraction, staring alter- 
nntely at the otd church, and at two sparrows that had a terribly 
long fiirtatton on the patisades that hemmed it in. The conference 
between the sparrows might have been, for anything he knew on "the 
affairs of the church." It lasted a long time; and as he looked at the 
little triflers^ he felt blistering tears make their way through bis bony 
fingers and fall upon the blotting paper, which served as a kind of 
cushion for hisi elbows. Tttey mingled with, and diluted the ink that 
caprice or accident had blotched it with. He paused a moment to 
see what kind of figure dried up tears mingled with ink would make 
in one of the blotting books of un old house in the city. They werf i 
not such as Cocker would have left on the veriest waste pa[>er; but 
the particular leaf on which they fell, had a peculiar charm for Tom, 
and he tore tt off when the tears were thoroughly soaked in, and 
carefully folded it, then placed it in a black leathern trunk that; 
occasionally served as dinner table and desk. As he bent over tba* 
old trunk, and turned up its miscellnneous contents, his eye lighted 
on the accumulations of nearly a quarter of a century of clerkship 
to one or two old houses, in the shape of a three-pound note, and b<i| 
absolutely grew pale at the sight. It was carelessly laid on somtj 
waste papers, and had passed through many hands. 

*' You 've run your course my fine fellow," said the clerk, as h«j 
despondingly lifted it. It was identically the same, that some yeaft 
before, lie had deposited in the old black trunk. " It ought by tbii 
time, to have been — let me see, fifteen twenties, or three hundred 
pounds. Besides douceurs and christmus-boxes — goodness gracioutl 
me, can it be possible? And out of the three hundred that roiglitj 
have been slowed away, in this old fellow," peevishly giving the old| 
trunk a kick, " ttiere is but a solitary three pound note, and not 
another to keep it company T He laid the bank note on the leafof i' 
blotting book, despondingly closed the trunk, and carefully locked 
What athnity or association existed between an old leathern truo'j 
and a broken bit of looking-glass, was best known to Torn, it passe 
ordinary comprehension, but he mechanically drew out from belweej 
the leaves of the blotting book, a cracked piece of looking-glasa, 
which, and at the black trunk, he alternately stared, and a smile st< 
over his haggard face as he exclaimed, *' not so very old but llial 



may jet send a few crisp bank notes to keep that old fellow in the 
black trunk company. Let me make it but a cool hundred — I will, I 
am determined on it. III be independent — pooh, nonisensc — turned of 
6fky-two, why it ia as good as twenty-live any duy. I've ink and 
exertion in me 3'et for a good score years ; I '11 pare and cut down, 
lite sparingly, very sparingly, very, and then at the end of — let me 
»ee how many pains-taking, close-fisted years somebody," and he 
da&hed his hand against his heart that dilated with the thought — 
**aoinebody will have a cool hundred or two, and then ugh I ugh t** 
And a short dry cough, given with rather sepulchral energy, wound 
up the Boliliquy of the resolving clerk. He thrust both his hands in 
desperation to the bottom of his pockets. There was nothing par- 
cicuiar either in the act, or in the pockets, but it was the instinctive 
" carrying out" of the resolution Tom Pringle made to grow rich — 10 
** realise," and become the master of wliat thenceforth took possesaion 
of his whole soul — n cool hundred or two. 

When a new light — of other days — days present, or of those that 
yet may be vouchsafed, breaks in upon a man turned of fifty-two, it 
is strange that, with our irrepressible yearnings after immortality, 
vhen the curtain of eternity gets a premonitory sliake, as it generally 
does at fifly-two, the light which breaks in upon such a man is 
rarely a light from within, or from above. It is a ha If- resentful, half- 
regretful feeling for the loss of that time in which money might have 
been accumulated, during which he might, if thrifty and provident, 
have sown the kernel of a plum, or, at least, of a ** golden pippin" or 
two. The disconsolate clerk, like his betters, set up the money standard 
by which opportunities, time, and even eternity might be tried. 

He was not exempt from the weakness which besets alike the prime 
of manhood and the decrepitude of age ; and he wept at the thought* 
—first, that he was turned of fifty-two, and, secondly, thai, after the 
gaieties and gravities of that period, but a solitary three pound note 
was all he could boast of ae the available balance in his exchequer. 

Some little resentful feelings he enlertaineJ too for being so unce- 
ramoniously reminded by the little CindereUa of the office fires, of 
premature baldness, and crows* feet. But youth, particularly of the 
gentler sex, finds a malicious pleasure in picking holes in the wrapper 
of decaying humanity; and though a notl of recognition, — when in 
particular good humour — a playful pat on the head, occasionally a 
ci.ijck under the dimpling chin of the little maiden, were all the ap- 
proaches Tom ever made towards a little harmless flirtation, yet it 
justified her in bidding him " keep his hands to himself," and in 
eliciting a few of those coquettish retorts, which, as we have seen 
disturbed the complacence of the clerk, and let in a flood of feeling 
unci apprehension that tinged his after life. 

Tom read his doom in the eyes and altered demeanour of the young 
girl. It was in vain that he tried " to pluck up" and look smart. It 
was iu vain that he pulled and distorted a rebellious lock or two that 
itill found a home on his brow, but which, when drawn over the 
haJd patch, would perversely have its way, and fall limp and languid 
where it was not wanted. 

Tom Pringle was turned of fifty-two, and he resolved — vain effort I 
^lo cheat that suggestive period of twelve or fifteen years — to look. 
At least, if not to feel, a dozen years younger. One may as soon 



cheat fifty-two lawyers or women as fifty-two years. Tom made the 
attempt to chouse the latter out of their due, but not being particu- 
larly successful at a brief toilet which he extemporized over a bit of 
looking-glnss, he grew sad, and, for the first time in his life, he both 
felt and looked that awkward period. Another source of uneasiness 
to the clerk was, that, after an official life of pen and ink, and regular 
attendance during "office hours," he found himself only three pounds 
the better for it. In the bitterness of his inmost soul, Tom felt all 
this with the keenness and intensity of a roan who resolves ratlier 
late in the day to lead another sort of life. What that other sort of 
life was to be, he had not exactly made up his mind. On his way 
home, however, he resolved it should be in the pecuniary way, — that he 
should economise and grind, and be covetous, and, if possible, get 
rich ; — not in a " year," however, ** and a day," but in the fulness <]( 
some undefined period. 

Tom's ambition was to be considered a "small capitalist," to* be 
the owner oi at least a hundred pound note. The idea was brilttanC 
and practicable, and as he warmed up beneath its cheering influence, 
he gave a rap of more than usual vivacity at the door of his humble 
domicile in one of the suburban ruralities. The slamming of sundry 
doors to prevent the inquisitive look of the supposed stranger, ahastjp 
settling of the scanty stair-carpet, quite put out of its way by tbe 
rush down stairs, and a more than ordinary time spent in opening the 
door, to give time to reconnoitre the stranger, hinted lo the excited 
clerk that he had taken unusual pains to announce himself. 

Miss Priscilla Blossom, as she opened the door with expectation as 
tiptoe, made no secret of her chagrin at finding it was only Mr. Prin* 
gle. Tom was exactly eleven years a lodger, and much freedom with 
the knocker might be accorded to a lodger of his standing, particu* 
larly seeing it was a first offence. But she couldn't exactly see the 
necessity there was of putting people in alarm ;— it was provokjngi 
however, to have the alarm given by, as it were, ** one of the family* 
And so, instead of the old simper and look of quiet welcome, ibe 
took her revenge by looking over the shoulder of the clerk as he en- 
lered, and very hard at the dead wall opposite. That was a cut she 
thought irresistible; and, after a look up and down the street, thfi 
lady skipped with more than her usual vivacity, three pair up. 

A kind of sentimental acquaintance, such as a not old bachelor may 
be presumed to carry on witli a lady of a "certain age," and which tht 
uncertain-aged lady may be presumed to encourage without compro- 
mising the dignity of spinsterhood — was carried on between the clerk 
and Miss Priscilla Blossom. The "quiet silent attentions" of the 
clerk were permitted, and as time and Miss Blossom wore on, were 
even encouraged. But the cold calculating look of Mr. Fringle, as be 
brushed by the maiden, was rather alarming. He never looked so 
before, and as he took possession of his little antiquated room on the 
first floor, and sharply drew the door after him. Miss Priscilla Blossom 
thought that there was " something out of the common" amiss wit^ 
Mr. Pringle. That gentleman's uneasy pacing up and down the roo 
interrupted by a passionate exclamation, and the desponding cry 
" fifty two" uttered in a half-frantic lone, prevented Miss Blossom 
from knowing what was going on, or properly taking advantage of her 
position at the key-hole. Miss Blossom in this particular scrupulously 

)m ^ 




fulfilled the Scriptural injunction, — she diligently " watched " the un- 
easy movements of the clerk as he fidgeted up and down the room, 
and took note of several exclaoiatioos which she thought bad some 
significance for herself. 

" Now let roe see," said Pringle, as he cut himself short in the 
midst of a towering soliloquy, ''economy and no matrimony — that's 
the point. 'Taint that she 's too old, but she has no money, and love 
at tiAy-two without some, is clean nonsense. It would not be endured 
in the city. On the Exchange it would hardly pass; and the firm — 
the firm — what would they Ray? What would that larger firm, the 
world say?" 

The excited clerk, in a vain endeavour to know what would be 
thought in these several quarters of his projected scheme, lifted his 
hands in agony of apprehension, and as he allowed them to fall by 
his side in an effort at resignation, he dropped into that easy chair 
which the provident Miss Blossom had furnished. He buried himself 
in its ample recesses, and did the same charitable work for his head, 
which he buried in his hands. Now, burying thoughts alive has been 
found no bad way of resuscitating them. Tom had no sooner made up 
his mind that it was time to accumulate, to get at the right side of a 
hundred pound note or thereabouts, than another element of uneasi- 
ness was added to his stock : — he was fifty-two years old, and he 
nerer thought of it. By a kind of sentimental connexion — an onning 
•nd oifing — he had half committed himself to Miss Priscilla Blossom. 
That young lady — for the privilege of spinsterliood is always to be 
extremely young — thought that the partial committal in an affair of 
the heart was tantamount to a inatrimonial engagement, and was 
therefore at ease on the subject, believing that time and assiduity 
would work a matrimonial miracle in her favour. But the age of mi- 
racles, like that of chivalry, is gone by. " Thou shalt not marry ex- 
cept well" is a species of eleventh commandment which prudent men 
are very observant of; and although Tom was an indifferent observer 
of the decalogue, he compromised for his breach of it by a rigid ob- 
servance of this same eleventh commandment. 

He determined to become a very miser^ — to grind, pinch, and pare 
down and lop off all superfluities that might in future interfere with 
the great economical purpose of his life. Among other luxuries, that 
of matrimony was even given up. '* Matrimony at fifYy-two, and 
I three pound note to begin the world with — the idea was preposte- 
rous V* 

The agony of mind which a rather elderly gentleman endures when 
called upon to revolutionize his habits, is great. The desponding 
clerk felt it very acutely. The old sofa on which he ruminated this 
bitter cud shook beneath him. He ground his teeth pretty distinctly, 
aod to the soft, hesitating rap at the door he blurted out, "It cao't 
be done — it can't be done I Come in." 

*• But it is done, Mr. Pringle, and to your liking,** said the soft, 
iQrery voice of Miss Blossom, as she darkened the door of Tom's little 

irtiuent with a plate of nicely stewed tripe, with a snow-uhitc nap- 
over that, and over that again, looking a gracious invitation, the 
7^ beaming countenance of the happy spinster. 

•* Very kind of you, Miss Blossom," said Pringle, aa be felt the 
whole of his economical schemes dissolve as the smoking platter sent 

Mr. PHufle,- mUi tbe hdj, g^m 
TMdoB^tltem-a-w,'' the aid. hjMCfi^ 
Voa'w lost jnMT appedlep wad yoa're 

••Tliefe MMT, tbttl ae^" wUnpcred tbe clerk, m he brasbed awij 
a tear with the cofcr of Cfac Hfcig ckilk. 

Piin^ took two or three iifiotiem lonia roami the room, wriggled 
him apore Ibrvi into am ott^ade of detcrvMPOtKn, and approacbiog the 
■MMleo with a grave if not stem air^ be aaid : 

"So— to, you (ion't think me food, Mi» Blossom, — and jroo*i» 
right. Poob—ftuff— Dooseuae ! Food at fifty-two 1 — 'tis all gani0«* 
—don't believe it— doo't believe a word of it- It is not in us at forlTi 
much less at 6fty-4wo, — and I 'm AaL Doo't believe me if I sUooU 
say I am. A man of fifty is fond of nobody but hi* wroicheil leH 
loves nobody I Reverse the picture : make it twenty-five, nod tbefs 
is some Stance. But, believe me. Miss Blossom, at tweniy-6ve niM 
may toy with beauty's chain without counting the links: but at fiA)^- 
two every link should be madfe of fine gold, to enable Uim to wear A 
gracefully. Iliat *s what I say. Miss Blossom.** 

'Picre was an earnestness mingled with banter in this sally, l^ 
lairly puzzled the nmidcn. She didn't know what to make of h'* 
She had comforted herself for a long time with the behcf that tlieir 
union was merely a matter of time, but the idea that his parsimonioitf 
rcHolves would stop short of matrimony had never occurred to her 

'niiiC night the anxious clerk entered on his purpose of thriiY by 
takin;< puNiirtKion of a room " two pair up." It was cheaper than tlie 
unv he ucTupicd, und served as a fit prelude to his economical par- 
poio. A correftpoiuling change was observable in his outward man. 
** I'Inin and warm — plain and warm is good enough for a man of fifty- 
two," he would savi while he wrapped his spare form in a penurious 
and primitive hnbilin)ont, and stalked to the office of one of the oldest 
houses in the city. By dint of the most close fisted parsimony, Pr 
glr began to accumulate. 'Hie old leather trunk began to grow i 
Icrosling. It was rcspcctnbic in his eyes att the savings-bank of K 
future deposits. It wus no longer used for the unworthy purposes 
which all uld friends arc unifunuly subject. It was regularly dus 



every day; anil when it becumc the dcpOHitory of one score pounds. 
the kernel of, perhaps, a future plunti he carried it to his lodgings. 
Meantime, no useless expense was allowed to diminish his savings, 
Tipplings at hi&club, and the club itself, were fairly given up as incon- 
sistent with tiie growth of the incipient plum. He would pass by a 
theatre, even at the alluring hour of lialf-price, with the most stoical 
indifference. All pleasures were put under the most rigorous ban. 
Pringle began to grow a perfect ascetic The black leather trunk 
became in consequence more and more plethoric. When out of spl- 
ritfij he would sit in a strangled beam of sunshine that would 6nd its 
way into his solitary room, and, with half-shut eyes, ogle his trea- 

Tile inventive genius of woman frequently found opportunities of 
breaking in upon his musings. Miss Blossom was always a privileged 
intruder. She thought it was not good for man to be alone ; and the 
bewitching hour of tea, with an infusion of small-talk, affairs of the 
house and affairs of the heart, occupied the evening. Not that 
Pringle, during these visits, ever allowed his thoughts to wander from 
his purpose, or lean to tlie " soft side of the heart." When, how- 
ever, — for Pringle was but a man — he felt a premonitory tug at his 
heart-strings, he would took sternly at the old leather trunk, and 
sll his stoicism would revive. The soft intruder was bid good night, 
and the obdurate Pringle would sneak to his bed to dream till morning 
of tlie old leather trunk and its contents. 

Precisely twenty-one months after the date of his intention to be- 
come a small capitalist on his own account, the vision of a real l^un- 
dred pound note rose upon his sight. There was no mistaking the 
crisp sterling feel of the paper. He looked intently at the wordn 
''One Hundred Pounds," in large capitals. A quiet self-approving 
nnile stole over his haggard features. The corrugated brow, the 
crows* feet, the limp and languid hair — what were they to him? He 
had within his clutch the golden vision that so oAen formed the sub- 
ject of bis day dreams, and distracted his slumbers at night. 

But did Pringle limit his ambition to a " cool hundred?" For the 
honour of human nature, we are bound to admit that he did. And 
now that he had it^ be didn't know what to do with it. He was mi- 
i^rable without it^ he was unhappy with it. But still the conscious- 
ness that he could call that sum his own — own, gave an animation to 
hi« features, a buoyancy and an elasticity to his form, that was quite 

Vet daily the question presented itself tu him,— what could he do 
vith the hundred pound note, now that he had acquired it? And 
through sheer dint of not knowing what to do with it, he became 
unusually pensive. 

^ 1 made it single-handed,'^ said the bewildered clerk^ in a fit of 
Douetary abstraction, while he wistfully eyed the water-mark on the 
Dote, and in desperation thrust both his hands to the uttermost depths 
of his breeches' pockets. What the sequel to these uneasy thought* 
was, and what Pringle did when he didn't know what to do with hi» 
hundred pound note, may be inferred from the announcement shortly 
after made by the parish clerk of , marvellously resembling the 

banns of marriage between Thomas Pringle, bachelor, and Priscilla 
Blossom, spinster. S. V. 




Tlicwevrfl md in Ocrem hitutry wiS\ rnuiilr recognise ihe Mory of Otto at 
Wmitoihtr^ and SUbMa. Tb« eatuuopbe U KiaioncaUT interesting, u it ten- 
ously inA i anffl d tbe {Me «r rraderic King of Bohemu and hii En^ifth vift 

Thkbb was hijjh festival in the baron's halls, and the voice of music 
and revelry rose above the howl of the winter's blast, and the rushing 
torrents without. It was at Christmas time that the proude^tt and love- 
liest of Bohemia met within the castle of Budowa, to celebrate the 
birthday festival of the baron's heiress, his beautiful daughter, Theresa. 
She was not his only child ; a vonnger daughter, bearing the name of 
Maria, shared in her father's love, and in her sister's beauty, hut it 
was well known that the vast possessions belonging to the ancient 
bouse of Budowa were not to be divided, — that they were to confer 
power and dignity on the fortunate husband of Theresa. Nevertheleiif 
ibe younger sister was so rich in personal beauty, and a thousand soft 
^nd winning graces, that she could almost compete with the elder in 
the number and devotion of her admirers. He who now sat beside her, 
breathing into her willing emr enraptured praises of her radiant beauty, 
had been long a suitor for her smiles, without seeking to obtain poH 
session of her hand ; and there were some who whispered that he onlf 
paid his court to the younger sister as a means of obtaining easy acc«Mj 
to the presence of the heiress. 

Tlie dark, earnest eye of the Count Slabata, and the soft accent! 
his practised tongue had seldom pleaded in vain. His was " a face 
limners luve to paint, and ladies to look upon," and his proud, ye| 
courteous bearing, was distinguished alike by dignity and grace. B' 
birth he held a high rank amongst the nobles of Bohemia ; and, thongl 
rumours were abroad that his large family possessions were serioad 
encroached upon, by youthful extravagance, these had never read) 
the ear of Maria; she helieved him to have both the will and 
power to place her in the same high position that birih had confe 
on her more fortunate sister. Still there were times when even the 
vain and unobservant Maria had doubted the completeness of her con- 

3uest. Not now, however, — not now; on this happy evening abi 
eemed there was no longer cause for fear, and she listened with beat- 
ing heart and glowing cheek for the expected words that would inter- 
pret into final certainty the language of Slabata's eloquent look. Yet 
r^faria was even now deceived, for it was not u\xm her the most eam«t 
gaie of those dark eyes was anxiously and enquiringly fixed. 

In a distant, windowed niche of the lofty and spacious hall stood 

two figures, so remote from the glare of light, and the central tahlei 

where the feast was spread, that they were almost hidden in the glooOj 

m! their conversation could easily be carried on, undisturbed by the 

if und distant sounds of music and revelry. Count 8Ubata*5 eye 

i.t'. keen, quick, and piercing, had recognized the graceful form of 

! I,- Uiron's niece, — hut tlie knight who stiM^d beside her, who was he? 

T4«-r* might be many in that crowded hall never even seen before by 

whose youth had been jtassed in foreign and distant lands; 

one who might boast sufficient rank and |wwer to entitle hi 




to Ruch intimate commune with Theresa could surely not be unknown 
to liiui. It was nut, it could nut be a Boheminn nublu towtium Theresa 
had crunted thiu comparutively private interview ; yetj what stranger 
could have found an opportunity of exciting the interest his keen eye 
saw she fell ? B^or, though the hnughty heiress, belf-cuutroUed as ever, 
ilieJd her stately form erects and her roseate lip com pressed, it was vainly 
that the white arms were folded firmly across her breast* in the attempt 
to still its tumultuous heavin);s. Her companion stood impnssive. He 
it is whu speaks, and the lady listens; but, though his words had such 
power to move her, they disturbed neither the rigidity of his features, 
nor the unbending repose of his attitude. If, indeed, he pleads, it 
may nut be a suit of human passion. 

The sliort interview over, Theresa moved thoughtfully towards the 
gay crowd, who now, fur the first time, observing her absence, made 
way us she approached, and the knight — as he glides silently away, the 
truth Hashes on SlabataJ The knightly garb had been only assumed 
for the purposes of disguise, and the haughty Theresa was carrying on 
a ctandestiiie iutercuurse either of love or of religion* And, vigilantly 
watched over by the pride and anxiety of her stern father^ it was pro- 
bable that she had found in the crowded festival the only opportunity 
for contriving further interviews. Successful, too, the opportunity had 
ufiparently proved, for no eye save that of Slabata had discovered the 
retreat uf the heiress, in the distance and gloom of the remote window- 
niche. Her fattier was just then lavishing earnest courtesies upon the 
royatly-deseended mother of Cuunt Wartenberg, and the count himself 
had not yet arrived. While the cuubea of his delay were being vari- 
ously reported among the assembled guests, the large portals of the 
hall were thrown open, and, ushered in with all due honour and 
deference. Count Otto of Wartenberg entered the apartment. 

Otto was one uf Bohemia's bravest knights, and none were so 
favoured as he by the smiles of its fairest maidens. Gentle and cour- 
teous in peace, as he was daring and gallant in war, easy success awaited 
his lightebt elfurts, and resistless as his sword on the battle-field were 
the eager glances of his clear bright eye, — the etonuent pleadings of his 
earnest voice. Slabata'a star ever waned before tnis presence. There 
was a frank and ardent sincerity in the equally-polished bearing of 
Count Otto, tliat threw, as it were, into suspicious relief the laboured 
graces and insinuating flatteries of Slabata. They had long been rivals 
— rivals in their pride of birth, — ^rivals in their prido of muiily beauty, 
-^rivals on the battle-field, where Slabata's experienced dexterity 
never won the same meed of iiopular applause as the frank and soldier- 
like bearing of the fearless Otto, — ^nd rivals were they now on a field 
of bitterer conflict than the sword ever waged, — rivals for a woman's 
smile, and that woman the beautiful and richly -dowered Theresa. 
Otto's sight, ((uickened by passion, had penetrated through the treacher- 
ous semblance of Slabata'^ pretended luve fur i^Iaria. He saw that 
Theresa was the real object, and that it was only because her haughty 
coldness forbade direct approaches that Maria's easily -deceived vanity 
was used as a means of constant access to her sister's presence. 
Whether Slabata had been in any degree successful, Otto knew not— 
Otto dared not guess. Theresa was equally rcpellant to all those 
suspected of pretending to the honour of her hand, whether they had 
rashly pressed their suit too early, or whether, as in the case of the 
proud and sensitive Otto, avowals of love hud been carefully &hunuGd,< 



Of^en, as the discournced count turned away from Theresa's chiUiog 
courtesy, his eyes would fall with apprehension and mi»tnist upon the 
nuble form and striking features of Slabata. Their jealousy was, there- 
fore, mutual, — their suspiciuns eager, restless; but the frank, genenwi 
rivalry of Otto differed cfjiinlly with his noble character from the con- 
cealea enmities<^the deceitful and treacherous nature of Slahata. 

As Otto advanced through the hall the brightest eyes shining there 
sought to meet his in appealing memories, or in hope o^ future triumpli; 
but, fls his enger glance traversed the fair array of loveliness, it found 
no resting-place. At this moment Theresa reaches and mingles with 
tlie circle, and Otto's stately form bends lowly at her side. His arrival 
had been wailed for to commence the graceful dance of Bohemia, which 
ordinarily preceded the festival ; claiming his acknowledged right, as 
highest in rank, to the hand of Tlieresa, he led her forward. Slabata 
next advanced, with the gay and happy Maria ; as the four mingled 
ti^*ther in the movements of the dance^ it escaped her unsuspicKKU 
notice that her partner's restless glances were as often fixed upoo 
Theresa in piercing Hcrutiny as upon her in tenderness. Versed in all 
the windings of a woman s hearty the wily Slabata had long sought, 
and sought in vain, to penetrate Theresa's secret. One bitter truth be 
knew — -aim she loved not ; but, wliclhcr the noble frankneiis, martial 
fame, and chivnlrous bearing of Otto of Wartenberg had won the 
favour denied to his own eminent personal advantages, even the pierciag 
sight of jealousy had never enabled him to discover. Whatever were 
Theresa's secret feelings, they had hitherto eluded the anxious scmdor 
of either her fiUher or her lovers. Nor had this been only from womaDt 
pride or woman's waywardness. This night for the first time th<y 
stood reveaU'd to herself. A blush, a smile, a sigh, and hope sprung up 
in Otlu's heart ; as tlie words of passiou burst from his now unchaioN 
lipN^ the bliMid rufihed to Theresa's lieart, and deathly paleness ove^' 
spread her face ; her eye was not raised, her lip was not stirred, but a 
tear was on her cheek, her soft baud was not withdrawn from his, anil 
Otto knew the heart he wooed was won. There was another eye that 
guessed the truth ; and for a moment Slubata's beautiful lip vM 
writhed in sudden anguish, but a smile of vengeance succeeded ; the 
prey was in his hund.i. 

The personal attractions of the two sisters partook of a strangely 
ditf('n*tit character. The striking features, the majestic form, theglotv 
of culmtring peculiar to the nobly-bom of Sclavonic race, constituted 
the brilliant beauty of the younger sister, Maria. The jewels of rare 
value that sparkled through her dnrk tresses were rivalled by the ]a*> 
trouK gloss of the ruven ringlets tbcy adorned ; her dark eyes, as tbev 
nietled in tenderueui, or kindled in gaiety, lit up her young face witL 
ft still mure winning loveliness. Her smiles, not cold and rare, like 
Theresa's, but gleiuning in glad and quick succession, parted lips, 
almost tiKj full for beauty, were it not for their rich, deep colouring, 
and finely chiwelled form. The brilliance of her complexion acquireil 
u deeper interest from its ever-varying hues. The full tide of emotion 
never rested tranquil beneath the clear brown tint of her cheek, but 
rofte and fell incessantly with every passing excitement of her eager 
and joyous spirit. 

Sutin nnd velvet of the richest and brightest dyes imparted an air of 
splenduur to tbe pictures()ue national costume worn uy Maris,— KUie 
eminently suited to display to the best advantage the brilliant and 



•iking charms of her face and form. But Tlieresa, — the wealthy 

iress, the heroine of the night, and the object of far deeper, more 
respectful homage, was habited with a simplicity at that time equally 
foreign to the taste and manners of Bohemia. It might be that she 
deemed the statueiiquc simplicity of her beauty would have been im- 

lired, not heighteoedj by any decoration ; for no jewels sparkled «m 
snowy brow, no varied colouring disturbed the dignified repose of 
lier flight yet stately form* And never did classic sculptor, in his 
dream of beauty^ mould a form or features of more {aultles^ propor- 
tions or more imposing beauty. Nevertheless, the earthly charm of 
warm, speaking colouring was not there. She looked and moved a 
queen, but her sovereignty was exercised not only over others' hearts, 
but over her own emotions. Pride spoke in every quiet glance, in 
every graceful gesture pride mingled with her grace. The complexion of 
Thertrbu was as dazaslingly fair as her sister's was richly dark ; fair, 
too, were the sunny folds of silken hair, braided over her cheek with a 
simplicity that well auited the features they were neither required to 
shade nor to adorn. 

In these features — so delicately moulded, so soft, so feminine in 
their refinement — who could have read the secret sternness of the scml 
within ? In one alone it speaks: the firmly compressed lip, exquisite 
in its chiselled beauty, bears the strong impress of uiibending will, of 
unconquerable pride. The prophecy oi her future fate is told in the 
stern compression of those faultless lips; and that fnture fate is ad- 
vancing fast; even while she treads in the mirthful dance, it ap- 
proaches nearer — nearer still. To-night she reigns supreme — the 
centre of a host of worshippers, the heiress of a noble house, the idol 
of a father 8 heart ;^to-mortow— wliere is she then ? 

It was not alone the fair-haired beauty and the unbending character 
of the Saxon race that Theresa had inherited from her Lnglish mo- 
ther. That mother had been born a Human Catholic, and though for 
many years uhe hud yielded a feigned assent to the stern couimunds of 
her lord, in an apparent relinquishment of her childhood's faith and the 
education of her daughters in hts own Culvinlstic opinions, this did not 
last to the end. Fading away in a painful decline, long aware of the 
inevitable approach of a lingering death, all the superstitious belief of 
her creed conspired with the native strength of her cliaracter tn make 
her resolve that one beloved child at least should be plucc-d within the 
pale of salvation. Tlieresa, older than ilaria, — the intended huirens 
of her father — inheritiug u strength of character and firnmess of pur- 
pose equal to that of her unfortunate mother, while it wan uninfluenced 
by the same warm affections — was the more Atting subject for the pro- 
jected conversion. If she could keep the secret of her change of faith 
until the vast possessions of Budown should become hers, the influL'UGC 
she would then be able to exercise for the advatict'ineni of the Komish 
religion would make ample amends for her mother's unholy concessions 
to a heretic husband. Nor was the dangerous resolution of chani^itig 
Theresa's faith formed and executed ulone. The Jesuits, then iu the 
height of their power and infiuence, and ever on the watch to arrest 
the progress of the Reformation, had known from tlie first tluL the 
beautiful bride brought home by the baron from his tour through Hol- 
land, belonged to one of the most distinguiiihc'd of the ancient Homun 
Catholic families iu England. 



In Bobemia. however, the power of the Jesuits was vignmat] 
jeaJousIy watched ; and they dured not interfere between the G 
utic baron and hU Popish %vife, until the first advances were mi 
the lady herself. For mony years this was vainly waited for; I 
was not until her last fatal di&ease commenced, that the dremd irf 
Dal punishment determined the haroness to brave all consequcoc 
ther than be longer deprived of the consolations of her religion, 
secret maintenance of one furm of faith while she openly prof 
other, bad trained her to craft and diHsimulatiun. She worki 
husband's fears and atfiection by pleading the necessity of 
change of scene as her last hope of recovery, and thus contri* 
at a difttance from Budowa, to receive the frequent visits of 
tual directors fmm Ingoldittadt. In this city was situated a larg 
powerful establi&bment of Jesuits, and from amongst their numbi 
was artfully selected best suited to work on the youthful mi 
Theresa, and influence her secession from her father's Calvinistic 

The different priests of the Romish church who from time tc 
visited the dying couch of the Baroness of Budowa came to the 
conclusion respecting the carefuliv studied character of the hi 
They saw that, while her imagination and feelings were alighl 
entiiii on her opinions, and strongly controlled by the native 
of her character, it was through the intellect alone she 
mnnently secured to their church. 

Father Eustace, the Jesuit selected for this purpose, poa^eam 
of the sharpest and subtlest minds belonging to any member i 
order ; and be pursued his task so successfully, that, before The 
mother died, she had the solemn satisfaction of seeing her dau 
professing her own faith. But, at the very moment of succea 
alarming discovery took place. In the confusion caused by the 
of the baroness, the precautions always before observed had be< 
glected ; and the sudden appearance of the baron, who bad bt 
from Budowa on receiving the tidings of his wife's last illness^ rei 
to the injured husband that the woman whose death he so 
mourned had been long pursuing a system of deceit and fraud 

f the hi 
stive ^ 


not only lived but died in the faith she had feigned to abji 
frensy of mingled sorrow and resentment, he led bis daughters i 


death-bed of their mother, and there vowed stern revenge ag 
even the nearest and dearest, who should again betray bis t 
adopt the idolatrous creed of Rome. Maria trembled and weptl 
resa trembled, but she wept not ; nor did her spirit quail or her 
shrink from the task imposed by her dying parent, and involved i 
vow of obedience to that parent's faith. But the fearful weight 
secret, involving not her own ruin alone, but that of the cause sb 
pledged to^ pre&»ed heavily on her heart, and blighted the hap[ 
and the buoyancy of her youth. ■ 

Perfectly appreciating the character of Theresa, the Jesuit^ 
goldstftdt were contented to watchover their devoted pupil at a dm 
and carefully avoided any intercourse possibly involving the dam 
premature discovery. Whenever any communication was abs^ 
necessary, the experienced caution of Father Eustace always mi 
him out as the must fitting agent for the dangerous enterprise; « 
it was who stood, in knightly disguise, beside Theresa in the dj 

The sudden necessity for her quick dectsion had obliged him i 



car this imminent risk; the only means of arranging the longer inter- 
view he deemed necessary, was by mingling in ilisguiHe in the thrung 
crowding the baron's halls on the birth-day festival, and by a well- 
known signal notifying his presence to Theresa. He then could only 
trust to her tried discretion, and to his own skill and caution, (which 
bad never failed him,) to escape the chances of discovery. The object 
of his mission had been briefly told during the interview witnessed by 
Slabata, but it was an object too important to be trusted to the result 
of the persuasions and arguments so short an opportunity afforded. He 
therefore, extorted from Theresa a promise to meet him again in a 
smfiU apdrlment dedicated to the religious observances of her fuith, of 
which she constantly kept the keys in her own hands. They were 
now ctinimitted to him. 

When, in the dreary gloom of that stormy night, Father Eustace 
stood again before Therein, he had resumed the habit of his order, and 
hoped, by bis solemn and digni6ed aspect, to add force to the appeal 
he was about to make. Never had the exercise of such influence been 
more strongly heeded, for he read in tlie firmly-compressed lip of 
Theresa, even as she humbly knelt to receive his blessing, that her de- 
cision, if made, would not be easily altered. He was the first to 
speak: Theresa had arisen, and stood motionless before him. He first 
briefly recapitulated the facts be had previously stated. A Roman 
Catholic nobleman, high in favour with the emperor, had seen the pic- 
ture of TheresH, long before obtained by the wily Jesuits, and had tlie 
interests of his church so much at heart that this sight sulhced to de- 
termine him, without any previous interview, to seek to secure 
her as his wife. All wtis prepared for her escape. The adventurous 
lover awaited her decision on the frontiers of Bohemia. The Jesuit, 
who was to be the companion of her flight, was there to unite their 
hands, and the marriage once concluded, her father might storm and 
rage in vain. Vainly, too, would he attempt to transfer to another the 
HpTendid inheritance of his disobedient child. The nobleman, who»e 
cause the Jesuit pleaded, was all-powerful with the emperor, and it 
was certain that Theresa's rights could be successfully supported by 
force of arms. 

While the Jesuit urged on his listener every argument his religion 
could supply — \vhile he spoke of her as the instrument of reHioring the 
true faith throughout the length and breadth of her loved Bohemian 
land — while he reminded her of the freedom from constraint and dis- 
simulation — of the enjoyment of religious privileges only to be secured 
by her consent to ihu proposed marriage, rheresa listened in silence; 
but when he changed his tone, and talked of pomp and splendour, of 
rayul favours, and courtly homage, even the wily Jesuit was mistaken 
here, fler proud heart might love power, but she scorned its symbols, 
and she listened no longer. 

"Father Eustace," said she, impatiently, "it is now my turn to 
speak. You may wonder at mj calmness, for you saw the strong emo- 
tion your proposal first excitea. But then every ambitious feeling of 
my heart was roused, all the religious influences of the faith you teach 
were arrayed in full force to swuy my determination; for a moment I 
waveredj and, therefore I trembled — I do not tremble now." 

She paused ; even Theresa's spirit nuailed before the confession she 
was about to make to one whose heart Imd never known the power of 



Fixing his piercing gaze searchin^ly upon her, as if to peaetnite tlie 
deepest recesses of her heurt, the Jesuit sought to take adrjntage of 
her hesitation, and awe her into obedience. But though for a moraent 
the dark eye of Theresa fvll beneatli his glance, proudly it rose again, 
and never was the same tale told in tune so cold and firm as that ia 
which she spoke. 

While her words were atill falling slowly on the angry ear of Fathtf 
Kustacei far different sounds—sounds of wild alarm — arose ; the door 
was burst asunder, and the figures of armed men crowded into tlie 
apartment. As the fierce eyes of the infuriated bnron flushed through 
the gloom— 4 gloom only dispelled by the dim light of a single lamp- 
he saw that this lump burned before a crucifix* and that his dauglittfr 
clung in terror to the figure of a cowled monk. The treachery and 
deceit of years, his shattered hopes of pride, turned in the 
moment the father's heart to gull. The fire of vengeance glanced in 
liis savage eyes, as he graivped the loosened tresses of bis beautiful 
daughter, nnd raised his weapon in the act to slay. It was SlubaU 
who saved him from the deadly crime — it was Slabata's hand that nr- 
rested the descending blow, and wrenched the sword from his frenzitil 
grasp. In a moment after the unhappy father, his paroxysm of fur) 
over, folded in his arms the sen.seleAt> form of her who had been oiict 
his pride nnd joy, then cast her from him for ever. 

During the confusion caused by the danger of Theresa, the Jesuit 
had etjcapeil, and when the victim opened her eyes to sense and cnn* 
piousness, she beheld before her only her father and Slabata. The old 
man was now calm, but he was calm for vengeance. Her destiny wii 
spoken, but even then it was a destiny still to be averted by the renun- 
ciation of her abhorred faith. 

"Never I" was her uuly answer; and, though the hue of life bod 
fled from the lips that uttered it, the baron read in their stem uh' 
rigid compression, a resolution as indomitable as his own. 

Many leagues from the baron's castle arose an abrupt eminence 
considerabte height, and of all but impracticable ascent The situati( 
had been taken advantage of in very distant periods for the erection 
a massive furtress, almost impregnable from its situation. The tower 
of Adelbberg commanded the principal pass into the mountainoun 
country where the castle of Budowa was situated, and the barons o( 
that ancient race hadj in times of war, found it an effectual defence 
against the incurjsiuns of their enemies. Even in times of peace it wai 
still garrisoned by a few trusty followers, and though the secrets of th« 
prison-house never reached with any certainty the ears of th»»se with- 
out, it had been often whispered thai any enemy of the house of 
Budowa who had suddenly diiiappeared from among men, had found a 
living tomb within the massive walls of the gloomy fortress of Adelf 
berg. But not even in those lawless, reckless times, did the supposi- 
tion ever arise that in this dreary confinement the courted, worshipped 
beauty, the richly-dowered Baroness Theresa wasted away the bloom 
and promise of her youth and chtirma. Conveyed thither on the fat»d 
festival night with a secrecy shared only by Slabata and the governor 
of the fortress, Theresa was ubanduiied by her father to a solitudti 
which would have bowed any heart but hers. The last appeal made 
by Slabata to the helpless captive proved as unsuccessful as his suit 
had ever been to the haughty, flattered heiress. Thejresa refused 



at was only to be purchased by rewarding; his treachery, nntl 
tour his disappointed passion turned to deadly hate. With 

feelings vanished her lant chance of liberty ; for Slnhota 
•ded the fatal secret that secured to kiin, as the husband of 

splendid iuheritance of her imprihoned sister. Thereaa's 
u sudden illneRs, was uniTersally believfd. Her oh»equie« 
prformed with all the mournful pomp a father's love and a 
le required, and the inmates of the caRtle of Hudowu had 
loD^ time afterwards shut up from all surrounding inter- 
larently mourning over their afHiction. But Slabuta came, 
a wooed, and Maria was easily won. 

Kia year« have passed, as quickly to the desolate inmate of 

tower OA to the young, the prosperous, the guy. Years 

have pubsed and brou^zht change to all around, hut to her 

•eless, no ebb or flow of joy, or deeper sorrow, murks his 

rse. Most minds wuuld have sunk under the relentlesit 

t prolonged her dreary captivity ; faii]ipy for Tiieresa if this 

le fate uf hers, but while her heart hardened in anguish, 

softer fet'linj^s of her nature grndunlly withered, her proud 

ise triumphaut over the wreck of her heurt, and ripened 

;reater capabilities for uctiun and revenge. 

ifth anniversary of her captivity was reached, and Theresa 

her prison-tower to the howling bloat and the rushing 


i captivity had, however, produced no change in her queenly 
he alteration was within ; where the spirit moves onward, 
d,— a change not like that of the outward furm, short and 

* the summer hue of a beautiful flower, but solemn, abiding, 
tt even Theresa's still cherished love for Otto could soothe 
}assion» that were now strengthening within her breast, 
ler spirit with the one hope, — the one desire of revenge, 
fearful night ; and the tempest brought back to the mind 
Be memories were so few and vivid, the raging of the storm 
inn of her fatal birth-day festival. Her thoughts dwelt, 
trith proud confidence, on the changeles&ness of Otti/s affec* 
be gazed abroad into the night through the smdll grated 
the tower, and shuddered as she listened tu the pelting of 

There were travellers exposed to it. A distant light— 
d another — gleamed on the desolate path to Budowa. 

* dare to cross llie moanUun torrents on auch a night as thin? 
r instinct seemed to have entered her soul : her hour of ven- 
ftpproaching. She paced the room with a violent agitation, 
n her knee* before the crucifix where her prayers were still 
1 up, and the mighty conflict that went on within appeared 
er spirit asunder. But that conflict was not to be decided 
IS being decided during the twelve years she had cherished 
vengeance. A dark .shade seemed to pass over the glo- 
f of her faultless features, and once more she arose haugh- 
}m her vain supplications. 

moment strange sounds re-echoed through that vaulted 
d Otto of Wartenberg knelt at the feet of his early, long- 
nd mingled vows of passionate devotion with his tale of 
His enlerprihC had been one of des]»erale 


. h 

tx'.r sTKoe i*: *icalins ibe fortrm vas br a ladder of 
r-<T^e«. Efr/i seriLru^lT, is & suenw on vUdi life depended, iW 
:Vw $^;CiJe» jiE~ec:c*i :t :be eocst, ftiUoved their leader to tlie 
i'lLZL^-.i'i c: uie Itctv rsm^a. He Lai been the first to trr tbe diriag 
rez'.zrf. u.-^ irsz :» fzs^i tc tbe hftitjements and secore Uie oompvi- 
izrt'.T sfcfe £ft.v-i:': x lixitte vro n-^L^vc^ Wben tbe last soldier lad 
f Jr^ ve beiri:- '^ tr^r-.rvi K-ziMifd JM notes of triumphaat deft- 
^.JK^. ixi lir- rtt:i2c~<rT <•:' Oito « Wirtenbei^ fell with odwd of if- 
fru:l: £p:3: ibt xszic^ishec cstt^'O. Tbe nasstaaee waa bloody bit 
izafe^-zC Oiz? :•.« oc-wx *1Z iCpcstxa ; tbe defeoden of the towr 

L:r^ ert- :;^ rr.irris^ i^vsed Tbema was borne far from tbe 
c'-.v-^-T tv-rec .c AiclsSf^. a=i vithin tbe lordly castle of Otto wi 
w«Icv«= oi \r ;^* cviru-ss^rxcheT with tbe deference due to her «4t 
«£s s.'^w tl^ BfcT^'ceK cc B^ioivx. Tbei>esi nor tint learned that the 
ii&rvc rirLScI* ir£$ *e^c : :i «:k$ scrpciiieo viihoat repenting him of hii 
T:zd:c:iTv erziixT, Sl&^ata hid Kiecceced to bis power and honoon 
lie tiiC Ix^ beixw l«Mcc::e tbe lu^band of Maria, and bad tbca 
chirped ii» Zizi^ iracL L^tberanisss to CalTinisni, to soothe tbe pnj^ 
cices o: tbe Vitte; oi!i zuz. asd beoorre better qualified fer bis repre- 
>«:.u::re. I: b^d. tlvrtEfh-n. for tbe lisi two or three rears, been Sis* 
Kiu AT.d Mxrifi i^<>ce wbo owticzied Tbensa's cmel impriaonment,— 
i:-.o ou'y r.-tf«::» irco^c «>:' securir^ to them the inheritance of Bndov* 

The usu:rl=4: ;^r o5s<rei but a tl\£tx opposition to tbe powcrfel 
t\>rw leni acki^s: tier.; urier tbe dreaJed banner of Otto. Tbejsncd 
tbcir I:t«« br 2 rap:d T-iczx ; and in a few dars fivnn the period <f 
Tber«a'* rA:^::T;:T. i>:to rwtinew: w:;bin berown noble balls tbe weO- 
n*.i*r:ted c-irvior. of ber bard. Bh^bemia was then in so disturbed t 
i>v.ui.tio:: iv..:\ ;he t'xruI>ios of S.aKiU. without waiting for any of tbe 
tVru'.s of . iTXcited i^either llizie c«t surprise. Indeed, tbe wroBp 
ot Thore&i had lv<fn >o fi^ant xzd nsanifest. thai the whole tideflf 
|vvu*:ir fet ':n): was c::«w-teo in her nrour, and it was with general oh 
thu>iA$^: that she u:s$ wrlcv^T-.ed hack to life, to honours, and to hsp' 

Sldh^ld, howf vcr. wou^d not so easily resijm tbe possessions even ht 
d«vnt<^l deftrly purchased by tbe loss e>i Lis fair fsme. He appolid 
to tlio Ditvciors. who UvKy attempted to administer justice dorinetW 
\KrU\\ iiuorveniiii: beiwe^en the Bi^emian rejection of Ferdinand, «•- : 
lH*r»»r of Austria, for *on-.e years :.cknowIedeed as their king, and tW . 
election of the unfortunate Fwdoric. Pal^rare i.f the Rhine Brt ; 
while the suit wj5 jvndint: iu the i.vurt oi the dii^ctors. Otto langbsl ' 
to ikvrn the (xwer \yf tbe Uw. and. in the name of his wife TbcMH^ ' 
KumuiuutHl her rass^ils to bold themselves iu readiness to defend bcr 
ri^ht», if need be, by Rircc 01 arms. 

When, however. >>vderic arrived in Bohemia, the aspect of dhan 
waa altered. The y.-unj; kinc and bis English wife, Elisabeth, w«i 
recetved wiih enthusiasm in Prapie, and their popukritv waa univei^ 
throughout the ct>uuiry. All seemed inclined to vield obedience, aod ' 
amonrat the rest eveu Otio of Warienberj consented to refer tbe deci- 
won of his cause to the law oiRcers appointed hv the kine. Tbe re»k 
of the decision was the first cause of turning the tide of popular fetoor 
(doubljr uncertain among the vobtile Bohemians) against their nen- 
^mg and his Koglish wife. The two parties of Lutheran tfi 
t mn high amongst tbe natives of the countrv ; but tbe Li- 



had lon$; acquired and firmly held the upper hand. The bigotry 
le kind's Culvinistic cbuplain Sciiltetus, had already excited mur- 
nra umougut his subject?, aud reuiindcd the Uuhc'iiiian.s very impru- 
ently that the king, chosen as a Protestant, tni^ht atill be bitterly 
vpoaed to the fumi uf faith moiit general and popular umung them- 

The opiniona of Slabata were CulviniHtic, those of Ottn, Lutheran t 
id when the decision of the court was published restoring Slubata'H 
liquitous usurpations, and aguin dispossessing the iiiiured Tberesn, it 
'as publicly averted that the Lutheran opinions of Otto bad been the 
uiae of the flagrant injustice. Nor had Frederic contented himself 
rttb decreeing the cej^sion nf Theresa's lawful patrimony to Slubata ; 
^tto. in addition, was amerced in a heavy fine for baring taken po^es- 
on of hJs wife's inheritance by force of arms, and condemned to im- 
rieonment in the tower of Progue.-^a sentence immediately carried 
ito execution. 

While these transactions were exciting universal discontent at Prague, 
Iberesa had remained alone at Budowa, little doubting the decision 
f the law-courts, aud utterly unconscious of her husband's fate. 
bMtding the well-known spirit of the M'oman he had injured, Slubata 
Onld not venture to appear in person before Budowa to claim the re- 
itotion decreed by the laws. He, therefore, employed the Rath to 
X]uaint Theresa with the succesiifut termination of his suit, and per^^ 
tade her to submit without resistance to the king's authority. 8tie 
Btened in mingled rage and astonishment to the first nnnounccnient of 
decision depriving her at once of her possessions and her revenge ; 
Btf dimembling her indignation, she appeared won over by the per- 
Nwnm of the justiciary, and even consented to admit Slabata, pro- 
ided be came accompanied by legal officers ulone. For this the Kaih 
ledged himself, and retired from the castle to return the next morn- 
tg with its new owner. Theresa then sought the retirement of her 
wm apartment, not to abandon herself to ibc transport of ruge and 
bappointment that swelled her heart, but to determine on the uiea- 

Eto be pursued in this desperate emergency. 
t tun soon set behind the castle uf Budowa, but darkness brought 
nation to the exertions of Theresa, for morning's light was to 
u the approach of Slubata, and his reinstatement in hor own an- 
Utnd halls. No slumber could Theresa know on the night preceding 
er enemy's triumph, and through every hour of its lajwe* messengers 
vre hurriedly departing to summon from the various districts under 
er own or her husband's sway, every soldier whose arm might prove 
rulabJe in the coming contest. 

D»y dawned, and Slabata appeared before the castle, Die legal 
ficers who were conditioned for, alone accompanying him ; the Rath 
len claimed admission in the king's name. Theresa in person granted 
, With haughty and indignant glances she watched to its conclu-siou 
If ceremony that ceded her rights to her hated rival — a cession made 
itb every form that could obtain an udditional moment of delay. 
bbttla left to the Hath the odious otlice of receiving the keys of the 
atle from the attendant otficersof the baroness, as he turned hurriedly 
vmy from the vindictive gaxe of the woman he had injured, the 
iuaiph of the hour seemed to belong to Theresa and not to 
m. Cut while she prepared for betrayal, she herself was betrayed, 
ittmately acquainted with the secret passages of the castle, Slabatn 
' ^ o 2 


had contrived the entrance of a number of Boltlien by an 
passagej at the very moment that he himself appeare 
puiBe before its gates. They seemed, however, di 
different purpose from that he originalJy designed, and 
for his safety, not for his triumph. For uh the baroness ] 
the great hall of the ca&tle, where preparations for a tr« 
come were spread, he and the Rath l>ebeld the surrow 
darkened by the numerous forces of Theresa^ advancing n 
ners of their respective leaders; and many had already n 
the walls. Slubata and the Rath had approached from tl 
where the ancient forest of Budowa had entirely conceal 
view the sight that now burst so unexpectedly upon th 
pale was the countenance of the false Slabata^ while a 6 
nitnt astonishment burnt to the very brow of the Kuth. 
tion of the brave old man was instantly token. Xheresi 
tempt to detain him, and he rapidly paf>sed along the drav 
castle, apparently leaving Slabata to bis fate. The Rath 
officer univertvally beloved and respected, and it was n 
trusted to his own influence, and to the popularity of the m 
loyalty had not waned in the more remote districts as it 
dune in Prague. When he announced the proclamation 
and prepared to open the royal commission, det^p uud reap 
fell on the armed multitude assembling around the caatic 
gathered in a circle about him, alike for attention and d« 
terms of the commission were express- They denounced 
of imprisonment and confiscation against any who attem| 
the royal mandate for the restoration of Hiabata, at the sa 
pealing confidently to the loyalty of the neuple, and call 
to a&bist in enforcnig the decision of the law. 

Bohemian faith was wavering as the summer- breeze, 
memory of past evils easily effaced by present fears. 1 
heard with consternation that the brave and gallant O 
whose banner they expected to be led to certain victory, 
in the tower of Prague, and all hope of his aid excluded. 
known of Theresa but her beauty and misfortunes; the i 
deemed not that beneath her soft and fragile form, glowet 
daring and fearless as tliat of her heroic husband. An< 
ittill sustained her as she beheld the numerous vassals to w] 
trusted for safety and triumph, dispersing on all (tides ini 
vancing towards the castle. Some of them slowly, mo 
rapidly, turned to retrace the way they came, thus 1 
haughty baroness to the bitter alternatives of submission < 
ment. But not even now paled her proud cheek or sank 
eye; with resolution firm as ever, she issued orders to the 
the castle to fall upon the soldiers of Slabata. And evei 
hopelessness of resistance smote on the hearts of the br 
yielded to the commands and entreaties of their beautifi 
and the desperate conflict was l>egun ; in the presence of^ 
self, the unequal struggle raged with mutuul fury. % 

The garrison uf the castle maintained the contest until tl 
was more than half diminished ; then, forcing Theresa, and 
attendant. Bertha, who was clinging to her side, from the s 
naee, they effected their retreat through a carefully-guard 
and succeeded in placing them in safety in a distant wing of 

? sa 




7*he shoutit of the drunken merriment of Slubata and his folloxrers 
reached even the distant spot where Theresa had found refuge: they 
roused her from the torpor of rage and despair. KuUowed by the 
trembling Berthap she hurried rapidly along poRsages, corridors — 
all seemed opened to her steps. Uninterrupted they reached the scene 
of fesliviiyj— the magnilicent hall where Theresa hud unce shone iu the 
pride of youthful beautv. A small gallery overlooked the hall. The 
drunken revellers were already so stupitied by their excesses^ that 
Theresa stood there gazing, in dark revenge, upon the group below, 
without being observed by any. Her eye sought Slabata alone- He 
sat in the place he had usurped from her. 

" Bertha/' she murmured in a hollow voice, '* I have needed this 
sight to steel my heart for vengeance." 

Bvrthu shuddered, and Theresa hurried forward. They soon reached 
B low door, nearly under the great hall, and towards the centre of the 
boilding. Here Theresa paused for a moment; she clasped her hands 
in anguish, then, seizing a torch, she applied one of the keys that hung 
in her girdle to tlie door, and entered. Bertha followed, terrible 
suspicions curdling the blood in licr veins, and saw at a glance the pre- 
parations that had occupied Theresa during those hours on the pre- 
ceeding day when she hud forbidden her attendance. Casks of powder 
nearly filled the cellar, combustible materials were heaped around 
them, and one touch from a lighted torch would bury in the same 
sadden destruction the victor and the vanquished. As Theresa stood 
before the fatal pile, her hair tiung wildly otf her nuble brow, her eyes 
flashing with the fire of revenge and hate, Bertha could no longer 
doubt her deadly purpose. 

In a few words, spoken calmly and firmly, as if success and triumph 
btfU rested on her path, she pointed out to Bertha a vaulted passage* 
^^kntrived as to afford un almost instant egress into the avmkIs sur- 
^Bding the castle. 

^■Aly faitliful soldiers wait you there," she said. *' The wounded 
WmX perish with their mistreas. You will be conveyed to Prague. It 
is for you alone to announce to Otto that Theresa died worthy of his 
love, that she died a death of such vengeance as Bohemia shall never 

le sounds that roused Bertha from a death-like insensibilitv might 
d hnve awakened the dead. Far away over rock, and hill, over 
valley, and smiling plain, the fearful echoes multiplied the 
»le peals that burst upon her. They reached the walls of Prague 
r, and fell with omen of affright upon the helpless Otto, as he lay 
is prison tower. 

~ke red-hot splinters of the tremendous conflagration were falling 
tround Bertha when she opened her eyes to the terrib!e consciousness 
of Theresa's fate ; though the care of the soldiers, to whom she had 
been entrusted had removed her apparently out of the reach of imme- 
diate danger. The indignant execrations bursting from the lips of those 
truund proved their previous ignorance of the fate that was involving 
in one terrible destruction their mistress and their wounded comrades. 
Bat there was no time for reproaches, no hope of rescue, and with 
kdly roughness they dragged Bertha away from the scene of horror, 
not till they had reached the summit of a distant hill that they 
in their flight, and, looking back, beheld the ancient towers of 



A* TmM|ttisbe<d» inclosed togetlier in a 

oC powder still coatinaed so trcmendons 

and rtna the practised ears of the warlike 


witk tkeTictar 

as t* ikttke the alovl 

a l u^ e — BC had been £tf-«^tcd vod exten&ive. It had nol 
ia fvui ka BMire imewdjahi nctims, but the fate of ihfta 
hM nd ^B M ef Bahflnia «M WTvbted in the u-reck wrought hy bdf 
h«M. AhharmMe for the deed ef vesgeance nas all-absorbed in ilie 
iadicpatiaa Cek agaiaat theae wh«ae injosboe had excited it, and only 
the heaalir* mif the ■iii,|i, anly the heroism of Theresa were remem- 
bcfed. Fonhcr^aad widcrthaa the d:une of the conflagration reached. 
wtn iaAantd the hcMta ef the fidde Bobcoieiia. Kven those ful- 
knr«n «f Thiuaa who Wd been aednoed htma their allej^ance to her 
hjr <he pCflaoaMaa «f the Rath, vented their indicant sorrow for her 
te» vcaam thaae who hod mfraeooed the desertion that caused it. One 


the pepohneof ^aguek 
eoMader the deed el h< 
bieaUT «£ the hM oad 
to the 01—^1 Cottnt of 
the raral puaee uaHJl he 


heard throughout Duheuiia, and 

by their Lutheran preachers to 

t the consequence of the Colrinistic 

crowded to the gates of the palace, 

of Otto. 

Frederic not only granted li 
, but assigned him apartments in 
have reoovered sufficient strength to 
leave I*M«e. The tidiqga of TberOBa'a fate had reached him fna 
stranger hps, oat fraon dw geatle Bertha. The shock had overwhelined 
hia reason; and, wbeo tidbiga of his liberation were conveyed 
was found in the raringa ot delirium. This was a new subject of alarn 
for the king and queee ; andt as the populace still, with loud cries, de- 
manded the assurance of his freedom, the only means of concealing lu« 
condition was to remore him, with all ease and caution, into their own 

?iilace, where he was placed under the care of the royal physicians. 
It>re Bertha eaulj gamed permission to watch by the couch of the 
fcutferer, as the brounte Mend, rather than the attendant, of tlie Ute 
lurvnesa* Bat, in spite of all homan efforts, the life of Count Otto 
fast drawini; to its close, and in a few days his remains were 
to the darkness of the tomb. 

As a lardy and unsuccessful expiation, Frederic and Eliza! 
erected a stately inonument to the memory of Otto, the last of 
Counts o(* ^' "g, and Theresa, Baroness of Budowa. In pom 

inscription .orded their titles, and the honours of both anci< 

houses ; the beauty nud the misfortuues of Theresa ; the martial 
and the fidelity of Otto. Thus, the justice dented in life was 
in dontb. 




Ok a drizzling August night, near upon ten o'cluck, in the year 
1845, we, with our araall carpet-bag, and a very large and mis- 
ceUaneouft company, occupied the interior of an omnibus bound 
ffrom the railway-station to the interior uf the fragrant city of Co- 
logtie. There was not a cab to be bad for love or money, for all the 
kvorld seemed on the move ; and, how the passengera by that enor- 
[mous train, growing longer and longer, fuller and fuller, since eight 
o'clock in tbe morning, had contrived to si|ueeKe themselves into the 
vehicle« at the station, was a matter of astonishment to all. 
ver as a man's baggage wag released from the Uiggage*heap and 
e Marchers, he seized it, and rushed into something. No one en* 
aired where the thing was going ; it was enough to get in, and 
St to Providence. Sixteen already in the vehicle, and fourteen 
more ladies waiting at the door, many with little boys in their hands, 
Rnd almost all with a gentleman superintending the packing of 
trunks on the roof. Four ladies already on the bottom-sti>p ; one — 
equal to four — in the doorway. 

How many are we licensed to carry ?" roared an Englishman 
from " the chair." It was received with shouts of deriaion. Licensed! 
■a if there was any licence, or leave cither, when queens are abroad ! 
The idea of a man bringing his Camberwell notions into such a place 
aa this.' Why, must likely, we have half-a-dozen princes, to say no- 
thing of counts and barons, in the 'bus already ; and others coming. 
The fat lady is two-thirds up, the other four close behind her ; and 
• waving undefined stream of paletots is setting in towards tbe door- 

"You positively can't come up here, ma'am; you really cannot. 
I must protest against this. Conductor !" 
" Weil, where am I to go? I muj>t sit down somewhere/' 
" Do, pray, ma'am ! — upon those four at the top. Anything but 
standing on my foot." 

"I must trouble you to remove your carpet-bag off your knees, 
<ir, T can't sit upon the top o' that." 

-!, mon i)ieu ! madame, qu'cst ce que vous allcz faire I C'esl 
■ -le ! You most ' — you can't ! — you shan't ! Dieu !" 
■ Alluw me, sir, to take a joint, if you can't go the whole animal. 
Ttiat 's it! Alind my fibula ! Now, if anybody were disposed for 
steaks on the other side, we should be all right ; or, perhaps, 
gentleman next me may have no objection to join me in the 

" Well ! of all the omnibuses I ever travelled in, this certainly is 
tjie most hinconvenient !" 

" Good gracious, sir, how you are a- shoving 1 One would think 
it was a wan J" 

'* Pardon, madame, c'est mon nez que vous prenest on ne pent 
^ ouvrir la fenetre comroe ^a." 

*' What the devil brings all the people abroad,/ can't think, when 
ihry may sec the queen a» much ua they please at houie ?" 
It waa a wonder. 







Rumble — rumble — jolt — biini? ! If the springs utand thj 
are made uf uncommon stufT. On through the twisting; wayi 
worka, — on over the •'murderous stones," to the '' Germi 
Hof/'— to the *• Mainser Hof, " — to the ** PAriser Hof/'— 
" Hotel dc Cologne/' — to the " Bellevue/' — to the '• Cour d 
lande." No room : choke full. Not a bed for love or mom 
why princes are sleeping on the billiard- tables^ and barons 
emoking, to pass the night. 

*' Mais vous avez des chaises, done — des fauteuiUr'* 

*' Non, monsieur, pas un. Dea chaises, oui." 

Here was a pretty case. Not even an elbow-chair to 
all the barons sitting up smoking. 

•'Well, sir, what do ^ou mean to do?" 

" Why I am rather in doubt whether to go and sit up 
barons, or be content with the feather-bed I have liere. Bet 
deed, if we had no bnnes in it." 

** But/' suggested in a whisper the little man who hail 
off with the round, " though the baron* are sitting up, dej 
it the iordx are not." 

What a tiling is wit. Of course they are not. Why, yoa 
head ! to think of sitting under this high pressure, and all Ic 
of a happy thought. 

•' I "H go to the baron.s decidedly. May I trouble you, 
pome exertion to relieve me. A large share in this con< 
disposed of, — that *6 it ! — a trifling shift of the H bone. 
chase on the Frenclnnun. Pass the word fur a good heaiveof i 
cerncd. Well done. Come along, my lord, and bring y* 
bag with you/* 

*' This, my lord, I think, was the hotel your lordship 
descend at > You apeak English >" 

*' A leetle." 

" We require two rooms. His lordship and I like tl 
Are the servants come? N'importe. Supper immediate); 
bjttle of Rttdesheimer: but, first to the rooms, and let me 
your lordship to keep the key in your own pocket. Of cofm 
have beds for my lord and me?" ■ 

*' Donnez vous la peine d'entrer, milord. Be so oblige M 
Nous verrons/' (here an earnest conversation). ** Par ici, | 
Dies rooms you can have, — too small ?" 

" They are rather small ; but, I suppose we must liai 
riie beds clean?' 

'' Beds I Oh, clean — clean, yais." 

•'But, my gom! sir, when they see the piissports?" 

•• Kill a good supper, and they are not liktly to turn ua oi 
yourself in when you go to bed; and, besides, pack up | 
clothes you take off', and lose the key of the bag. Little deces 
there is in this country, they will hardly turn you out in that 
or even insist upon your sitting up with the barons. And, 
event of nn onslaught, you have tlie spittoon and other misiilea 
passports are at present packed up, and must be given out 
thing. Then, being as much as may be like Adam in his 
may lie down without any fear of an 'event pervcr»c.* 

At supper we had a little trait of the national manners. A 
who hiid been silently sotting and 6moking himself into drui 


P « 
ut ll 




suddenly ruse up. and began to abuse the landlord, making out li)!i 
bills at a side-tJible. Mine host put him off with a wave of his hand; 
but it would not do. He became more and more violent, — tore his 
tbroaC with ach-ing and augh-ing. Still all were silent ; though the 
waiters pently sidled towards him. A contemptuous " pfui !" from 
the host brought him to the desired point, — he shook his two Bsts in 
the landlord's face. 

Personal violence, or even a demonstration of it, is not allowed in 
Germany; so they had what they wanted — the law on their side. 
In a moment the three waiters had him, one on each side, by the 
arms, and the other judiciously behind by the neck and Uie waist- 
band, Johann, the boots, was at the door with a candle. He was 
walked in the moat orderly way to the front-door, quoited into the 
*trert, the door barred and locked behind him, and then all four 
burst into a loud laugh, quietly joined in by the landlord at hit 

" Now," said the nobleman's companion, as he hurried breakfast- 
less next morning to the steamer, — for there was no breakfast for a 
commoner, though a bed for a lord, — " never again will I travel the 
way of kings and queens. Carefully will I avoid the tails of those 
royal comets. Before I adventure upon a journey another time, lei 
me not forget to enquire what putentiitcs are abroad. It was a fight 
and a wrangle all along the road — at 0.stend ; and at Ghent, where I 
slept amongst beetles in a maison particuUere, and when the shut- 
ters were opened in the morning, it looked as if dozens of little 
devih were escaping from the light of day. No — no. I must per- 
force follow in their wnke to Cublentz, and then I give them up, — I 
wash my hands of them, by way of Schwalbach,— and there wait till 
the royal crowd goes by. 

At Bonn, at Knnigswinter, Andernaeh, and at every town and vil- 
lage on the river's banks was a dense and wandering crowd — wan- 
dering, for tlie hotels could not hold them. Not agasiftaus, or a hof\ 
or a had-haus^ nay, not a window, that was not crammed with pef>- 
pie ; and at the piers sat disconsolate on their bags, the rejected and 
movers-on. There were no touters, for their occupation was gone ; 
and the heavy satisfied landlords looked lazily at the thronged decks, 
as much as to say, '* Don't you desire that you may obtain it? but 
you can't." 

From Coblentz we hurry on to Ems, and take the road to Schwal- 

And now. Master Murray, for the best hotel. There is tlie AUeo 
S«iil^' rooms for dancing and gaming — largest and best situated, but 
*ith scanty fare, dirt, dearnebs, and want of comfort. This is for 
lljegay and the gamblers, who don't mind trifles, but won't do for 
Then the Kaisar Saal, by many considered the best, certainly 
most abundant, and a civil landlord — this will draw the heavy 
lers. I smell a dinner of two hours there, and will none of it. 
Then the Hotel au Due de Nassau, clean and good accommodation. 
^^.B. Scrutinize the bills at this house !' 

A vile insinuation this! Why recommend him at all if you think 
him a rogue? As well say allow me the pleasure of introducing my 
friend So-and-So, but take care of your pockets. You have gibbet- 
poor Nassau with your inuendo; for who but the silliestof birdsi 
flv into a net bo dLudIv snread? But we shall have no- 



r tin 


crowU there, anJ those thai <lo go will be of the right sort, 
fellowi) that scrutinize their bills. We are on a lark — 1 
ex|>ense — and go there I will for one. 

After three days at Schwalbach we are braced up with 
waters to the feat of moving on. Let nie «ee ! They wei 
iUayeuce the day before yesterday ; the next day they 
going ; to-day will be the slopping and dusting al\er them ; 
row evening we may venture, I think. 

Aline host's best horses are ready to bring the light cal^cl 
door, fiy the time this pure Steinberger has yielded its 
we shall be ready to bid adieu to the Long Swallows' Brook— 4 
pretty quiet scenery — to the bracing walks of the hills— to the 
attractive of the Nassau Brunnen — to exchange all tiiis for tin 
Wicabaden, nasty Alayence, and Frankfort, whither we are 

But here is an arrival. 

Covered with dust^ loaded with luggage, and servants 
out amongst imperials and hat-boxes, a low German tral 
carriage stops at the door; somebody works madly at the 
out come landlord, waiters, boots and all, to welcome, and he 
alight, a fat heavy gentlctiian, twisted round with a green cloaJi 
with a gold-banded forage cap of the same colour, perched o4 
back of nis head. M 

This mu«t be some great man by the way they work ibtt 
tebroe. 1 really did not think there had been such bowa ii 
house ; the very boots has tossed off n succession of salauna 
would have made a man's fortune in any other country. £ 
thing must be at hia service of course. We are the vilest of di 
would your highness like some of our heads? — our limbs a 
your noble service — confer the favour of a sacrifice, or a trifle o 
ture — do, please your excellency I I wonder what he is ; a be 
or an crzherzog, or a prinx, or a graf, or what ! 

He was a herzog, going to meet the Queen oC England ; 
r^r the slightest possible refreshment — a glass of HbeDii 
biscuit — and going on at once, 

*' His name? Stop, enough, the first foot or two is ai 
keep the rest till I come again." 

" Mais, monsieur — mais, monsieur. On est si facho— -i) n* 
dc chevaux ! " 

" Well, it is a pity. What, no more horses in the place ? " 

•' Pas un, monsieur. His excellency requires four for his 
carriage, and two for the other just arrived." 

" But there are plenty of donkeys. Why not give him thir 
forty of them? they are rather fast here, and will have hi 
Wiesbaden in no time. Now, shall I do a civil thing? Le 
consider, I am not much in the habit of travelling with her; 
certainly ; but still, rather than he should be too late, if you tho 
he could get his name into the cai^chc, I should not much 9 
giving him a lift as far as Wiesbaden. You don't think he'd 
by the way?" 

"Mais c'est pour vous, monsieur. Pas de chevaux poi 
Le voila qui vn." 

" No horses for me ! Yon don't wean to say tbut this 
licrxog lias taken my horsefi ? " 

*'Le vuilii^ qui va^ monsieur, et sa petilc voiture aussi.** 



"A pe&tilence upon uU herzo^s! — upon all laiullurcls who favour 
herzogs! — upon all countries lliat produce and Ibster herzogs! 
Bring me a bottle of light anil soothing fluid that I may drink con- 
fusion to herzogs — and you, I hU you a bumper to drink that toast 
with three groans for herzogs generally., and one groan more for 
this one. Groan as I do ; give it liira hearty ; send it at\er him as 
be goes up the hill. And now go immediately and order twenty- 
four donkeys into the valvche — quick, before the people come out 
for their evening ridea. Three postilions will do ; and a guillcaume 
to each extra if we beat the herzog." 

Of what avail is it to abuse the landlord — to call him up and tell 
htm of his truckling treachery — tu anathematize him as a herzog- 
hunting rascal — to threaten to report him to his grand duke — to 
write to Albemarle Street — to scrutinize his bill ? 

But stay, there is some commotion in the street. Perhaps another 
herzog; or more probably they are putting-to the donkeys. Up the 
town folks are running; nearer us they walk fast; hereabouts they 
look earnestly* and wonder what it is. People are such asses ; as if 
there was anything to gape and wonder at in a man travelling with 
twelve pair of donkeys in a calecfie. 

Presently a man comes down the street — tearing — wild — his hair 
on end. 

"His excellency is upset — ecras^! — abime f-^presque morti — a 
wheel came off." 

'^ Give me my hat — cork the wine — let me see the man that can 
live with me up the street ! " 

At a small angle of the road we come upon a procession — melan- 
choly, faint, and slow. In the front, held up by a dozen arms, with 
painful limp, contorted face of greenish hue, hands falling powerless, 
and a whimpering whinCj comes the fallen herzog — the dishevelled 
and most pitiable herzog — the horse-taking herzog — at his sides, at his 
back, and still pouring round him, a bewailing crowd, every hand 
held out, every finger twiddling — what can we do for the poor 
herzog? — every mouth full of achs and ochs J 

I yield to no man in proper sympathy — I say it. If anything I 
am too soft. And for gutturals, or any stomach-sounds to show 
it, I am your man. Striking in on one of the tianks, I held out both 
han<la, twiddled all the fingers, and gave the thumbs in. 

" Ogh — ngh — igh — ugh ! who took the horses I eigh— ugh ! pretty 
felonious herzog, indeed — agh— ogh ! A providential stop thief — 
ugh — igh ! Better stop at home than turn high way- robber — ugh^ 
eigh ! Cheating never prospers — ogh — igh! Herzog is as herzog 
does — ogh — ugh I Keep your fingers from picking and stealing— 
agh — for shame! Train up your young herzogs in the way they 
should go, and when they are grown up they won't put tlieir feet in 
it— ugh — ogh I and get sprained ankles — ogh — ogh ! 

Dr, Fenncr prescribes quiet, patience, and fomentations for a day 
or two. Cunning Dr. Fenner. Perhaps a little bone out of place !— 
very cunning Dr. Fenner I 

And now we are at Wiesbaden in spite of herzogs. Wiesbaden, 
at which the only pleasant time is early morning ; all is so fresh and 
so sweet, and amongst those pleasant gardens it is soothing to walk 
about full of hot water, you almost fancy yourself a '* biler," stvoUvu^ 
at large, unattached tu any train. 



m politics or areumrot 
YoBT annnalcules — like 
r. I Mod by ber of 
ami get it down 
dead bnHk md 
travels open &aa llie 
ja« ticUe to death with your tectfab 
At I^L 9Hi» w ikBve b eeii dreBCBSOf 
the vindcnrol dii 
m Raaie with a wretched 
her arm that sbe n 
kftb tiiac she laoca the t- 
itt. tfaevii. 
gmng on; panic 
■othing else to J < 
Asi^lBsh. U'ht 
t Towadi? People don't »cnrl 
To acU ? Why, who wooli • 
I thtac as that? It couUl u . 
1 and hnddled-up old dre«. it 
mt Oij^inrra, and ol' carriai^vs without d- 
A^, and Afld-Aaauer, without end; of 
and eiittagtM, and 
es. it i& now oa iu 
old dotbea-ehopy or, likdjr cnoaAi 
Stai, 1^ Higlht hare had the decency to aend it 
t tmf ntt^ Bat on a Sandaj mu t idy g. 
" HiUa ! ai« x«« X"""! ** P^^ away the dress ?** 

" Or, to «t it ■■Ardy 

** Yam arc qeiibe asre it is not this way ?" pmnting to the tube 
«0Df«TS the ws«er ham. the raoC 



"*8l«pMlci««t«re; d 
Imm a BBOce povcrM 
cmr. (TiMt I AmU hoUoa 
a teade«ial>le witenng-pUeeL) 

are lost upon her ; but, 
aaay tell before she reaches 
a word en a Sunday moming 

« Yws." 

" Bless me! whst » hope l eai case is this. To think of any 
countrywoman beinc; reduced to such a strait- And how much» 
her most exinita$*nt irospnatioo^ does she think to realise ? Wo«I 
iha (oodfst reUlive entertain a proposal to do a couple of florins u| 
it> Would he not, indeed, rstber hesitate at one? When 
comes to think o£ the wear and tear a rather dark thing like 
tnutt have had before it could be reduced to this sUte of limp 
Aided fallenness. it i» really painful to imagine the results. I sii 
cerely hope it may not be her last chance ; for, what abrasions 
thin places may not a professional searcher bring to light ? Besidt 
the* iransaciion U slightly damaging the national character. Really. 
tht'i'liht I, working myself up into some measure of enthusiasm. "1 
I \ ralh*?^. >*" '^ could have been any way managed, have come fo" 
" 1,1 in an avuncular character my*elf, and done what I could 
distressing circumsuitces. 1 know what it is to be high 



dry on a foreign shore. Perhaps her husband has run awav and left 
her ; or she has lost her circulars, or apeciilated too Fondly on the 
red, or broke down in her martingale." 

Moralizing thus upon the bit of muslin, I wrs leaning at lOh. ]5in. 
against the hotel door-poat, when something bltje loomed up in the 
di&tance — vast — inflated — enormous t What could it be ? The Nas- 
sau balloon just arrived, perhaps, and Mr. Green sailing easily up 
the town, to drop his grappling in the little square here before the 

" Why, really— it can't be? — it i»t— the same dress, held out upon 
the same red arm, — the other at a right-angle to balance it; and, 
what with the thick^ure of the girl, the two red arms, and 
the dress, the street was hardly wide enough. Clear the way, there! 
The red fingers scraped the right-hand corner, while the tenth 
flounce barely cleared the barber's window oppobite. Make way j 
— a good sweep of the corner, to clear the trees, — that 'a it! The 
gentleman at the window thinks you are going to take him by the 
nose, —never mind. It ib a triumph indeed 1 Thii^ is what we call 
' getting-up ' in Nassau, Look before you, you silly girl ! not up at 
the first-floor windows. We are all right here, ma'am ; do, please, 
for one moment to look down. Stop ! let me open the double-door. 
One wheel more; and mind the spiked chains. Now then — muslin 
first [" 

There was a rustle — a faint cry — a •* Tankee, tankee," — and the 
precious argosie, with royals, stud ding- sails, flying-kites, and flounces, 
sailed gloriously into port. 

I merely mention this circumstance with a view to inform my fair 
countrywomen^ travelling, it may be, with only one dress, that at 
Wiesbaden, while you are taking your bath, and doing your hair, 
and just seeing how you look in the glass, that dress — howe\'er 
rumpled it may be. — however limp, starchiest, draggle-tailed, and 
down-fallen at Bh. 30m*, can be made gloriou&ty tit for church at 
JOh- 15m. 


What can Borrow do7 it cliaDf^tti &biaing' hair to grejr ; 
P&leth the cheek — an eniblem of mortality'" decay ; 
Chaiigclh the clear mtd truthful glaru« to diiii unearthly liffht. 
Whence gBlheriiig shadows round the heart ihed dark and endleu night. 

What can sorrow do ? it weaveth memoriea. and the mtnd 
Promrnle in niinii layeth to its influence reait^iied ; 
AfTectioii'a hcrikhfiit current, the swceteikt and the best. 
Last amid E]ut>ds of hitterness — the waters of unrest. 

What can sorrow dn? it vaunteth reason *a boasted iway ; 
Phibsophy*s voin-gtorious dreams, sets fortJi in rold arrnv, 
And when the combat's o'er and gained, 'tis found the fiie hath reft 
The heart of hope and innocence, and pridt* hnth only left \ 

Wliat can sorrow do ? it bringeth the sinner home to God ; 
The siuhbom will it bendeth, beneath His chaslcuing rod : 
As gold by lire in purified, from out that furnace dread. 
The broken heart, by mercy cleansed, is heavenward gently led. 




'* Max hath a weary pitgnma^. 

As through tlic world he wendi ; 
Ou every Hla^e, fmni youth to ugt, 

StiU discontent attends ; 
With heaviiieu he caita his eye 

Upim the road before. 
And still rvmemhert with a sij^h 

The days that nre no raoro.** 



It has now become necessar) to advance the tinae three coiire daj«. 
and to change the tcenc to Key West. A» this tatter place may not be 
known to the world at large, it may be well to explain that it is a small 
sca-uort, situate on one of the largest of the many low islands that dot 
the Florida Ruef, th:it has risen into notice, or indeed into existence ui 
town, since the acquisition of the Ploridas by the American Uepublir. 
Por many years it was the resortof few besides wreckers, and those «bo 
live by the business dependent on the rescuing and repairing of slrandrd 
vessels, not forgetting the salvages. WTien it is Tcmembered that tlw 
greater portion of the vessels that enter the Gulf of Mexico, stand clo« 
along this reef before the Trades, for a distance varying from one to l«Q 
hundred miles, and that nearly everything which quits it is obliged to hell 
down its rocky coast in the Ciulf stream, for the same distance, une is not 
to be sarprised that the wrecks which so constantly occur, can supply \ht 
wants of a considerable population. To bve at iCcy West is the Desi 
thing to being at sea. The place has sea-air, no other water than sucb 
as is preserved in cisterns, and no soil; or so little of the last as to roo- 
der even a head of lettuce a rarity. Turtle is abundant, and the business 
of '* turlling" forms an occupation additional to that of wrecking. Ai 
might bo expected in such circumstanccfi. a potato is a far more prectoiu 
thing than a turtle's egg ; mid a sack of the tubers would probably be 
deemed a sufficient remuneration for enough of the materials of callipash 
and callipee to feed all the aldermen extant. 

Of late years the government of the United States has turned its «!• 
tention to the capabilities of the Plorida Itecf as an advanced uarsl 
statiou ; a sort of Downs, or St. Helen's Iloads, for the West India sea*. 
As yet. Utile has been done beyond making the preliminary surveys ; 
but the day is probably not very far distant, when fleets will He at 
anchor among the i»lets described in our earlier chapters, or garnish the 
fine waters of Key West. For a long time it was thought that even 
frigates would have a difficulty in entering and quitting the port of the 
latter, but it is said that recent explorations have discovered channels 
capable of admitting anything that floaU. StiU, Key West is a town 
yet in its chrysalis state ; possessing the promise, rather than the fruilioD 
of the prosperous days which are in reserve. It may be well to add that 
it lies a very little north of the twenty-fourth degree of latitude, and in 
a longitude quite five degrees west from W^ashington. Until the recent 



conquests in Mexico it was ihe most southern possession of the Ameri- 
can poveniriicnt^ on Iho unstoni siilc of the conlinent ; Cape St. Lucas, 
at tho extremity of Lower California, howc\'er, being two de^eea fur- 
ther south. 

It will give the foreign reader a more accurate notion of the character 
of Key West, if we mention a fact of quite recent occurrence, A very 
few weeks after the closui^ scenes of this tale, tlie town in question was 
in a ^reat measure washed away. A hurrieanc brought in the sea upon 
all these islands and reefs, water running in swift currents over places 
that within the memory of man were never before submerged. The 
lower part of Key West was converted into a raging sea, and everything 
In that quarter of the place disappeared. The foundation bemg of 
rock, however, when the ocean retired, the island came into view again» 
and industry and enterprise set to work to repair the injuries. 

The government has eatablisht'd a small hospital for seamen at Key 
West. Into one of the rooms of the building thusappropriatrd our narra- 
tive must now conduct the reader. It contained but a single patient, and 
that was Spike. He was on his narrow bed, which was to be but the pre- 
cursor of a still narrower tenement, the grave. In the room with the 
dying man were two females, in one of whom our readers will at onco 
recognise the person of Hose Kudd, dressed in deep mourning for her 
aimt. At first sight, it is probable that a casual spectator would mis- 
take the second female for ono of the ordinary nurses of the place. Her 
attire was well enough, though worn awkwardly^ and as if its owner 
were not exactly at her ease in it. She had the air of oni- in her best 
attire, who was unaccustomed to be dressed nbove the most common mode. 
What added to the singularity of her appearance, was the fact that, while 
she wore no cap^ her hair had been cut into short, gray bristles, instead 
of being long and turned up, as is usual with femnlcR. To give a sort of 
climax to this uucouth appcaranccj this strange-looking creature chewed 
tobacci) I 

The woman in question, equivocal as might be her exterior, was em- 
ployed in one of the commonest avocations of her sex ; that of sewing. 
She held in her hand a coarse garment, one of Spike's in fact, which she 
seemed to be intently busy Jn mending. AUhough the work was of a 
qiiallly that invited the use of the palm and sail-needle, rather than that 
of the thimble and the smaller implements known to seamstresses, tho 
woman appeared awkward at her business, as if her coarse-looking and 
dark hands refused to lend themselves to an occupation so feminine. 
NevertheletiS, there were touches of a purely womanly character about 
this extraordinary person, and touches that particularly attracted the at- 
teiition, and awakened the sympathy of the gentle Ruse, her companion. 
Tears occasionally struggled out from beneath her eyelids, crossed her 
dark sunburnt cheek, and fell on the coarse canvass garment that lay 
in her lap. It was after one of these sudden and strong exhibitions of 
feeling, thai Koso approached her, laid her little fair hand in a friendly 
way, though unheeded, on the other*s shoulder, and spoke to her in her 
kindest and softest tones. "I do really think he is reviving. Jack/' 
said HosCj "and that you may yet hope to have an intelligent conversa^ 
tion with him." 

•'They all agree he mimt die," answered Jack Tier, for it was //*», ap- 
pearing in the garb of his proper sex, after a disguise that had now 
lasted fully twenty years, — " and he will never kaovt vi\\o \ ax&» wr^ C&»X 



CAPTAIN spike; 


1 forgive him. He must thiuk of me ia auolher world, though he ii not 
able to do it in this ; hut it would be a great relief lo his soul to know 
that L forgive him." 

*' To be sure, a man must like to take a kind leave of his own wife 
before he closes his eyes for ever, and I dare say that it would be a g^cat 
relief for you to tell him that yuu have furgulten his desertion of you, 
and all the hardships it has brought upon you, in boarching for him, and, 
in earning your own livelihood as a common sailor." 

*' 1 shall nut tell him I 've/hn/oifen it, Miss Hose; that would b« ui 
true, and there shall be no more deception between us ; but I th( 
tell him that IJoiyice him, as I hope God will one day forgive all jny sins.' 
" II is certainly not a light offence to desert a wife in a foreign laud, 
and then to seek to deceive another woman," quietly observed Rose. ■ 
" He's a willain !" muttered the wife, — *' but — but — " fl 

" You forgive him, Jack — yes, I 'm sure you do. You are too good i " 
Christian lo refuse lo forgive him. ' 

" 1 'm a woman a'ter atl. Miss Hose, and that I believe is the truth of 
it. I suppoite I ought to do as you say, for the reason you mention; 
hut I 'nt iiis wife, and uuce he loved me, though i/iat has long been over. 
When I Hrst knew Stephen, 1 'd the sort of fccliu's you speak of, ootl 
was a very different creatur' from what you see me to-day. Change 
comes over us all with years and suffering." 

Rose did not answer, hut she stood looking intently at the speaker, 
more than a minute. Change had indeed come over her, if she had ever 
possessed the power to please the fancy of any living roan. }ler fea- 
tures had always seemed diminutive and mean for her assumed sex, as 
lier voice was small and cracked ; but, making every allowance for the 
probabilities. Hose tbund it difficult to imagine that Jack Tier had ever 
possessed, even under the high advantages of youth and innocence, the 
attractions so common to her sex. Her skin had aajuired the tanniiip 
of the sea, the expression of her face had become hard and worldly, and 
her habits contributed to render those natural consequences of exposure 
and toil even more than usually marked and decided. By oayinf^ 
" habits," However, wc do not mean that Jack had ever drunk to excess, 
as happens with so many seamen ; for this would have been doing her 
injiislicp; but she smoked and chewed ; practices that intoxicate in an- 
other form, and lead nearly as many to the grave as excess in drinking. 
Thus all the accessories about this singular being partook of the charac- 
ter of her recent life and duties. Her walk was between a waddle and 
a seaman's roll, her hands were dtscolourud with tar and had got to be 
full of knuckles, and even her fccL had degenerated into that flat, broad- 
toed form, that, perhaps, sooner diFtinguishes caste, in connection with 
outward appearances, than any one other physical peculiarity. Yet this 
being /ntd once been young; had once been even fair; and had once 
possessed that feminine air and lightness of form, that as often belongs to 
the youthful American of her sex, perhaps, as to the girl of any other 
nation on earth. Rose continued to gaze at her companion, for some 
time, when she walked musingly to a window that looked out upon 
the port. ^ 

" I am not certain whether it would do him good, or not, lo see this H 
sight,** she said, addressing the wife kindly, doubtful of the effect of her ■ 
words, even on the latter. ** But here are the sloop of war, and several^l 
other vessels." ^| 



** Ay, »h« 'a t^ere ; but never will his foot be pnt on board the Swasb 
mgain. Wlien he bought tliat brig I was still young and agreeable to 
him, and be gave her my nmiden-nanie, which was Mary, or Molly Swash. 
But that is all changed; I wonder he did not change the name of bii 
vessel, with his change of feelin's," 

** Then you did really sail in the brig, in former times, and knew the 
seaman whose name you assumed?" 

'* Many years. Tier* with whose name I made free, on account of 
bis sixe and some resemblance to me in form, died under my care> and 
his protection fell into my hands, which first put the notion into my head 
of hailing as his representative. Yes, I knew Tier in the brig, and 
we were lefl ashore at the same time ; I, intentionally, I make no ques- 
tion; and he because Stephen Spike was in a hurry, and did not choose 
to wait for a man. The poor fellow caught the yellow fever the very 
next day, and did not live forty-eight hours. So the world goes; them 
that wish to live, die; and them that wants to die, live.** 

*' You have had a hard time for one of your sex, poor Jack — quite 
twenty years a sailor, did yon not tell me ?" 

'* Every day of it. Miss Rose; and bitter years have they been. For 
the whole of that time have I been in chase of my husband, keeping my 
own secret, and slaving like a horse for a livelihood." 

•• You could not have been old when he left — that is-^when you 
parted ? ' 

•• Call it by its true name, and say at once — when he desarted me. 
1 was under thirty by two or three years, and was still like my own sex 
to look on. All tJuU is changed since ; but I was comely, then." 

" WTiy did Capt. Spike abandon you, Jack ? you have never told me 

" Because he fancied another. And ever since that time he has been 
fancying others instead of remembering me. Had he got yo\t, Miss 
Rose, I think he would have been content for the rest of his days." 

" Be certain, Jack, I should never have consented to marry Captain 

"You 're well out of bis hands," answered Jack, sighing heavily, 
which was much the most feminine thing she had done during the whole 
conversation ; *' wq11 out of his hands, and God be praised it is so I He 
should have died before I would let him carry you off the island, husband 
or DO husband !" 

" It might have exceeded your power to prevent it, under other cir- 

Hose now continued looking out of the window in silence. Her 
Ibotights reverted to her aunt and Biddy, and tears rolled down her 
cheeks as she remembered the love of one and the fidelity of the other. 
Their horrible fate had given her a shock that at first menaced her with 
a severe fit of illness ; but her strong good sense and excellent constitu- 
tion, both sustained by her piety and Harry's manly tenderness, had 
brought her through the danger, and left her as the reader now sees her, 
struggling with her own griefs, in order to be of use to the still more 
unhappy woman who had so singularly become her friend and com- 

The reader will readily have anticipated that Jack Tier had early 
made the females on board the Swash her coufidants. Rose had known 
the outUues of her history from the first few days they were at sea to- 



frether, which is the explanation of the visible intimacy that bad caused 
Mulford so much ^urpri&e. Jack's motive in making his ivvelations 
might possibly have been tinctured with jealousy, but a desire to save 
one as youn^and innocent as Kose was at its bottom. Few persons but 
a wife couM have supposed that Ito-ie could have been io any danger 
from a lover like Spike: but Jack savr him witti the eyes of her own 
youth, and of past recollections rather than with those of truth. 

A movement from the wounded man first drew Rose from the win- 
dow. Drying her eyes hastily, she turned towards him, fancyinf^ that 
she might prove the better nurse of the two, notwithstanding Jack's 
greater interest in the patient 

*' W^at pUce is this, and why am I here?" demanded Spike, with 
more strength of voice than could have been expected after all that had 
passed. " This is not a cabin — not ihe Swash ; — it looks like a hos- 

" It is a hospital, Captain Spike," said Rose gently, drawing n«ar the 
hed. ** You have been hurt, and have been brought to Key West, and 
placed in the hospital. I ho^>e you feel better, and that you suffer no paio." 

*• My head isn't right — -1 don't know — everything seems turned round 
with me — perhaps it will alt come out ns it should. I begin to remem- 
ber — where is my brig?" 

'* She is lost on the rocks; — ihc seas have broken her into frag- 

*' That is melancholy ncwsj at any rate. Ah I Miss Rose, God bio 
you I r ve had terrible dreams ! Well, it *3 pleasant to be among fricndfc | 
What creature is that? — where does «/(« come from ?" 

** That is Jack Tier ;" answered Rose, steadily, " she tuma out to bff 
a woman, and has put on hor proper dress, in order to attend on you 
during your illness. Jack has never left your bedside since we have b 

A long silence succeeded this revelation. JacVs eyes twinkled, and 
she hitched her body half aside, as if to conceal her features, whcra: 
emotions that were unusual were at work with the muscles. Ros<] 
thought it might be well to leave the man and wife alone, and she managed 
to get out of the room unobserved. 

Spike continued to gaze at the strange-looking female who was no* 
his solo companion. Gradually bis recollection returned, and with 
the full consciousness of his situation. He might not have been fullfj 
aware of the abselute certainty of his approaching death, but be mu4 
have known that his wound was of a very grave character, and that 
the result might early prove fatal. Stilt, that strange and uu known 
figtire haunted him ; a figure that was so diflerent from any he had ever 
seas before, and which, in spite of its present dress, seemed to belong 
quite as much to oue sex as to the other. As for Jack — wc call Molly 
or Mary Swash by her masculine appellation, not only because it is more 
familiar, but because the other name seotns really out of place as 
applied to such u person — as for Jack, there she sal, with her face half 
averted, thumbing the canvass, and endeavouring to ply the needle, but 
perfectly mute. She was conscious that Spike's eyes were on her, 
and a lingering feeling of her sex told her how much time, exposure, and 
circumstances had changed her person, and she would gladly have hid- 
den the defects iu her appearance. Mary Swash was the daughter as 
-veil aa the wife of a ship-master. In her youth, as has been said before. 



she had even been pretty, and down to the day when her husband de- 
serted her, she would have been thought a female of a comely appearaucst 
rather than the reverse. Her hair, in particular, though slightly coarsey 
perhaps, had been rich and abundant ; and the change from the long, dark, 
shining, flowing locks which she still possessed in her thirtieth year, to the 
short grey bristles that now stood exposed, without a cap or covering of 
any sort, was one very likely to destroy all identity of appearance. 
Then Jack had passed from what might be called youth to the verge of 
old age, in the interval that she had been separated from her husband. 
Her shape had changed entirely, her complexion was utterly gone, and 
her features, always unmeaning, though feminine and suitable to 
her sex, had become hard and Blighlly coarse. Still, tliere was some- 
thing of her former self about Jack that bewildered Spike, and his eyes 
continued fastened on her for quite a quarter of an hour, in profound 

" Give me some water/' said the wounded man. '* I wish some water 
to drink.*' 

Jack arose, filled a tumbler, and brought it to the side of the bed. 
Spike took the glass and drank, but the whole time his eyes were ri- 
vetted on his strange nurse. When his thirst was appeased, he 

•• Who are you? How came you here?" 

*' I am your nurse. It is common to place nurses at the bedsides of 
the sick." 

*• Are you man or woman ?" 

" That is a question I hardly know how to answer. Sometimes I 
think myself each, sometimes neither." 

" Did I ever see you before ?" 

*• Often, and quite lately. I sailed with you in your last voyage." 

•» You I — that cannot be. If so, what is your name ?*' 

"Jack Tier." 

A long pause succeeded this announcement, which induced Spike 
to muse as intently as his condition would allow, though the truth 
did not yet flash on his understanding. At length, the bewildered man 
again spoke. 

" Are you Jack Tier ?" he said slowly, like one wh» doubted. *' Yes, 
I now see the resemblance, and it was that which puzzled rae. Are 
they so rigid in this hospital, that you have been obliged to put ou wo- 
man's clothes in order to lend me a helping hand ?'* 

" I am dressed as you see, and for good reasons." 

" But Jack Tier run, like that rascal Mulford,— ay, I remember now : 
you were in the boat, when I overhauled yon all, on the reef." 

" Very true ; I was in the boat. But I never run, Stephen Spike, 
It was you who abandoned me on the islet in the gulf, and that makes 
the second time in your life that you have left me ashore, when it was 
your doty to carry me to sea." 

*' The first time I was in a hurry and could not wait for you ; this last 
time you took sides with the women. But for your interference 1 should 
bare got Rose, and married her> and oil would now have been well 
•Uh me." 

This was an awkward announcement for a man to make to hi? lepal 
wife. But, after all Jack had endured, and all Jack hnd seen during the 
late voyage, she was not to be overcome by this arowai Her self- 


may ofiCD 

of emo- 

m voBMo myself,** she 

if i ktwm ined to bria^ 

'*lt't» Balnal &r u aU to take sdes with 

* Too a vaHH% Jaek? — Iktt ii ref^ if ia ii«M> Since vhen htte 
fan UM for « woamn ? Yoo kave iliip|>ed vilh me twice, and each 
tbae as a man, — iho a gh I never tiMiagkt yoo able to do tcananV 


^ Kerttth ckj i , I am vbtt yoa tee — a voiMa born and edkaled ; ow 
ibat nerv had on mtm'9 dren tiU I knew yoo. You supposed me to be 
a nvi vbcD I «aaw off to 70a ia the skiff to Kbe eastvard of Rzker's 
liliaH ; bat I wm tbaa vbai ]r(m aov tec" 

" I begin to oBdentaad matten,*' njomed the iDTalid» musio^U. 
" Ajf av, k. aptaa apoa ac ; aad 1 now see boa it was you made such 
fiur wfalhfr inik Midwn Bodd and preitr, pretty Rose. Rose is 
prettTy JmL ; joa amft adnut Ciaf, tboogh yoa be a woman.'* 

** ftoee u pretty, I do adnit it ; and iHiat is better, sbe is good^ It 
re<{iiired a beavy draft oa Jack's jnstioe and magnanimity, however, to 
make ibis coocessiaD.*' 

** And you toM Roee and SCad«B Budd about your sex, and that wis 
tbe reaAon ibey took to yoo so on the v'y'ge ?" 

** I toM them who I was, and why I went abroad as a man. Thcr 
know my whole story.* 

" Did Rose approve of yoor sailing under false colours. Jack ?" 

'* You must ask that of Rose herself. My story made her my fnend: 
but she never said anything for or against my disguise." 

** It was no great disguise, a'ter all. Jack. Now you *re fitted out ia 
your own clothes, you've a sort of half rigged look. One would be as 
likely to set you down as a man under jury -canvass as for a wom^n." 

Jack made 00 answer to this, but she sighed very heavily. As for 
Spike himself) he was silent for some little time, not only from exhaos- 
tion, but because he suffered pain from his wound. The needle was 
diligently but awkwardly plied in this pause. 

Spike 5 ideas were still a little confused, but a silence and rest of a 
quarter of an hour cleared them materially. At the end of that lime 
he again asked for water. When he had drunk, and Jack was ones 
more seated with his side-face towards him, at work with the needle^ 
the Captain gazed long and intently at this strange woman. It hi^ 
pencd that the profile of Jack preserved more of the resemblance to her 
former self than the full face, and it was this resemblance that now at- 
tracted Spike's attention, though not the smallest suspicion of the trulti 
yet gleamed upon him. He saw something that was familiar, though lie 
could not even tell what that something was, much less to what or wboD 
it bore any resemblance. At length he spoke. 

" I was loM that Jack Tier was dead,** he said ; " that he look the 
fever and was in his grave within eight and forty hours oiler we sailed. 
That was what they told me of /im." 

" Ami what did they tell you of your own wife, Stephen Spike; sh« 
that yuu le(l ashore nt the time Jack was left V* 

" They said she did not die for three years later. I heard of bcr 
b at New Orleens three years later." 



*^ And how could you leave her aabore — she, your true and lawful 

** It was a bad thing," answered Spike, who, like all other mortals, 
regarded his own past career, now that he stood on the edge of the 
grave, very differently from what he had regarded it in the hour of hiii 
uealth and strength ; *' yes, it wtK a very had thing ; and I wish it was 
undone. Hut, it is too late now; she died of the fever, loo; that is 
some comfort ; had she died of a broken heart, I could never have 
forgiven myself. Molly was not without her faults ; great faults I con- 
sidered them ; but, on the whole, Molly was a good creatur' I" 

** You liked her, then, Stephen Spike?" 

** I can truly say that when I married Molly, and old Captain Swash 
put his daughter's hand into mine, that the woman was not living who 
WAS better in my judgment, or handsomer in my eyes." 

** Ay, ay, — when you married her ; but how was it a'terwards, when 
Touwas tired of her, and saw another that was fairer in your eyes ?"* 

" I desarted her, and God has punished me for the sin. Do you 
know, Jack, that luck has never Xn'cn with me since that day. OfHen. and 
often, have I bethought me of it, and sartain as you sit there, no great 
luck has ever been with me, or my craft, since I went off leaving my wife 
ashore. What was made in one vYge, was lost in the next. Up and 
down, up and down, the whole time, for so many, many long years, that 

fay hairs set in, and old age was beginning to get close aboard, and 
as poor as ever. It has been rub and go with mc ever since ; and 
I 've had as much as I could do to keep the brig in motion, the only 
means that was left to make the two ends meet." 

** And did not all this make you think of your poor wifcj she whom 
you had so wronged ?" 

*' I thought of little else, until I heard of her death at New OrUen^, 
and then I gave it up as useless. Could 1 have fallen in with Molly at 
any time a'ter the first six mouths of my desartion, she and I would have 
come together again, and everything would liave been forgntten. I 
knuw'd her verv natur', which was all forgiveness to me at the bottom, 
though seemingly fto spiteful and hard." 

'* Yet vou wanted to have this Hose Budd, who is only too young and 
hand<*ome, and good, for you." 

" 1 was tired of being a widower. Jack, and Rose w wonderful pretty ! 
She has money, too, and might make the evening of my days comfort- 
able. The brig was old, as you must know, and has lung been off of all 
the insurance offices' book^i, and she couldn't hold together much longer. 
But for this sloop-of-war 1 should have put her off on the Mexicans, 
and they would have lost her to our people in a month." 

*' And was it an honest thing to sell an old and worn out craft to any 
one, Stephen Spike?** 

8pike had a conscience that had become hard as iron by means of 
trade. He who traffics much, most L'specially if his dealings he on so 
■mail a scale as to render con'^tant investigations of the minor qualities 
of things necessary, must be a very fortunate man if he preserve his 
ttmscience in any better condition. When Jack made this allusiont 
therefore, the dying man — for death was much nearer to Spike than 
even he supposed, though he no longer hoped for his own recovery, — 
when Jack made this alluMon, then, the dying man was a good deal at 
a loss to comprehend it. He saw no particular harm in making the 


best bsxgaia be ccmU, oor vas it easj lor \um to undentand why be 
nigfat oat tSoaoaB of aay thwg be poeKned for the highest price thit 
WIS to be ha«L SdXk be wtwereH ia an apologetic sort of w&j. 

" Tbe brig vai old, I acknowledge," be said, *^ bat she wai stFoof 
aad aii^if baf« nn a loag tine, t only spoke of her c&pture a* a thing 
likely to take place toon, if the MvxicaDs got her, bo that her qualitie* 
werv of DO great aeooant, uiileas it might be her speed, and that you 
know was eieriUnt, Jack." 

"* Aod TOO regret that brig, Stephea Spike, lying as you do there on 
your death-bed, more than any thing el»e ?* 

" Not as much as I do pretty Rose fiudd. Jack : Rosy is so delight- 
ful to look at r 

The muscles of Jack's face twitched a Uale, and she looked deeply 
niortj&cd, for, to own the toith, she hoped that the conversation so hr 
had so turned her delinquent husband's thoughts to the past, as to hare 
revired in him some of his former interest in herself. It is true, be 
still believed her dead ; but this was a circumstance Jack OTerlooked, 
so hard is it to hear the praises of a rival and be just. She felt the 
necessity of being more explicit, and determined at once to come to tbe 

'* Stephen Spike," she said, steadily drawing near to the bed-side, 
** you should be told the truth, when you arc heard thus extolling the 
good looks of Rose Budd, with leas tLan eight and forty hours of life 
remaining. Mary Swash did not die, as you have supposed, three yean 
a'ter you desarted her, but is living at this moment. Had you resd the 
letter I gave you in the boat, just before you made me jump into the 
sea. tJial would have told you where she is to be found." 

Spike fitared at the tipeaker intently, and when her cracked voiee 
ceased, hut look was that of a man who was terrified, as well as be- 
wildered. This did not arise still from any glcamings of the real state 
of the case, but from the soreness with which his conscience pricked 
liirn, when hv hoard that his much wronged wife was alive. He foocicti 
wiih n vivid and rapid glance at the probabilities, all that a womso 
abandoned would be likely to endure in the course of so many long aXKi 
suffering years. ** Are you sure of what you aay^ Jack ? you wouldn't 
take advantage of my situation, to tell me an untruth ?" 

'* As certain of it as of my own existence. I have seen her quite 
lately — talked with her of t/ou — in short, she h now at Key West, 
knows your state, and has a wife's feelin's to come to your bedside.^ 

Notwitlistanding all this, and the many glcamings ho had had of the 
facts during Uieir late intercourse on board the brig. Spike did not guest 
at the truth. Ho appeared astounded, and his terror seemed to in* 

** I have another thing to tell you," continued Jack, pausing bot 
n moment to collect her own thoughts, *' Jack Tier, the real Jack 
Tier, he who sailed with you of old, and whom you left ashore s< 
the same time you dcHarted your wife, did die of the fever, as you wai 
told, in eight and forty Iwurs a'ter the brig went to sea." 

"Then who, in tbe name of Heaven, are you ? How came you 10 
hail by another's name, as wtdl as by another sex ?" 

** What could a woman do, whose husband had desarted her in ■ 
vtrangc land?** 

" That ia remarkable ! So you 've been married i I should not have 



thought that possible. And your husband dcsarted you, too, — well, 
such things tlo happen." 

Jack now felt a severe pang. She could not but 8«e thot her un- 
gainly — we had almost said her unearthly ap()earance, prevented thocsp- 
! tain from even yet fiuspectinfr the truth, and the meaning of his language 
I was not easily to be mistaken. That any one should have married A«r, 
I seem ed to her liusband as improbable^ as it was probable he would run 
^Hky from Iter, as soon as it was in his power after the ceremony. 
^V* Stephen Spike/' resumed Jack, solemnly, '* / am Mary Swasti I — 
' / am your wife I" 

Spike storied in his bed; then he buried his face in the coverlet, and 
he actually groaned. In bitterness of spirit the woman turned awav and 
wept. Her feelinga had been blunted by misfortunes, and the collisions 
of a selfish world, but enough of former self remained to make this 
the hardest of all the blows she had ever recci%'ed. Her husband, dying 
as he was, as he mu.«t and did know himself to be, shrank from one of 
her appearance, unsexed as she had become by habits, and changed by 
ears and suffering. 



f Speed thee on, oh! poscnmn, speed, 
Pbum not to draw a hreath ; 
On pauiitg si^hs beston- nu lieed. 
Thou beoTMt litV' or death. 
i£M:h itffp convey a nearer knell 
^^Df joy to many a heart -, 
^^Kle mony n Una Kh&ll sorrow tell 
^^^knd hid e'eik ho[>e depart. 
Tbenqieed tht^eim. »li ! p^Mtniun., speed, 

Pamse nut to dniw a breath ; 
On pasning crowds bestow no heed, 
Thou bnirest life or death. 

Von little note with mourniug seal 
^^_Ak ^v of joys shidl l>ear, 
^^■| uDi-te'ft death, its lines reveal 
I^HTo his imprison 'd heir ; 
F The miaer's K<Tne. the spendthrift now 
' Sl^all soon destroy his health ; 

Uis task, his only anient voir, 
< To wute thy brtarded u-eaUli. 
' Then iii>eed, &c. 

Those ill-directed lines shall bear 

To yonder widow's heart 
A t«lc of ^rief and det;p deitpuir 

Beyond iho healing art. 
Uer only son, a soldier hrnvc, 
^^Jttia motlier's prop and pride, 
^^■foreign shores 1ms found a gravet 
^^^B Victory's Up he died. 
I- Then speed, &c. 

sweetly-scented little note 
^hidi woTu a lover's aikI's* 
lined rake in anger wrote 
ith a riratfs eyes — 

That rival who has hraiight him low, 

HiM pride and yet hix curse, 
Whobids him woo, since (the must know 

She 'U share the victim's purse. 
Then speed, &«. 

Von well-direi'teii folded sheet 

Contains lu; Jocund fun, 
It Uilka of **■ claims compelled to meet,'* 

It BjieakB tlie flinty dun. 
The little ernmpled dirty tiling, 

H'hich you aside haw laid, 
Shall tidings joyoiitt, happy bring 

To yonder country uiaid. 

Then spaud, &c 

The rich man's prayer for bartered 

The broker's deep laid scheme, 
The (MX<r man's cry for mispUred wealth. 

The schtwl-pirlV early dream. 
The hase seducer's luring tale, 

The faisehood of a wife. 
Dishonest dealers going to fail. 

And sharper's gambling life. 

Then speed, 8ic. 

Thy little burden bears more woe, 

More joy, more bopeiL, more fenra. 
Than any living mind can know 

Or learn in fifty yean ; 
For thoughts unbrcathed arc wafted 

And minds, though far apart, 
Shall lell far more than lanpiage c/otv. 

Or utierauce cau impart. 

Then speed, &c. 



« WhiW 1 toocK tKe firing, 

Wreathe my browi with laurel. 
For the bdc I bniu; 
Uu. at least, a monL** 

Thk following story is gathered from a gossiping- tradition whict 
Although probably hitherto unknown to the reader, is comaot 
enough in the locality named. It« leading incidents are, with sow 
slight occasional variation, in the mouth of every peasant in ihi 
country round, where they are cherished and regarded with a rcrj 
suspicious kind of veneration. 


TofVARDe the close of the summer of 1606 a party of disbanded 
spearmen had just returned from assisting one of the pugnadooi 
bishops of Cologne in an attack, common enouj^h in those diyt, 
upon the territories of some of his neighbours. Contrary, however, 
to the custom oi' such meu at such iimcSj they were wandering along 
silently and discouraged, for they had gained but little wherewitb 
to line their pockets by the unlucky war which had been waged 
against the Bavarian princes. That portion of the church-roiliiut 
under whose banner they enlisted themselves, seems to have had the 
worst of it, and now, they knew not U^day, how they should supplj 
the wants of the morrow. 

The times must, indeed, have appeared to them to be particularlr 
hard, since the emperor had enjoined uidversal peace among the 
rulers throughuut the holy Roman empire, in order the better to ] 
assist the necessary combination against the danger which still ' 
threatened its frontier on the side of Turkey. All hope, therefore, 
of occupation at home was for the present at an end ; and. to fight 
against turbnn'd intidels> carrying horse-tails and crooked sabres, wai 
the Inst thing likely to enter the heads of these worthies, not be- 
cause they dreadetl hard knocks, but because they cared not to war 
in an already devastated border, where, when the tight was done, 
there was but little to expect by way of comfort for dry throats and 
hungry stumachs. 

Tiiey were, indeed, a motley and ill-assorted group, numbering 
amongitt them men of all heights and ages, ready to do battle and to 
sell their blood in the cause of any master, however desperate or 
lawless his object might be. Their halberds and steel caps were all 
rusting through the neglect consequent upon recent disuse; their 
swords no longer glistened with their wonted brightness; their buff ■ 
COflt« shewed occasional spoU of mouldy hue ; their wide trunk-fl 
hose had long ago lost their original colour; their shoes stained by " 
die soil ami service of nmny countries, promised soon to part com- 
pany with the feet they so made(|uately protected; and, altogether, 
they presentetl as interesting a specimen of reckless and marauding 
vagabondism as ever graced the times we speak of. 



At they wended their way along the hot sni] dusty mad by Ams. 
berg, some sullen and gloomy, others muttering between iJjeir 
beardsj or cursing their stars in no very measured numbers, they 
earae to a wood, on the skirt of which meandered a little stream, 
tracing its crystal course between alders and overhanging bushes ; 
here iliey agreed to halt awhile in the shadow, till the heat of the 
day had abated, and then to continue their journey. 

Little, however, did such turbulent spirits, accustomed to activity, 
though, it must be confessed, not always of the most praiseworthy 
kind, brook the delay in the long cool grass, still less could ihcy 
think of slumbering. The place they had selected was, to be sure, 
pleaaant enough ; but, then, what could they do? they had nothing 
to wiie away the lime. If, indeed, a barret of the bishop's wine had 
stood there, flanked by a roaring table, it would not only have been 
endurable, but they would have revelled and feasted away in noisy 
jubilee till the last morsel was eaten, nnd the barrel exhausted. As 
It was, there they lay rolling about in all the restless abandonment 
of discontented indolence. Some plied the dice upon a cloak which 
had been outspread for the purpose, while others fetched water from 
the brook in their iron caps, and, for the first lime perhaps for many 
years, quenched their thirsts with a fluid for which throats so long 
accustomed to wine had but little relish. The former, however, 
soon became weary of play where there were no stakes; and the 
others of a beverage which yielded neither gratification nor excite- 
ment, and the old sense of tediousness again returned upon them. 

At this moment one of them whose ill-favoured visage was so 
mangled and scarred that it would have been difficult to discover in 
it a sound place as broad as the dice he had been throwing, then 
addressed his comrades: "Arnoldi may as well take thiii opportu- 
nity of fulfilling his promise, by telling us how it is he contrives lo 
find his way out of every scrimmage safe and sound ; for, though he 
is always tiie first to enter where bl(^s fall thickest, yet not a 
scratch can he shew throughout his \^ole carcass ; and at every 
oniet, the devil, who. I can't help thinking must be some relation of 
hia, seems to wrap him away in fire." 

"True, by — " said another, of younger blood, beneath whose 
middle feature the fledging down was just appenring like n soft lock 
of wool, " all true ; I saw Arnoldi at Dettelbach, standing unhurt 
amongst the lances and swords, which flashed and glittered around 
him like lightning; ihe ihunder-boxcs peppering awav all the while 
as if it snoued le^id ; and when the pastime (for it was nothing else 
to him) wa& over, there he stood leaning on his halbert, coolly shak- 
ing out the bullets, which rattletl like peas from his breeches and 
doublet. But not one dot of a wound had he on his impenetrable 
bide ; while I, stuck as full of darts ah a hunted bo/ir, was hacked 
and hewed like mincemeat for the great Nuremberg sausage."'^ 

•' Ay, ay ! we know it," cried the otliers ; " ynu are right ; so tell 

* A Kaitronoinical work of art, for ivbirh tlie German FliirtMicp is still, thnu^h 
rui mntx in «> f^rtnt a degree, rammu I TUii liu^« iuitui|i^, measuring upn-nnls iif 
300 fret in Iviigth, and gaily bcdeckrd with rtl>lM)ns and flowers, wnx, in the previ- 
mt% jreftr, bunie throuffli the »treet> of Nurcmlierg on the Imcclicn* feiut-day, to 
the great terror of the ]H>rrine rnre, who arc rc>presentcd with agonifted traturcMi 
KSlRpcring olT in all ilim-tion», with tuiU ciirleil nifMt distnictinKly, and Uiuir 
whoia moM c£ blood evidently turned at the Mght of thiti fearful pfitceskion 1 


iu« Araokfi, borw yov aHaa^ ft. You cannot deny that your skin 
m bttfid-pcvaC fiv we have all seen it too often. Vou must tell ui, 
AwmaUBk; jtm mBit — yoamvgu even though the Hevil himself fetch 
yovlbrdMclaang bis secrets ; so let us hear your tongue unce more." 

** Ya« ars aradi mtMt Ukdy to feel the weight of my arm," Mid 
iW edicr, wilk a ■aHOHf gotnre. "if you do not wag your beardi 

Bat it vas of ao avail, tus comrades allowed him no repose ; there 
were tboae aboot faim wbo,e«|oaUT desperate, did not fear him ; uitl 
at kBgtl^ iter waanf m bard word and hearty curse, be prepared, if 
DOl to satkify, ai kak to dir<ri them. 

It aunt be miiMkwIj bowerer. that he did so with no good will ; 
gladhr woold be bare icsofted to blows to pacify their bantering, 
coakTbe hare hoped tbe subject woald then have been suffered to 
sleep ; but in an eril and unguarded hour, he had, over the wine 
eepk divlyrt a few pacrticatars of his earlier life, which, thoufi;h 
coa f baed aad broken enough under the circumstances of their di»> 
closure, were of su lfccienit interest to awaken their curiosity, and ex- 
cite a desire to bear OMre. Proaa that unlucky moment his com* 
panions had given him no rest, hut rallied him incessantly till he 
could no Wnger endure their tormenting recollections ; and now, 
amid»t loud cries of " The story ! the story ! we must have the story, 
though R«*V«m« himself help to tell it/' Amoldi thus began : — 

'* 1 heed not jour miserable lies.*' said he, grinding his teeth, " «ny 
more than I should the drunken babblings of so many old women ; 
and. as to the spells you speak of. 1 know but of one, and let that 
suffice, M it has served many a stout man in his hour of need, and 
may, perchance, help some of you to cheat the devil a little longtf I 
of his due, if you will only roAke the trial." 

The eyes of the surrtmnding group gUsteneil with expectation, 
and their face* gathered increased earnestness while they listened to 
the deep and measured acceq,ts of the speaker. 

t< In the holy night, 

In tbe pale moonlight, . 

Let ths Tu^gin ply her ipeU, 1 

She must sfAn alone, I 

And in smother 'd tune j 

InTuke the pHwers of hell — I 

And while the mysiic words she brcaUws. 
The npindle rxHh in fierjr wresthi ; 
And 6aii>hcd ihiu amidst the cbann 
No mortal can the wemnsr barra.'* 

**But, what is to be spun?" said his companions. 

" A linen garment, which must be spun by a pure virgin on the 
holy night, and worn ufxm the naked hotly," replied Arnoldi. 

*' And you mean to tell us that neither cut, thrust, bullet, nor 
blow, can injure the wearer?" 

** I do; and am ready to uphold that truth with dagger and 
BU'ord ; and, further, that he who wears such a one is not only sale 
from all murderous weapons ; but that he need not even fear the 
devil himself, should he approach in mortal sha^>e." 

•'And you wear such a one?" imjuired ihcy, 

" Is it likely ?" said Arnoldi, grimly smiling, "when, as you a 
know. I iiin not lucky enough to possess a shirt even of sort 


with whicU every Christian should cover his back; and then, as to 
the other, pure viigina are not very likely to be bo much in love 
with me as to work the devil's cliarm in order to prolong my life." 

"And yet, methinks, if you had not tried it," rejoined one of his 
hearers, "you would scarcely be so ready to pleilge life and limb in 
upholding its efficacy." 

** Excuses — empty excuses J" cried as with one voice the impatient 

" Peace I" growle<l Arnoldi, in a rasping voice, — *' peace, I say, 
and shame me no more that I have been such a babbling fool thus 
far to utter dead men's tales. But let the rest for ever remain be- 
hind the hedge; 'twere dangerous for us allj so let it pass, therefore, 
pats it aitsurcilly will — unconcluiM." 

But the yells of his now more than ever excite<l and boisterous 
associates would not permit it. 

•• You skulk behind the hedge no longer!" cried they. "If the 
devil were at your elbow when you made ihe promise, let him an- 
swer as to its fulfilment now !" and, finding it in vain to attempt 
quieting them in any other way, he thus once more began, after 
again cautioning them o^ the danger they incurred in listening to a 
cnarraed tale. 


" My birthplace was in Brunswick ; ray parents were Italians ; 
and my home is at Eimbeck, where my brother still lives. He work- 
ed with my father at husbandry ; but, for myself, shovel and plough 
were alike baleful to me. I detested the consUmt disturbiuice of the 
M>il as the worst species uf drudgery, and determined to buffet about 


the worid in ray own vay^ rather th&n submit to it My parents re- 
mmmttntbtd oAn aid rti wi gl y, but without effect ; and, at lenizt' 
vidi a view to hmmmtr ray roving and restless spirit, as well a> 
aaverae Av^ tbe eooKqacDCCs of totJLl indolence, sent me to 
lUMph. Ite foeitcraf the Soiling. M'ith him I learnt to trap : 
wolf Md totpcar tbe boar; to take from the fox his brush, and fri 
tbe bear loi akia. Tbas I paased manj a year of ray earlier 1. 
toagb with wm oecapaftMm for which my habits and expeh- 
ao fiv qaafificd Be, that ■> skill and dexterity in alt matters be- 
to futrat uaft Um eoald equal, and, save the old forester. 
c ott id ewal raci 

** One eveaia^ as I was retaming home, laden with the spoils of 
the day» old Rj i diih net me. The hand of death was on his brov, 
■nd be told rac i^oobuIt that his hour was come. 

" • C^K*,' saaa be, * I had the hope to creep about on my chjwt 
— ^beit old, and perhaps inSno, — till the end of the world ; hot, 
what WBjtf be anutf* — ior who can oootrol his destiny ? Before I go, 
boverer. I woaki ftai put vou in possession of some secrets with 
«hicfa till thos mofaent jou have been unacquainted : nor should 1 
now be permitted to reveal them, were it not tliat the time of our 
aeparatioQ is nigh at hand. A portion uf my skill I have already in^- 
paitcd to you. Vo« know not bow I acquired it, nor is it now vf 
CCOsanr» since yon hare obtained thus much without the drend pena i- 
tj whicfa others mnst pay. Bat it is possible it may not long a\:i) 
you, since the game on tbe Soiling is daily diminishing, to an extent 
that, without care, leaves but little hope for the future. My first 
coonad to you. therefore, is to quit for a while your present em- 
ployraent, and enter for a year or two a free company ; which, firrv- 
mg different masters in different lands, »ill not only afford you an 
opportunity of seeing something of the world, and perhaps enriching 
voursclf under one or other of the leaders; but, on your return 
liither you will again find the game in its former abundance, which 
h.ns for the last few years been fatally thinned by two such dertl'i 
huntsmen as the world has never before seen^ 'Tis true, there i§ 
less danger in feathered bolts than in leaden bullets ; but, a^iiinst 
/AetH, an* thou hast the courage, thou mayst secure thyself. Tboa 
secHt Mir.' said the old man, at the same time holding towards me s 
curiously-formed key. su«pende<l by a party-coloured ribbon from 
bis neck, *take it; but not till I am dead,' said he solemnly,— 
* mind, not iiU I am dead, Anioldi, — and open the caf^ket which hangs 
on the wall of the room where I sleep. Inside it you will see a largt 
phini, together with a parchment scroll. Read it, and you will ffitd 
written thereon Aow. and for n'hat the former serves. But, mark* 
let no hiicrnipiiun of sounds, whether of earth, air, or hell, induce 
you for one inomont to remove your eyes from the scroll yoii are 
rcuding until all the contents are perused, othcrwhe you art lost, and 
for ever ; but, once read, then use it as ye may, — for the im|>ort, 
dark, terrible, ttn<l strong, abides on the memory till the wing of the 
tngvi of death fihall sweep it away. So much for t/ur ; and now for 

'••When my crest is bowed, and my eyes become cold anil 

Ark, take m« away to the Soiling by Vr.Ur ; seek out a Vrce space 

„ .k* green Icvol, clear of trees, and there bury me. Lay my hend 

the west; my feet to the rising uf the sun ; cover my grave 



with a tliick and heavy atone, that the prowling wolf may not un- 
earth me, and, after appeasing his frightful hunger, leave the rest a 
pre)* to the fox and the raven. Thou canst a1»o place old Herod and 
a boar-spear with me in my grave, for une knows not what may 
bereafler befal him, and in my next service I may perchance have 
need of both. My poor hound is, like myself, old and useless, lose* 
the scent every moment, and can no longer track his game. Why, 
tfaeOy should we separate.^ Why leave my old and faithful companion 
tomisft his master, and miserably hunger on the flixir of the stranger, 
amidst recollections of earlier and belter times? No. Arnoldi, we 
will lace death as we have hitherto faced all danger — together; andl 
charge thee to lay his bones in the same grave with mine.* 

" Thus spake old Rudolph, — thus 1 promised him, — and at mid- 
night he died. I buried him, as he said, together with Herod and 
the boar-spear, and covered their grave with an enormous stone. Jt 
was not till my return from this sad duty, — which 8howe<I my eyes 
in those days to be little better than a woman's, — that I first recol- 
lected the key. Taking, therefore, my cross-bow, and the imple- 
ments I liad already used, I hastened back, late as it was, to the 
forest-grave ; but, scarcely had 1 begun to dig when the voices of the 
old hunter and his dog came borne upon the wind, mingled with 
sounds of exultation and distress, whicK increased as they approach- 
ed, till at length it seemed as if a party of wild foresters were out on 
the chase, and pursuing their game amidst cries and uproar of the 
most unearthly kind. By this time all around had become involved 
in pitchy darkness, and a violent storm of wind drove, and raged, 
and roared again, as though it would rend the very oaks. My heart 
clicked like a Nuremberg egg;* and for the first time in my life I 
k]iew what it was to fear. But I was then a superstitious boy ; and. 
scarcely aware of what I did, made the sign of the cross on my 
breast, and again taking courage, I bent my bow. *Come what 
will/ said I, drawing it with all my force, — * come what will within 
the line of this bolt, it must go to pieces, were it even the devil 
himself.' For a moment after the shot did that wild music fearfully 
increase ; but it suddenly died away in a wail, and all was still. The 
moon broke forth from behind a thick curtain of clouds, and I again 
resumc^d my labour. 

" On obtaining the key from the yet scarcely cold body, I instant- 
ly returned to the cottage of the forester. Arriving, 1 lighted a pine 
faggot, stuck it into a book by the side of the iire-place, and pro- 
ceeded to unlock the box. The wind and the storm again roared 
dismally amongst the trees of the forest ; again those wailing sounds 
yelled and muancd, and mingled with fitful bursts of unearthly me- 
lody ; but, determining to fulfil my object, I proceeded as Rudolph 
had instructed me, and found the phial and scroll as he described. 
Aa I read the voice of the old forester again broke upon my ear in 
alternate sobbing and laughter ; but, still I read onl It seemed as 
if footsteps were around me, and the pressure of hands against my 
heart. / tvas conscious of a preserwv upou which I dared not look, A 
dark vapour filled the room ; distinct, though transparent, forms 
Hoated between my eyes and the thickly-inscribed scroll ; but, still I 
read on ! Suddenly the pine.faggot was extinguished, und I felt 
myself hurled against the opposite wall; but I still retained the 
* The nanw given to the '* watcJi ** oripnally made there. 



fatal parchment, which now glowed, at it were, beneath my fiofffr* 
in pale pbotpboric charaeicn ; anil Uisa I BtiU read on ! OtW 
•oamb and voieea now »iaglcd with the voacca o€ the night, tlie 
ttorm increased to a hurricane, rinfing ita wild awtfarw from nick to 
rock, tilU at the moment of mrarinrfing the tanoll^ a mighty wind 
•hook the four comers of the hut — and it fell ! And I lay senielea 
flnidst the scattered mina. On recorering iSTseU*, the fearful stom 
had rolled away, and all trace* of casket, key, phial, and scroll, had 
entirely disappeared. Thus was the fatal secret lost and won ! 

" But I ha/l socceede<l in reading it, and the appalling recollection 
paBsed not away ; its every line and letter are impressed upon my 
memory with a terrific vividness, which nothing can efiace. — which 
I wouUl glwlly die to forget, — for the 6ends," said he, wiping the 
cold drops of perspiration from his brow, "are still masters of the 
game ; and, the use of the spell, its power, and exercise, had yet to 
be purchased at a price which it was fearful to pay. * * Impart it,] 
however, I can, though only upon one condition ; and that ■ " 1 

*' Then, in the name of all the fiends !" said his companions, whovc 
curiosity was now wrought up to the most intense pitch, "let as 
know it, for the terms are beforehand already agreed to." 

" Draw round, then," said Amoldi, in a calmer tone, and breath- 
lessly listen, that ye lose not a syllable of what 1 have to commuoH 


In the absorbing interest of the moment his auditors had been sl- 
tu^ethcr unconsciouH of the declining day ; the curtain of evening, 
however, was already beginning to fall around them ; the night- 
breeze had arisen, and, sweeping in pists through the tall trees of 
the forest^ resembled the tones of human voices, calling and answer- 
ing in the distance. 

Anioldi was nbout to proceed with his story, as above related, 
when a little old man, wearing a long beard and gray coat, of queer 
outlandish cut, and whose stealthy approach, like that of the even- , 
ing, had been totally unperceived, stood, as it seemed, all at once in 
the midst of them, and, ai\cr a greeting such as might be expectetl 
fi'oiu an old acquaintance, he inquired of Arnoldi whence they came 
and whither they were going? 

As soon as they could recover a little from the surprise caused br 
his sudden and unexpected approach, they replied, " From where 
war hat beat, to where war is. We care not un<ler what leader, nor 
to what service ; and, so that we can but obtain booty, we heed [ 
neither the contest nor the cause," 

" Ah t yaw are like the ravens," said Gray-coat ; " wherever you 
go, ill-luck attends your presence ; and, although with such gentle- 
men it is not safe to joke, joy and rejoicing, no doubt, equally at- 
tend your departure!" 

" 'fhat ifl tne connoquence of our trade, old boy !" said one of the 

3>eArmen ; " and, though in the settlement of the accounts we bring 
lero must now and then be bloody reckonings, the balance lljst 

eomcK to our slisre is generally gold " 

** Though, perhaps, not always of the most honest colour?" 

" Are you sorae hedge-parson seeking to hear a confession ? Sit 



here, then, on the grass. It will shortly be some six years since 
imitiret) into the priest's ear. and this will l>e a good opportu- 
to make a clean breast of it." 
'N'ot quite so good as you 8np|>ose," chuckletl the merry old man. 

ling his hands, and seating himself amongst them. " I seek not 


Then, what is your object in visiting us ?" 

That," said Gray-coat, "you shall presently learn. At any rate, 
I am no confessor ; and, although it is true I am seeking xomrlhiHg, 
ii is certainly not secrets of ihe kind to which you allude. I am 
travelling now to enlist servants who are willing tii enter the employ 
of a powerful master, and for a good earnest penny, I pledge ye niy 

'* Then, have at ye !" cried they, " for here before you are men of 

right stamp. Amongst tis is not one but has long ago drunk 

herhood with old Xick, and, if necessary, we are ready to do so 

;n. What is your master's name?" 

Only accompany me/' said the stranger, "and in time you shall 
him ; though to-day it will, I fear, scarcely be pos!»ibIe. Not- 

islanding this, however, nothing shall be wanting to you ; and 
IS the earn est- money, which you can at once divide among 

Thus speaking he held up to the now quite restored travellers a 
great leathern purse of gold. When they had equally divided it, — 
which was not accomplished without some contention, they all arose 
and shouted loud vivats to their new master. "Nay, an' were he 
even the devil's own stepson, 'tis all one to us; long life to him^ say 
1" And their hoarse throats roared in unison together like the 

r^!i::t= icili. -T-TTzT rf £ xi^l n^vlii xiiJLs. Tt:s denxxutrxtjon ended, 
"c- i*.nne : ^i£r -;_<-* =aii». uroei m. ttier frords, shoddend 


Tu: T.- "Un- i.».ii. Ti.- L.jTx 1 5.-T=»rviiC ircsTrforeA-patlirtlw 
: r.j: 11==^;:::^ "1= ~:i.-t:. izii i.; n-^— x e^er »aj asoo broken 

:i :-.i:^ 

r"_ -c »B=-* 1^ JBT jjnc it=K vit 

3^ - ■»■*"■; Ti«ii;i:7 riii.'-r'i'i :. ail-EEOf lis xcz^nzizosis. who had fir 
I V :.. r -.1... Ti'i I :ti t-.ii scimt f^T z:r-"iEr: lad the loathwwf 
:..:•.:. ■_:..- Tifwi i.:c lie sMif :r*rc r.TLi t-^ Hsceci. as if enamoured 
.L ::..: ; -i -i.- * zi^?:-:. X-T" ini -•:« i-.-tsed in ene ihev reached 
1 : ^ ■" ".. T«f- r.Ly£«i T^iL^'iiTj :- iiii iiz'^* cftie dark p:n«-forert; 
i_- • LT.-.^-'i : iifT^ -i^_rT-fi X sc"„=^s*. c'^r^cv i^J indescribtUe. 
N. r.-^-i-: i --:•->:■£ _i ii-: rri^cii:* :c tie nil ri=e ; no voodpeckcr 
ii-rr»:'i .''T ii*f ;--'j''.T^ .'oi . re sci^mel spria^ from bough to 
.-.. -: ;.- T-i-f re- :..".; .*.T : .-^t^ 1: t^* rAs«T*-by. Even the trees 
'.-■.■ c-^-w "ii-* ": --i<-; -wil".*. :c Jtrsccied their broad arm5 over 
•.~f r. - i-i. :ri.r^-it:> ira: 1it s:in=r*-i at *-rJ. soa^heJ not, nei- 
;-Tr :.. - i sjj r.S-f :z ir-= z'zzzz^ '::'retz^ : i: seemed as it' nature 
Zr^i-: ." 1- ::_-i iri rir.i*- :- 1 ie^zh-Iike silence. 

T-f -^v.-rV-^r* iT7r;aji*i "r^: z: Sfa:en track gare 51^5 of any 
ir.'ij.~.ii:i: . izi :'-e ,-;i ::::ir. 'j.\:rt:ec. if he >J them on. singing. 

— JT-rt? Tf i!!-*c^ l:.i.f ^ r^x-i =.'^: xis-J, 

Ar.i :h-* ther s-"cr.> :Ml:wed hia through bush and bramble to 
the caj:Ze ^i:e. which hirshly screeched and grated on its rusty 
hinges, yielding r.ot in entrance but to the united force of the newly 
arrived guests. The »aae aspect of desoiateness prevailed through- 
out ; rank grass, nettles, and thistles had overgrown the ample 
court-yard, through which they waded up to their hips ere they 
could reach the halL But no watch-dog barked — no warder blew 
his horn ; neither guard, nor serf, nor human being, save themselvCSr 
were to be teen ; nought was heard save the sounds they awakened, 
and the dark grey walls, dusky ruin, and lonesome desolation of that 
twilight hour, called forth in most of them a feeling of dread till 
then ntterlj unknown. 

Thev could not refrain from expressing to their leader the sur- 
prise tLey felt at the forlorn condition of the castle ; but he assuied 
thenip thaty although its exterior was somewhat uninviting, they 
wonld find witfain tdl that they could desire ; that attendants would 
r arrive, and dancing and feasting, mirth and merriment, sur- 



. above them 
inpire spread his 

round them. " You must not/' said he, " however, be impatient, 
neither scan with too critical an eye this fortrenfl of ray master ; it 
bas been long without inhabitant, hence its desolate ap{>earance; 
mad the owner has so many strongholds in Italy, Spain, and Austria, 
which require his constant supervision, that he must be excused if 
hia possessions in this country are not exactly in such a state of re- 
pair as he could wish." 

His words, and above all, his promise of good cheer having thus 
retnspired them to proceed, he led them towards an old winding 
staircased ; own its broken steps they descended into a damp and 
moaldy vault, whose dull echoes gave back in deadened sounds the 
heavy irregular tread of those who entered it. 

As if by magic, torches now crackled, flickered, and blazed from 
the iron rings by which they were secureil to the walls, and dis- 
closed a spacious apartment all brilliantly lighted up. In the midst 
Mood several long and massive tables of oak, and on either side rows 
of mighty tuns, full of the moat delicious wines, the age of which 
their moss-bedecked staves and rusty iron hoops proclaimed dis* 
tiDCtly enough, as soon as the newiy-arrived guests could recover 
their powers of vision sufficiently to observe objects of so interest- 
ing a description. But, although they perceived it not 
on harping pinion swept the bat; and the hairy va 
broad flight in restless circles around ; and other sights and sounds 
there were, alike fearful and ominous, but their eyes were darkened, 
and they perceived them noL 

Suddenly the voice of the old man was heard at a distance, ill un- 
wonted tones. 

" Up, menenger ! haste — quick a« light — 
Aud kU my furmer guvslB invite. 
Up ! and htsi to th« skuUs and Umes 
That muulderiiig lie l*eneadi the stones ; 
Bid skin and muMzle cloilie once more 
Thi'ir skeletous, ua heretofore : 
Giro lips and cheeks their living red ; 
Give back tlie voice to tongues long dead : 
is-ee they «lon tlieir best array, 
And, deck'd as for a holiday. 
Bid them to the feast repair,— 
Haste ! my wishes quick declare I" 

Shortly there appeared men, women, youths, and maidens, in 
every diversity of dress and form, who, thronging in, took their 
places at the tables, or served up dishes laden with viands and fruit; 
while Gray-coat ran about here and there, busily arranging the va- 
rious courses, or serving out goblets of sparkling wine. The raven- 
ous appetites of ihe troopers knew no bounds : fearfully did they 
devour at that fatal festival, and their hearts began to grow merry, 
as they poured the pearling liquor in full streams down their thirsty 
throats. Then they observed the maidens ogling them in a manner 
both familiar and inviting. Female singers also approached, with 
lyre and organ, and har[>ed and sang songs of ribaldry antl lewd- 
ness. Clowns and tumblers went through their various evolutions; 
sod gay forms danced before their delighted eyes, till Arnoldi and 
his companions fancied themselves trans|>orled into the regions of 
faerie land ; nor waa it before one had sharply pinched his own leg, 
^■' cr his nose, and the remainder each for himself wade experi- 
t. xxiti. u 


menu enually convtncing, that tbey coold be assnred what thejm 

around tnem was no dream. 

Thui did mattfTS proceed till late in the ni^C They CeHtti 
they drank, they dallied, and made love; little Gray-coat aQ lb 
white skipping about from table to table, now 8m.iling^ and nUii| 
hit bands, as if in the highest glee ; now nodding eneoaragi^gly H 
his guests, or preasing blandly upon their attention bis variogsi^ 
plies. They remarked, however, that be ate not with tbem. neUv 
did he drink of their wine; that the other guests aatstifflj aodlth 
nially, scarcely laughed at the fun, tasted but little, and nwkt Hl 
less. But the harp and organ played on ; the ainge i t CroUed A* 
lays, and the various attendants flew about with the speed df At 
wind, to supply them according to their heart's desire ; and Arj 
spuke together of the old man's promise as they appraadaed tli 
ruined castle, that if they would only enter they shoiald WMit fa 
nothing : and of the way in which he had fulfilled it ; of tbe hipr 
thus aflunletl for the future; and they drank long life, agabi 
again, to the lord of the castle and their new entertainer. 

All at once the shrill crowing of a cock was heard to ring thnMgk 
the numerous arches of the vault, in sounds that pierced above iQ 
the mirth and music. A sudden stroke as of lameness appeared It 
tehe with one accord the attendants, who no longer proceeded wA 
their usual alacrity ; nor were the guests exempt from its cfectk 
save only Gray-coat and the troopers. 

After a time he drew towards the benches they occupied, pUcni 
himself on a stool opposite, and steadily fixing his eyes upoa bs 
newly-ciilistcd frientf^, whose bosoms the supernatural sound thej 
hud just heard had filled with something like apprehension, said:- 
" Hark ye, my masters; the watchman has already, as ye hear, pr» 
claime<l the approach of morning, and when his voice is uttered, 
once more all must retire to rest. We ot* the dead, ye see, ma< 
hold strictly to order.'* His companions started and gaaed on ttA 
other. " Yes," continued he, ** our time is measured to us, in Umib 
we dare not transgress ; but for ye — " 

Here he was interrupted by the listeners laughing in his face 
" Little Oray-coat," said they, "is making fun of us, or has looked 
too deeply into his beaker, and now sorely drunken, knows no more 
whiit he Is saying." But his bright eye and clear voice told a dif- 
ftML-ut story ; and that, whatever the effect of the debauch upon 
theiUKelves, H had passed /ihn harmlessly by. 

lie heeded not their jesting, but quietly replied, <* Listen awhile 
to uie^ luy merry birds^ and then laugh on, if laugh ye still dare." 


" It is now many a long year since I became cellar-keeper in this 
castle, which, under the careful superintendence I bestowed upon it, 
never wanted a good supply. Under such circumstances I forgot 
not niyt»elf, but took each day my quantum as the innocent debt 
and duty of every gooti cellarmen, who by frequent trials can alone 
qualify himself to become a judge of that M'hich is under his charge. 
Indeed, my sense of duty in this particular moved me so strongly, 
that my search for wine suitublv to my master's taste, commenced 
At breiik of day, and ceobcd not till the return uf night again called 



Thus was my reputation, in one respect, soon estaMUh- 
ut, though a good cellar-keeper, I became a bad C'hrietian, 
in the heedlessness of excessive indulf^ence, I lost the relish for 
her and l>cttcr occupation, and neglected the welfare of that part 
dT roan's being which is destined to live longer than sun, and moon, 
And stars endure." (Arnoldi's comrades winked at him in sleepy 
derision of the speaker, but their companion's countenance exhi- 
bited no sign of participation.) " The proprietor of this castle, 
whom I then served, led a roystering life of it, and loved to wash 
down many a hard joke with good old liquor. In every carouse I 
vaa his constant companion, and the night was never too long for 
ua ; neither thought we of anything beyond the indulgence of the 
jMssing hour. We were the talk of the country round. 

" We had commenced one such drinking bout, on holy Thurs- 
day. Upon this occasion we swore not to cease till one or other of 
IM wa» fiurly under the table. We sat together till the next niorn- 
hw was come, but it ceased not then. The matins had long been 
finished — the vespers sung — and night still saw as there. The early 
dawn arrived and neither had given way. At this time the knight's 
Uttle son lay dangerously ill, and his lady had sent to him many a 
VCtaenger to summon him to the bedside of his dying child, but he 
beeded them not. At length came her wntting-woman. and on her 
btnded knees besought him in tears to visit her mistress, as the in- 
fant was at that moment in the agonies of death ! He then reluct- 
uitly arose and staggered af\er her to the apartments of his wife, 
who, as soon as he approached, met him with agonising cries, hold- 
ing in her arms the dead body uf his only child. TJie lady shortly 
died also, and from that moment my master never knew |>euce ; 
night and day did he wander about with the face of a dreamer ; he 
laughed not, neither did he speak, but seemed as under the influence 
of a sorcerer's spell ; and when at length he suddenly disappeared, 
jt was said he had assumed the friar's cowl, and closed a life of 
aevere penance in the Franciscan monastery of Xuremberg. But," 
added he significantly, " no one but myself knew — nhUltcr he wat 

I look no heed, however, of this, or any other example ; but, on 
the contrary, set at nought both warning and reproof. After a few 
years I lay on my deathbed ; but still carried my passion so far as to 
inquire of my lady's confessor if there wa^; wine in heaven. He was 
silent. * If not,' I continued, 'I have no wish to go thither; but, 
living or dead, should prefer occupying this place with such com- 
panions as I could obtain.' With these words in my mouth, I died, 
— Kiied without absolution or shrift, and my body was buried in the 
castle-chapel. Suddenly it seemed to me as if I had awoke from a 
confused and fearful dream, and I stood alone here; an awful voice 
thundered in my cars my doom. My wish was granted — a penance 
till time shall be no longer. 

" From year to year have I sat in these gloomy vaults, — from year 
to year drank I deeply, and alone, tormented by the most dreadful 
wnae of weariness and distress. At Brst I thought not to regret my 
•ish ; but, when after a while the castle echoed no more to the tread 
of human footsteps, when every living thing forsook these ruined 
walla, how have I longed for the quiet repose of the grave I But, 
though I sought it, it repelled me, and again and again I found my- 



self irresistibly iirgctl hither. At length I bethought rae of the 
cond part of my wish, and wandered in quest of coropanionk 
found myself empowered to allure all wboni I met within «eiii 
circle of my allotted abode. My power, however, only extemfa 
those whose consciences are perverted, seared, or dead ; or 
have sold themselves to work the works of him whose befaMs 
serve. The wants and desires of these are immediately knows 
me ; nor can they resist the spells I am enabled to cast around 
When such a one, who has ever been my guest, dies, he is after 
atill in my power, and, whensoever 1 invite him, must appear at 
midnight hour when spirits can walk abroad. j4U with rchomwt 
Jeasied were of that nuviher ; and ye, though for the present vt 
partj yet, having feasted at my table, and taken the earnest 
pledges you to the master youraelvea have named^ shortly mutt wt 
appear hither again." 

The foot-soldiers laughed a shuddering laugh, and would 
have replied ; but their senses seemed to forsake them, their 
involuntarily closed, and, notwithstanding all their effbrtt, 
could keep awake; their heads bowed upon their breasts- theTilv^ 
bered and slept, and sunk to the ground. 

And again the cock crew, — the viands disappeared^—the iwchv 
on the wails glimmered faintly, and expired, — the g-uests vanifhd 
noiselessly, and when all had departed save Gray.coat and the 
sleepers, he gently approached them, and waving above their bcvls 
the solitary light he bore, he said, with a ghasUy smile of exuh> 
tion, — 

" In your chAnn'd lUte repo&c — 

Alagic ileep your eyelids cIom, — 

Sleep Iwneatk th« dusky veil, 

All night lon^ tilt st&ni grow pair ; 

Sleep upon your cold damp l>ed, 

Nor wake till the lighj 

Of the tunheora lirighi 
SbjUl pierce through uxe ruins over your h«>fw). 

" £re fourteen dprings their bloBdonu fthed, 

AH shall mingle with tht> dead — 

In othrr eiiiso wc '11 meetngmin. 

And ye shall swell my shadoiry train — 

Till tlten, faretrell 1 

Atif Wiedorsehcn I 
Now Bweep I hence with the matin wind. 
And leave do record nor trace behind ! ** 

With these words he glided away, and cast neither sound ii( 
shadow behind him. 


'Twas broad morning when these sleepers awoke, and they looked 
round by the dim light which found its way through the crevices of 
the damp and broken vault. It was impossible either to doubt or to 
recollect distinctly the events of the preceding; night ; and they rub- 
bed their brows, as though they would clear both sight and memory 
of some terrible impression. As they regarded one another, eaca 
was startled at the pale, death-like countenances of his corapanionii 
iMid all were inclined to lay the blame on their late resting-place. 



That," said Amolili, " will quickly pass away, if we caii but find 
wine to restore our lost roses," and seizing one of llie lances 
I that stood in the corner^ he violently struck the table till the old 
' vault rang again ; but no one came. He and his myrmidons called 
aloud at the foot of the broken staircase. As their impatience in- 
eased, they shouted, and yelled like so many wild-beasts; but in 
lin. None answered their summons. They then bethought them 
of the casks ; but here again disappointment and mockery awaited 
them, — all sounded holJow and empty. 

" If the devil himself be the owner of this accursed place/* said 
they, " Gray-coat is surely somewhere in the neighbourhood." They 
jftherefore sought him through every nook and corner of the build- 
%ig ; but found nothing save rubbish and ruin> All was still and de- 
solatej and lonely as before. No living thing did they see ; not a 
sound did they hear, but that which their own foutfall had awaken- 
ed. Then remembered they the impression of the preceding even- 
ing as they Approached these gloomy precincts, and the same feeling 
of awe again crept over them ; their imaginations were haunted 
with all kindif of strange and fearful objects and forebodings ; par- 
ticularly when they called to mind Gray-coat's story, and their own 
threatened doom. 

"It can be no dream," said they, *'else how came we hither? — 
and, true — how can it be?" 

The whole affair was mysterious, bewildering, and perplexing in 
the highest degree. All at once they recollected the earnest-money, 
and felt in their pockets ; but, to their astonishment and distress, in- 
stead of broaJ pieces of shining gold, they drew out only handfulsof 
dry leaves. Their rage now knew no bounds; they loudly cursed 
both Gray-coat and each other* till, frightened at tlie deep echoes, 
which gave so sullenly back the sounds tliey had called forth, they 
rushed in terror from the haunted spot. They essayed in vain to re- 
turn by the way they had come. Neither track, nor tree, nor aught 
could they find by which to direct their erring footste]iB. Farther 
and farther did they wander from their intended route, ami lay ilown 
at night in the depth of that lonesome forest, calling up»n Gray-coat 
again to appear, in order to be revenged for the freak he had played 
them; but they saw him no more ! 8low]j' and sadlj' did they pur- 
sue their journey in the dawn of the Following ilay, and soon after 
found exercise tor their lances in the disturbances which filleti the 
country, and hastened on the great religious war which deluged 
Germany with blood. 

To this day the old ruined castle may be seen in the forest. It is 
called " Waldreuth ;" though the peasant folk for many a mile round 
know it only by the name of *' The Devil's Country Seat," and none 
of them will approach it, even to gather sticks, in the winter. 

Of the foot-soldiers thus much further has been ascertained, that 
all of them within the first seven years died by sword, pistol, or the 
hands of the executioner, except Arnoldi, whose death took place at 
Prague, exactly fourteen years from the event we have related. He 
died suddenly during a deep carouse, after the victory on the White 
Mountain, the self-same daVi and at about the same hour, as that on 
which Gray-coat's feast took place. The fact of his body having 
been found enveloped in a charmed garment clearly accounted for 



•* And U it there ye are?" uic] a long-le^ed. long-sided, long- 
UHiuted pig, whoM gaunt appearance bespoke his Milesian origin, 
while the rich mutical twang of his grunt told of Tipjierary iniirtly. 
He addreiicd himself to a compact brindled animal with a crifp 
twist in his wool, and a ti^zhtly-curled uil, who was owcA^m/ in a 
deep kennel near one of the Market street corners in Philadelphia. 

/ru/i Pif^. Ah, then, the tip-lop o' the morning to you intirrly- 
lU myaelf itiut s seen ye here before, and luigbty snug ye are in that 



«»ne place— I 'm thinking that a (Iray-whcel would move ye out o' 
that in a pig's whimper, thouj^h its mighty y>i^-turesque yere lookin' 
that «ow-luti(>n of t^liish, any how. 

Cttriy'tiiU Pii^t rising, with an aristocratic air. Do not imagine, 
because I decline reposing any longer in the slimy softness of this 
baliuy kennel, that your guttur-al gruntings annoy me. Philosophy 
has long ago taught mc that wc cannot make a gow's car out of a silk 
purse. For the present, then, I forgive your impertinence! but I 
un^t^norate my promise to make sausages of your intestines if you 
ever bore me again with your pig-my priltle prattle. 

Irish Pig. Give us none o' yer cheek. Edad, ye 're as fierce asa 
*ofp-werter. Sure I roused ye out o' that in regard o* the druys, but 
if my nm'-Ucitude is hurtin' yer chitterlings, why be smashed into a 
hog'c-pudding, and see if its myself that will interfere. Arrah, then, 
and did ye see anything o' them niggers of hog-catchers last night? 
Curiif-taU. I really was so engaged in paying my devoirs to a 
delicate young creature up Sixth, that I hud no time to indulge in 
*uch vulgar ideas. 

Jrixh Pi^. Och, get out! is it the black piggeen up the alley 

vanient to the bakehouse? The darlint 1 fion't I know her, 

*d like to carry her a ;>f^r.a.back over the whole world. 

Curii/'tiiii, She is an exquisite charmer, '|)on honour ; but aa 

oud as &he is pretty. I stole a cantaloupe from the corner there, 

d placed it at her feet, as a jofr-ve-neer of my esteem, but she 

med it over to that old hog her papa, who devoured it before my 

'Wcc. Laughing at my melancholy look, she said, " Pork, you pine," 

^hich you must own was very pointed. I haven't been so hurt 

ce my lamented mama committed jon^-i-cide by cutting her throat 

ith her thumb-naiU while trying to swim across a creek. 

/fi*h Pig. And ain't her brother a saucy shote? he'll bebringin' 

*>is hogs to a fine market some day. But what can you ex[>ect from 

^ieger's pigs ? them swine swill such slush, one can't pig with them 

if lie wants to keep a dacent check. 

Cnrhf-tuiL You are as dull as a pig of lead in your perception of 

She has the whitest hand of pork and the prettiest 

I have ever seen. Her hams arc plump and welU 

^he beautifu 

Irish Pig. 


Wid as swate a snout as ever turned over a later. 
If she would Siamese our fates, I have a nice sty in 
tily e}*e ; and 1 flatter myself she'd find me as warm a honr as ever 
liung round a lady's neck. But I am not such a Pi^'g^-ninny as to 
play upon one string. [ 've more sweethearts than her, if I want to 
choose a upare rib, and she refuses mc her foot. 

Irish Pi^. Honamondiout ! don't stand there wid yer snout 
c*>cked up in the wind, but come over here, and have a chaw at 
them swate laters and an inyon or two, what the darkey girl has 
jcftt chucked out. Here 'a a beautiful post right agin yer starn, for 
^ illegant scratch bechuxt bites. Ain't them squashed peaches 

t'urltf-iaii Nice, really. But talking of luxuries, did you ever 
Uste a nigger baby ? 

Irish Pig. Ah, then, 1 niver had a chance ; but I nibbled off a 
ilack man's thumb once, as he was tryiu' to int-innervute a pet kitten 
ut o' my gilU; but it:i mighty old he, and the jynt was hardly 


•i-j SIT -rvdiTnc J tae kick I got on my hind line. Sure k 
▼ i> ?.ir: ZTi^ r: n«f2i sows last winter, when the divil % bit a' 
;-;: -- i i::c :: i ijy # ir^bbin^. Oh, thunder and turf, wmtl' -car? s«c - :a«fni ir^stu Mz ferocious. 

■ » - /^ i... A^ ^' rwse our souls we daily expected, in cooie- 
: lo^o! .-c :=tf v-ir tii£ w« «hould all be killed and salted down ■ 
s:..*?-a«a; ':c :2« st'cr*. 

" I ~v A - r'-fiv^ tiTipether in a hogshead. 
.L" .— ^.. I «ccd\i ~cc *^f loch to afford my share of sustenancB 
:. :.'<e *;-rtf»* .-£ tie w-17. as I im heroically inclined, being linolly 
;"cei r--'iTi ±tf >car ,-?' the PUntiganet — the crest, you know, 

-■- • ~v r. c*; *u.rK I io- Didn't B , the great tragedj 

:%:- y \z ilcircsor ," 2;* ;" a knitter one night, when he waa saltj, 
- r 7-?-.: I i ; : :c ^ ucfi :heT ciU it. Sure he talked all night rf 
:>^: loi-.c >.\.vc- xz^ ie t ^-iirtr^ boar, which I thought mighty per- 
*. r-L - -TT^Lri -• Ire cccrurr he was in- But for them haythen% 
5 1-^ I i \.i :-■ setr-z iz.<'^ whipped- There's a Spanish pug in the 
i\r VfifEiccsc i>e r^u^*&T.#cor«. that's bitten all sorts of lettai 
,: z-i-'i .-.- ■^*; ii-o-< iATtaTSw di* buick^uard. 

. ' .» : . A.". TTT fr.dso. ph:'.«Kophy has l(Nig ago taught me 
:.:i: yc* i"^ ~^'t ir^^::er* ^'t'th^r own face. 

1--: ■ ." i Thoc^i rc^ z-i bL-f^t of our fat, and be hanged to 
iju. S^t :h< whcV bt>.«' of vxir tanii'.y is going west in the sprinj^, 
«>.crv 1*:= $u.r« :/ Se ^dLit^nfd is^l ul^fd down. My brawn l&u^ 
::-' :.' ix oc'-'Anfc th^c 5o. if I can but preserve myself till I'm 
J. ■.■x.f.i. I '.'. \x ±y.i to si^e =:t bacon, any how. 

«.' * • i-,.:... WtfV.. c-xx: ivorr.iujC. stranger ; I must pay my moro- 
::-^ * ^j..*.. i *"-^h: orier-r^ 1: she shrine of beauty— an attempt to 
^r.*--L "".:'. :r.e h^^r; ^*: th^t: :tf:".,:tfr "::tle sow. 

: p-^ iKxxi *Uv-k :«■ \e. ir.d a stiver curl t' yer tail, if poi- 
silr'.c. »h:»:h t: x-:. iVZ-.. ''rx ^czA.iIiawn ! to hax'e his eye on my 
^.•a:: it'u'utc- ri.rZ'ftf" - 1 -'. y:;; 1 ^ow-thistle into his piggin a 
hv-i:*i*h. ^-e it b:ir. ! h.w kvr.wtevl he walks, the thief of the 
w^r^.: ^-re. he :/.:::k* h:;:-**';" a whole shi^vload of the primeit 
Kie-f*. No. 1. but :: 's 3. prc:ty i^i^c* of pvrk and greens I '!l make of Kime *r.»::e. bi^ yi^ .1* he :*. By the piper that played before 
Mose*. but there* the hoc:-cj:oher*. the slaughterin' divils. How 
they skeet atter my inend wiJ :he curly tail. Och. there's a porker 
in a pucker. £ but he r»oves his trotters in double quick time. 
Run, ye divil. the hi.:h r.tiT^er ye by the tail! no, he's offagaioj 
bad luck to him. Sure, that pace will melt his lard, this same hot 
day. Grabbeil. by jakers ! \u a gone case wid him, any how, for 
into the cart he goes, the entire *wine. Why, they are shitlooio* 
artcrme, the murtherin' thieves ! Hurrish' no catchee, no havee. 
Here goes, a bolt for life ! 

[^Esil Pi^, "dorrn all manner of streets'' 





BV W. C. T A V L O n, LL. D. 


Jerusalem and Venice arc namos seldom associated; ihey are types 
of ideiL* wiiich seem incapable of Ijannuiiious combination; tliey raise 
hiaiorical a>)sociatioiis so different in character and colouring- that the 
pro[)rietios would seem to be outraged when they blend into a common 
picture, and inconsistency rendered inevitable when they are the joint 
spells which direct the workings of an individual mind. That the com- 
btnatiou is possible has been proved in the instance of the D'lsraelisf 
both father and son ; that the junction in spite of some few incongruities 
hjjs been delightful and valuable is demonstrated by the warmth of appre- 
ciation almoHt unanimously accorded to the historical researches of the 
fornior, and the gorgeous imaginings and vivid creations of the latter. 
Different as have been their paths of literature and their walks of life, 
there hai^ been in both a common clement which almost unconsciously 
moulded their character and predestined their career, and that element 
was compounded of a reverence amounting to enthusiasm for the theo- 
cracy of Judah and the oligarchy of Venice. 

Descended from a line of Jewish merchants who had dwelt in the 
*' Home of the Ocean " during the proud days when Venice remained, 
at least in name, the queen of the Adriatic, the father of iho late Mr. 
Isaac Disraeli brought with him to England a store of historical asso- 
ciulions and traditions meet nurture for *'a poetic child/* and equally cal- 
culated to incite the imaginative to realise their conceptions in romantic 
fiction, and the inquisitive to ascertain their realities by sober investi- 
garion. About the lime that the first D'Israeli settled in England, the 
country was convulsed by one of those popular alarms, the result of 
combined fraud and fanaticism which appear like periodical visitations 
in our history, A law for the naturaiizalion of the Jews had been 
passed with little opposition by both houses uf parliament, and had 
received the rcJidy support of the most distinguished prelates on the 
episcopal bench. An alarm for the church and for religion was how- 
ever produced among the inferior clergy, and principally, as WaU 
pole assures us, among the *' country paraona/* The alarm was as 
senseless and the cry as absurd as on the occasion of Dr. Sache- 
verelKs trial, when a very stupid and very malevolent sermon was 
sufficient to set the whole country in a flame. It was proclaimed 
from countless pulpits that, if the Jews were naturalised in Britain, the 
country became liable to the curs^es pronounced by prophecy against 
Jerusalem and the Holy Land. The logic of this argument is of course 
as defective as its charity, but the multitude is liable to be deluded by 
confident and repeated asserlion ; it aUo happened that at the time sus- 
picions were entertained of hostile designs from France, and though the 
Jews could not be associated with the French by any show of reason, 
they were linked to the enemy by a very tolerable rhyme. Every dead 
wall in the kingdom exhibited in varied orthography the delectable 

couplet* No Jewg, 

Mo wooden shoes. 
VOL. XXIIl. "«. 


^^"-•r^ 'i-r jrcT'pfr D bntfii dij:«d ra -* Coaingsby " on the adran- 
uc^ :c 1 .*» t.*.^ ^rv. *e =i^ with ioow rvuoa have shewn the efficuj 
:: 1 -T-i Mi :i-f." 

>:z:^ ;• -.'zf r-^iTc* li-: :■:*!£ :o»iri* ;he:r msibordinate curates the 
«A=.-7 ::-..-«^ :;i- .-tii.^irw; ;.ir«ci5 escplo^ to lull the tumults of the 
= ir**7TT fc-ir- :i^T r.-:fer ;ak-e« if a bribe to stop crying. They re- 
KWe: -'ziz ■; T:.Ji ":^ -wi*^ -.i? rtiike »o3e concessions to clamour, and 
xZf^j y.^-T'i _- 1 rvcrv^c'.a::.:c to she miEiiter which set forth that they 
by i: ziTi-s T:o:~»?i t;r ■:"* '.r^iz ot" the popular calumnies directei 
ara--*' '--= J-^^i •.:i: :r.-*7 -Lii r.?; eren exammed the evidence on vhkli 
j-Mri ::' «..-j^ »e« ^>i::^irf-i, c-u: sha: belierinsr the recxntlawtobe 
o5cC*.;r L^i Li.T=,z^ :o xcx::y of y-jar good sort of people, they recoo- 
s^^ItU '.i^ r£-T=i^r :o Mci-> h'.» oan act. and to repeal the obnoxious U« 
X* riT.j 1* :.:**:blc. T-e I>^ke of Newcastle, who then held the offices' 
rr.-::^ =^:*cer. "iid n-.-ce of the firmcess of Sir Robert Peel or Loid 
J-.-rz R.iMe'.'.. he y*>lie-i to the clamour, partly from natural timiditfi 
azi 7<i^*-y ':«:x-aus< Sr^^ raised a: the close of a Parliament, he vii 
afn. i :: i's e5ev*s a: a x^aeral electioo. 

K-:^:t:=: eTec:s havi:^ rvTlred the memory of this cnrious a^tatioih 
we siAv. i: \zi oi di^resszoa. add that the Bishop of Oxford adto- 
ca:e%i :h^ r^r^. coc cc account of any scruples of his own, but **to 
quiet =i:::is of ^ooc peocle : " that the Bishop of St. Asaph denooDCcd 
iti rvfj^ ci the ri^ts of ciuaenship to the Jews as the result of"! 
ffpir.: cf 7er5«cu::oa abhorrvnt fn>m the spirit of the Gospel ;*' and tint 
the O-^ke of Bedford who had voted against the bill originally, vcfj 
hocorab^.y or?osed ::s rvf«il. which he c^led ** an effect of the imbcdlitf 
ot ihe aiisi-zistrazior.."* 

r«v'.vo y«-Ars af^cT ch'.f s:ran;e exhibition of popular delusion tai 
m::v.$vr.j.l vejlncss. Isoao D'lsraeli was bom at Enfield in the montb 
of Miy. 17o'.\ Ba: iho.:^r. ine Jewish Naturalization Bill had beta 
roiHu'iV. the vojisiops lud yrejudices to which it gave vigour did not 
subsi^it" for '^tUT'iy ha'.f a »x!::i:ry; indeed the Jews narrowly escaped 
b*."."*: ir.vo'.ved wi:a the Roniin CathoUcs in the outrages perpetrated bj 
the rrv*t«*s;;U!S r.'.ob or Lord Georje Gordon. The accounts which W 
hearsi ;r. c'aiidhvxxi ot iho o.r;i:mu;e< levelled against his name and natioOt 
and of the po"::u'aI disabilities to which his family continued subject 
b*vau<o an imS.v;'o x;r.:*:or had neither the sense nor the courage 
to withstand popular *.;i'Vjs;ou and popular clamour, produced an effect oo 
Mr. D'lsraeii's mind which influenced his whole literary career, and 
which is very porceptiblo in the writings and speeches of his gifked son. 
So far fr\>m "adopting the aphorism cyu- /nyw/i nir Dei^ he would mucH 
WK\oiWT ha\o said f\//> ;"•-'* r\u- liiiiUiii ; the very prevalence of any senti- 
ment iw opinion would with him have been a reason for viewing it wiib 

AH the traditions of his race and all the reminiscences of his nmily 
tended to strengthen such a feeling. The people had no voice in the 
Hebivw commonwealth : law was dictated to them by the inspired pro- 
phet, the consecrated priest or the anointed king ; authority was not 
only the basis of their social order, but it entered into the minute detail 
of all their institutions ; that confession of futh which every believing 
ohild ^ Abraham learns to lisp in his cradle commences with a divine 
'demand for implicit submission and obedience. " Hkah, O Israel " is not 
heffinning of a creed suited to the partisans of a democracy. 



' The traditions of Venice were equally calculated to alienate Isaac 
D'Israeli'n mind from the parties and the opinions that found favour with 
the populace. Aristotle nietilions some ancient oUg^irchy, the members 
of which} on odmisflion to office, bound themselves by an oath to do all the 
injury to the democracy in their power. Although the senators of 
Venice did not swear to the performance of any such obligation they 
adopted the same course by a design infinitely more binding than nil 
the test* that human ingenuity could devise. Their first principle 
of government was that a mob was a restrained and caged lijer, and 
Ibatt on any relaxation of these checks and restraints* the animal 
would spring at the throats of his keepers. 

It IB curious to observe how general and how influential these feelings 
were at the close of the last century. In spite of the proclamation of 
" Free and equal rights to all men/ by the republicans of France, the 
few* throughout Europe almost universally adhered to the cause of 
DonAfchy and social order. If they were not absolutely Tories they were 
It least very strenuous Coneervatives ; as men they loved " liberty," but 
M 9hm wms of a privileged race they suspected " equality," and as a pecu- 
liar people they shrunk from "fraternity." Another reason for this was 
nrobably the horror with which they were inspired by the daring blas- 
>heiiiies of the atheists of France, UevoUing as these excesses were to 
fcvery man of right feeling, ihey filled the mind of the Jew with a horror 
perfectly indescribable, and to men of other creeds and races quite incon- 
ceivable. For, the Jew is the most religious of men; to him the 
Supreme Being is not merely the Sovereign of the universe, but also and 
ttore especially the Tutelary Deity of his race, ** the God of Ahrahiun, 
of Isaac, and of Jacob." The insanity which would dethrone Jehovah, 
the God of Israel, and erect, amid dniDken and frantic orgies, on altar to 
the goddess of reason, was in his eyes at once the most atrocious of 
erhnea and the greatest of personal insults. Hence, during the wars of 
the Coalition against revolutionary France, no soldiers fought with more 
desperate energies against the republican armies than the Jewish regi- 
ments in the service of Prussia; no moneyed men were more eager to 
support Pitt by subscribing to loans than the Jewish capitalists of Lon- 
don ; and uo commercial body evinced such sympathy for the fallen 
fortunes of Austria as the Jewish roerchauts of Germany. These pre- 
dilections for monarchy and subordination of classes arc still characteristic 
of the race; in the recent attempts made to raise a clauiour against the 
Jews of Alsace, we find more than one pamphleteer stigmatiziug iheni 
aa inveterate partisans of despotism and aristocracy. 

It is hardly neccs^ry to say that there was but a very scant share of 
sympathy between the French and the Venetian republics. Indeed they 
were founded on such antagonistic principles that collision was inevitable 
whenever they were brought into contact. Hence Napoleon, who re- 
timed many of his old principles as a jacobin, long after he had ceased 
to be a republican, never spoke of the Venetian State but with abhor- 
rence, and the only part of the proceedings of the Congress of Vienna on 
which he bestowed approbation was the decree which blotted the Vene- 
tian oligarchy from the list of the powers of Europe. 

The philosophers who declare that '* the child is the father of the 
nan " do not mean that the whole of a man's future character, conduct, 
and career are predestined and predetennincd by any direct system of 
education ; but they do moan that the appetencies and tendencies of his 

R 2 


fonned, and directed bj 
wmmmadB his cbildhood. Itii 
to txaee the influenced nMt 
U sobject of this essay, Un^ 
&IMP the populace on acconnl 
t tmA ■9*7 HgHHttvciy i— wtfij on hts race and famiWi I 
fcia hitAtfcy aiiJBilMl Mkbtry, and an anwilliog Parliai 
■aaft a* tlkt Wfaat «f amaalav aw b a , dal we hare examined the resulti 
Bbe^ I* be padacaA by Us ibiacrMit <md and hU Venetian desceoL 
SXlamA, «c at* iaiicBed, wcai TOd tba greaUr part of his educaiioi 
at LcjdesL He aeeas Wi w am an baybood to bare read a pretty exlensin 
of Ua bi to tad Rabbiakal Kteratiire ; judging merely from thi 
of bia later o fUioga , aod particularly from his poi 
of JoAmb. o voik of sio^vkr merit which has fallen iou 
aegiect, «e ■hooM say that he was a diligent student o 
AbcB Kara, Manaaaeh Ben Israel, but more especially a 
Like tbe lait-DaiDed great man, whom, perhapi 
WaacBBtoboTotokcalbrhLsmodel, DUsraeli cbosetob( 
fnr^ a apeeaktiro pUoaapbcr, vfao narer mingled in political bnoib 
aod vbo aboBM^ A awrrtiiHi with political and religious partiM 
HcBOC^ ohm be ^iiiw^ Fvia in 1786, be escaped the influence of iboM 
vbieb bad beeo fooaed and stinaulated by the revolution thai 
devaiadl baoMctf to the stndy of French literature wUbs 
r vbicb cuB liuu e d with little abatement to almost the lait 
boor of htt Tife. 

At no period of his life was D'lsraeli a rabbimst or talmudist ; a Urpi 
and libera] philosophy raised him as it did MendeUohn above all the 
exclusiTe, intolerant, aod anti-social gtosses with which the authori of dtr 
Mishna and Gemara have encumbered and distorted the Mosaic legiiUr 
tion. lie clung to the principles of the sublime and tolerant prajrcr 
offered by Solomon at the dedication of the Temple, and if he ever souglit 
for au example in the talmud, he selected that of Rabbi Aleir. The 
anecdote to which wc allude is so little known by general readers and 
illu^tralive of that genius of Judaism which we regard as the predooii- 
nant characteristic of both tbe D'lsraelis that we shall give it insertioa 
The Talnuid informs uh that the singular learning and talents of 
Rabbi Meir bad gathered round him a great number of scholars^ whom 
he instructed in the Uw ; hut he ncvcrthele<;s visited every day his ova 
former teacher, and listened to his instructions, though he had for some 
time been stigmatized as a heretic, and ahnust regarded as an apostatdi 
Kabbi Meir's pupils, to whom their profcssor'n tolerant spirit, as well 
as his habits of iutercourcrC with one whom they regarded as a depnv«4 
person, seemed highly pcrnicioas. angrily remonstrated with hira on such 
conduct He replied with one of those fthrewd aphorisms, which a 
modem critic has called "the diamonds of orientalism :'* — '* I fouod ft 
savoury uut," said the rabbi; " I kept its kernel, and I threw away Ha 

But this tolerance wa^ not confined merely to philosophic opinioa' 
Isaac D'lsraeli, from the very commencement of his career, was a 
sealous advocate for every philanthropic plan by which the sulTeringsof 
humanity could be averted or alleviated. He adhered rigidly to ihoit 
fODuinc principles of charity which are thus nobly enunciated by Rabbi 
len Misraim in his comment on the First Book of Kings:— 



** With respect to the Gam (fomgn oationt or Geniilei), oar fiilhen 
h\e commanded us to visit tbcir sick and to bury tlieir drad as the 
<faad of Israel, and to relieve and maintain their poor as we do the poor 
9f Israel, because of the ways of peace ; as it is written, ' Klokim (God) 
it good to all, aod bis tender mercies are over all his works.* * 
Balm cxiv. 9. 

It is certain that Isaac D^Israoli, though bis parenta liad quitted 
the Jewish community^ took a lively iuteretst in the question of 
Jewish emancipation ; but, save in the " Porlraiiore of Judaism/' we 
are not aware of his having written directly on the subject. We know, 
however, that he spumed the common rabbinical notion of a sudden 
and shnultaoeous elevation of the Jews to the highest rank of civiliza- 
tion and reGnement, He believed that the restoration of the Jews to 
the rank of citizens and equal subjects would be accoinplishod by the 
gradual spread of knowledge and intelligence ; and in thi^^ he agrees 
with the ancient talmudists, whose testimony on the subject is too sin* 
Ifular to be omitted. •* The 6nal redemption of Israel will be effected 
gradually, and step by step from one country to another, iu tjie four 
quarters of the globe through which the Israelites are dispersed ; and 
teke the dawn of morning, which breaks forth gradually and by degrees 
oatil the darkness of night subsides and day prevails, and even then a 
brief space must elap«e before the sun shines forth in full effulgence ; 
10 the Israelites will slowly retrieve their rank among the people and 
the nations, until finally the sun of success will shine upon them. This 
is intimated in Bereshith (Genesis xxxii. «t — 31). And there let'taUedit 
nutn with him until Ihe bi-eakin^ of the day .... aftd as he passed oeer 
Pe/tufi the sun shone upon him," Forced, no doubt, this cabalistic in- 
terpretation of the Scripture is ; nevertheless the beauty and excellence 
of the inference deduced cannot be questioned. 

So early as his sixteenth year Mr. D'lsraeli commenced his honour- 
»ble career as an English author by addressing some verses to Dr. 
Johnson, whose High Church and Jacobite notions were closely in 
arcordance with those of an admirer of the Hebrew theocracy. At a 
later period he published the oriental tale of ** Mejnoun and Leila," the 
first eastern story written by a European in which the proprieties of 
costume and manner have received careful attention. It is, however^ 
ia this respect, inferior to the "Wondrous Tale of Alroy," the most 
extraordinary of all the works of Disraeli the Younger, for in this not 
merely the conception but the conceiving mind is thoroughly oriental : 
Ibe gigantic imaginings, the gorgeous colouring, and the haughty 
Issumption of superiority for a chosen race, are the embodied poetry 
ftf all the dreams of Palestine and all the viuiuiis of Mecca. 

The work, however, by which the elder D'lsraeli will always be best 
known, because it is the work which has made the deepest impression 
Do the mind of the age, is the ''Curiosities of Literature," It was the 
firet revelation to the English peoplo that they possessed materials for 
historical and critical investigations hardly inferior in value to the cele- 
brated Memoirs of the French ; and it wo? also one of the earliest 
Ittempts to vindicate the memory of the Stuarts, but more especially the 
first James and the first Charles, from the odium which had been accu- 
mulated upon them ever since the revolution. More than one of the 
iVaverley Novels was obviously suggested by the " Curiosilies of Lite- 
Bature;" and to that work out modern writers of historical romance 



hare been far more deeply indebted than tbey bave ever yet aokoov- 

The •' QijarreU of Anthors," the ** Calamities of Authon," and th» 
** ItlustratioQS of the Literary Character," though more immediat^h con- 
nected with literary historvj are everywhere marked with the character- 
iftic feelings and sentiments which rendered the author so eamert m 
■diocate and »o xealous u pleader for the hapless house of SiuarL Tbe 
flimiilnni of a fallen race, which still clung to its theocratic title, wt$ 
the oatoral sympathiser with a fallen dynasty, which, in the midst of lU 
ha misfortunes, never abandoaed its hereditary claims. 

We differ entirely from Mr. D Israel i*s estimate of the Stuarts; b<t 
we shall not enter into any argument on the matter^ for there can be 
no rational oontrorersy witliout a previous deterrnination of ibft 
standard to he used and the weights and measures to be employed. W9 
should require ou our weights the Tower stamp, while Sir. D^lmeii 
would use none which had not the impress of the sanctuary. 

It was DTsracli's review of Spence's '* Anecdotes" in the »' Quarterly,* 
which gave rise to the great Pope controversy, in which Mr. Boelflb 
Lord Hyron, Mr. Campbell, and others took a part. The revi«Wi 
Tindicalioa of the moral and poetical character of Pope evinces gnrf 
earnestness and cunviciion : ho writes not as an advocate stating a cam 
but as a warm-hearted judge, who, having carefully investigated all \k 
mdmcei has unconsciously become a partisan while summing up tk 
But we suspect that Pope was not the principal person ia ibi 
r*s mind while preparing this article : we think that from begiaiuof 
to «ild be was mainly intent on a vindication of Bolingbrobcs that ■ii' 
TMveeBted statesman and misapprehended genius, to whom the yoaDgM 
D bneti has had the courage to do justice. Bayle and Bolingbrnl 
have been especial favourites with both the D'Lraelis; the father Ml 
•oholar clinging closer to the former, the latter as a politician dweUinf 
nphatically on the latter. If in the twelve volumes of Uteran 
by tbe elder Disraeli wo find Bayte'a multifarious reading, ka 
^>irH of speculation, hia contempt for merely popoltf 
ijpWMJ tad • very appreciable tendency to paradox ; so in the young* 
«• ted the idcAl of Bolingbrokc more or less pervading the heroes af 
hia politicel ramanoes. Vivian Grey is a BoUngbroke in those etrl* 
diyt cX htt political intrigues, when, with a boyish spirit of malioerM 
overturned the political combinations which he had toiled to ttjOM 
plish, from nu<rv CApricc or from sheer love of mischief ; and Coniogibgf 
IS what BoUugbroke would have been had he act himself up aa a patriflt 
miinstor for bis own ideality of a patriot king. 

Now this admiration of Bolingbrokc arisen chiefly, but not whoH|> 
Irom the Venetian cast of the character of that statesman. BoUngbroke 
was cssuntiallv the statesman of an oligarchy ; an admirable manager d 
A pnrty, but ttie wor»t possible leader of a people. It may seem incot* 
liateot lo speak of the theocratic element in the mind of a reputed 
infidel ; and yet the High Church sentiments of BoUngbroke cannot b* 

auestionw!. This, however, is a subject on which we must not at prewnl 
ilate t it ib too large, and too important to be treated of incidentally. 
The late Mr. D'hraeli waa one of the few men who lived exclusivelf 
literature. Early placed iu n position of independence, whicA 
red it unnecessary for him lo adopt the commercial pursuits 
ft father, he indulged his taste, or rather his passion, for cuhooi 

THE Late isaac d'israeli, esq.. 


researcb, and [lever was satisfied in ihc invcfitigalion of atty queslion 
until he had examined the original authorities. His writings and ex* 
ample have ilifTiised a taste for historical inquiry and criticisni, which has 
become, to a great extent, the prevalent characteristic of our age. In 
1841 he was stricken with blliidneiis, aud though he submitted to an 
operation, his sight was not restored. He, the great American writer, 
Prescott, and Thierry, the author of the " History of the Conquest of 
England by the Nornians, (who has published several considerable works 
since his bHndness,} are probably the only hi^ftorical authors who have 
continued their labours in ttpite uf so terrible a calamity. Aided by 
his daughter, he produced the '* Amenities of Literature,'* and com- 
pleted the revision of his great work on the Reign of Charles I., which, 
OD its first publication, had procured for him the degree of D.C.L. 
from the University of Oxford. 

A cultivated and powerful memory enabled him, in the later years of 
his life, to pour forth the stores he had accumulated in his long and 
varied studies with a profiisiun as delightful as it was f urprising. *' The 
blind old man eloquent" was a description as applicable to him as to the 
bard of Scio. He felt that he had left an impress on his age and 
country ; that he had enforced a more scrupulous attention to acci;racy 
on iih historians, and a more careful observance of character and cos- 
tume on its writers of fiction. The dangers with which his favourite 
ideas of theocracy and nobility had been menaced by the wild theories 
to which the French Revolution gave birth, had long faded from 
bis view, and he could look forward to a redemption of Israel conse- 
quent on a gcnernl advancement of enlightened principle and philo- 
sophic intelligence. Hh tcork teas dv»e ; the great ideas which it had 
been his mission to develop were now unfolded more brilliantly, though 
perhaps not more efficaciously, by his son ; the object of his dearest 
affections was become the expounder of his most cherished sentiments, and 
more than the supporter of his dearly-earned fame. His own fame was 
thus enshrined in his son's reputation, and no one could hereafter name 
either D'lsraeh without feeling that as the one worthily led so the other 
worthily succeeded. 

The death of Mr, D'Israeli took place in the eighty-second year of his 
age, at his country scat, Bradenham House, in Buckinghamshire, Janu- 
ary 19th^ 1848. He died a widower, having lost his wift\ to whom he 
had been united for more than furty years, in the spring of lbi7. One 
daughter and throe sons survive him : his eldest son, the member for 
Buckinghamshire, is too well known wherever the English language is 
spokeu for us to say one word respecting his claims to celubrity. 



-rxx i-i'VEX. 

OiJi Prvat B jeh xaexaziA. lis ^luant hntwr*, its garnet je«eli,iu 
csHiurfx xraH^ is Xiiiia» nf Tvc^ Brafae — from wbidi you looked 
4we: tilt iniine-aeJic — cttrumt is :W tsts of KUioct, are dinamed to 
■mm r7. r^ ?3k r«^ft=r rgenSifgTirmf .HieaToi grant they be always 
£«i^ r XT I3SC 'aPBirTa TTv^. CK vliic^ yoa gtided down to the 
|iieaaizu CjctiiC ic Scuet. 

1: I^m. IT ME- rvx cMiLtrr. I have novbere aeen richer river 
iiK?if?T uud uac Mtxtc :Ae Elbe, is its pro greafc through Saxoo Svit- 
■es-ikac : J a c-joiciK-iwit » id he made. — it is only less rich in asso- 
csaticc i^KT I2<e iLxui«. axis tmiuj les» beamifal than the Hudson. 

r=k2Ms^ ^•'^s^ «x>^ iazr. iziabh iu vaten, and &bu)ous giaots 
scnoe over froer ^bt:&. to hank. And gray, giant rocks pile up bj ita 
ahcirri^ buziirv^ cc TAes i£i£> the air. At their foot, a little debrii 
^"^f^ t^^ x^ vaur s coTCTvd viih forest trees ; and upon the imallt 
Wt«^ «a=2s^u ane $=rv;c'ia$ firfc. Betveen these isolated towers, you 
MCDezisoes $«t crlhrpces ct cnduating country, backed by a blue pile 
ol" m.-sirstaiss. At ccher GnvaL these towers are joined by a rocky 
wal'i — aot so n&wch. bu: w"ieT ihan the palisades, and far more fear* 
All to lo>c<k OQ — ror t«>j sa:' cjose under the threatening crag^ and the 
dark tnee-rnr^ at the t;^ shuu off the light* and you know that if 
one of the IcoK^Pcd were to fall, it would crush the little 
Fteanier voa ane upon. 

Now \ou Art free oi the tro«-ning terrors of the clifF, and go gliding 
do« u. straight upon a cra$>$^v knoU that stretches, or seenas to stretch, 
right athwart the stream. Nearer and nearer you gn, until you can 
see plainly the bottom, and the grass growing down into the water; 
and while you are looking upon the prettj pebbled bed of the river, 
the boat, like a frightened duck, shies away ^om the grassy shore, 
and quickens her speed, and shoots back to the shelter of the brown 
ramparts again. Directly under thenif not seen before, though you 
thought it was the old line of rampart, a white village nestles among 
vines and fruit-trees ; and you pass so near it, that you can see the 
old women at their knitting in the cottages, and hear the pleasant 
prattle of children. 

The prattle of the children dies away, and you glide into forest 
silence again. No sound now, save the plashing of your boat in the 
water, — or the faint crash of a fir-tree, felled by some mountain 
woodsman, on a disUnt height,— or the voice of some screaming eagle, 
circling round the pinnacled rocks. 

K6mng«tein, the virgin fortress, never yet taken in war, throws itt 
ahsdow black as ink across the stream ; and as you glide under its 
owprhansing cliffs— looking straight up, you can see the sentinel, on 
!c»t bastion, standing out against the sky — no bigger than 

'he hub 

^rjpgritt to the Saxon capital. 



Dresden Loo, is left behind — a l}eaiiiirul city. U reminds one who 
has been in the Scottish Highlands of E'ertfu The mountains of the 
Saxon Swilncrliind tiikc the place of the blue line ofCrranipians ; — ■ 
the valley of the Elbe, in surface and eultivatton, brings vividly to 
mind the view uf the Scoteti valley, from the hetj^lils above the castle 
of Kinfauns; — and jnst such a long, stnnc-urched bridge as crosses 
the " silvery Tay," may be seen spanning l!ie river ut Dresden. 

It made me very sad to leave Dresden, It has just that sort of 
quiet benuty that makes one love to linger, — and made nie love to 
linger, though Cameron and our Uulian eonipanionj // MeirantVy who 
had joined us in place of Lc Comte, were both urging on toward the 
Northern caprtaU. 

So we left the Elhe^ i^nd for a long montli saw no more of it. 

\Vc came in sight of it again at Mngdebourg — -where, if the old 
legends are true, (and I diire ^ay there is more truth In ttiem timn 
people think, if iliey would but get at the bottom of the matter^ there 
liveil in the river a whtmsrcal water-sprite. She was pretty — for she 
af>peared under likeness of a mischievous girl,— and used to come up 
into the vilhige to dance with the inhabitants, at all the fetes ; — and 
bhe wore a ttiiow-wlnte dress and blue turban, and had a prellier foot 
and more longuishing eye, than any maid of Magdebourg. 

The result was — she won the heart of a youngster of the town, who 
lullowed her away from the dunce to the river's brink, and plunged in 
with her. The villagers looked lo see them nppear again ; but all 
they flaw, was a gout of blood floating in a little eddy upon the top of 
the water. 

They say it appears every year, on the same day and hour;* — we 
were, unfortunately, a moiitli loo lale ; nnd I saw nothing in the river 
but a parcel of clumsy barges — a stout washerwoman or two, and a 
very dirly steamer, on board which I was going down to Hamburg. 

Another old story runs thus: — 

i\ young man, ar«d bcnutiful maiden of Mfigdebourg, were long time 
betroihed. At length, when the nuptials approached, he who should 
have been the bridegroom, was missing. Search was made every- 
-where, iind he was not to be found. 

A famous magician was consulted, nnd informed the bereaved 
friends^ that the missing bridegruoni had been drawn under the river 
by the Undine of the Elbe. 

The Undine of the Elbe would not give him up, except the bride 
should take his pluce. To this, the bride, like an exemplary woman* 
consenled, — but her parents did not. 

The friends mourned nioreatid more, and called tj]>on the magician 
to reveal the lost man again to their view. So he brought them to 
the biink of the river — our slenmer was l_)ing near the spot — and ut- 
tered his spells, and the body of the lost one floated to the top, with 
a deep red gash in the left brca&t. 

It seems theie were stupid, in*juiring people in those days, who 
said the magician had murdered the poorsoutof a lover, nnd used his 
magic to cover his rascality ; but fortunately such ridicidous explan- 
jilions of the weird power of the Undine, were not at all creditetl. 

• TaditHtn Ora/e de Maffdettouri;. ,\/j\f. (irimm. This, and the foilowing 
leic^nti trill remind ihu reailer uf Carleloii's huUud ot' &ur Turluugh, ur uhv Cluircb 
Yard Bride : and also of Soolt's GleriBnlat. 



I shuulii ihink the Unditic had now and tlien a dance upon ihe 
bottom of the river; — for the Elbe U the muddiest stream, all tW 
way from Magdebourg to Hamburg, that 1 ever sailed upon. 

I fihould say, it' 1 have not already said iu much, that half tlie mI- 
vantage of European travel, consists not so much in observation of 
customs of particular cities or provinces, as in contrast and comptn* 
son of different habits, — characteristics of different countries, as re* 
presented in your fellow-royoi/e'Kr*, on all the great routes of travel. 

You may see Cockney hubit in London, and Parisian habit at Paris, 
and Danish habit at Coi>enhagcn, and Prussian habit at Stettin^sod 
Italiuii hubit at Livournc ; — but you shall see them alt, and more, con- 
trasted on the deck of tlic little steamer that ^oes down the lower 
Elbe to tiaaiburg. And it is this cosmopoliton sort of observationi 
by which you arc enabled to detect whose habit is more distinctive 
in character, — whose hubit most easily blends with general or locsl 
habit, that will give one an opportunity for study of both individusi 
and national peculiarity — not easily found elsewhere. 

The Englishman in his stiff* cravat, you will find in all that regirdi 
dress, mamier, com]>anionship, aud topic of couvcrsattoo, tlie most 
distinctive in habit of all. 

Me cannot wear the German blouse, or the French sack; he cto- 
nut assume the easy manner of the Parisian, nor the significant car- 
riage of the Italian. In choosing his companions, he avoids the 
English, because they are countrymen, and every one else, becauM 
Ihey are not English. The consequence is, if he does not cross ihe 
channel with a companion, or find one at Paris, he is very apt logvi 
through the country without one. 

Whatever may bo his conversation, its foci are British topics. If 
he discusses the hotel, he cannot forbear alluding to the ** Dell" at 
Gloucester, or the "Angel" at Liverpool ; if of war, it is of Marlborough 
and Wellesley. He seems hardly capable of entertaining an enlarged 
idea, which has not some connection with England; and he would 
very likely think it most extraordinary that a clever man could suc^ 
tain any prolonged conversation without a similar connection. 

The Frenchman^ bustling and gracious, is distinctive in whatever 
regards his language or food, and also in some measure, in topic. 

He would be astonished to tind u man in Kamscliulka who did not 
speak French; and if a chattering Undine had risen above the sur- 
face of the Elbe, our little French traveller would not have been hall 
us much surprised at the phenomenon of her rising, as to hear licr 
talking German. 

He is never satisfied with his dinner; he can neither eat Engtisti 
beef, nor German pics, nor Italian oil. *'Mon Dieu ! quelle mauvaiK 
cuisine t" — is the bles^ing he asks at every meal; and " Mon Dieu! 
c'cftt 6ni. J'en suis bien aise," — arc llie thanks he returns. 

His poliUMc will induce him to tbllow whatever topic of conversft* 
lion may be suggested ; but this failing, his inexhaustible resuurccSi 
as you meet him on travel, arc l^ Femmea and la Fninot^ 

The Russian, if he has only been in a civilized country long enoogli 
to shake off* a little of his savage manner, is tar less distinctive tliun 
either. lie cures little how ho dresses, what he eats, or in what lan- 
guage he talks. In Uonie you would take him for an Italian, in the 
diligence fur a Frtnchroun, ut sea for an Englishman, and in trading 
only, for n Ftussian. 



lie German, setting aside Iiis beard and liis pipe (which lost is not 
Ely set aside) is also little distinctive in conversational or personal 
it. You will detect him easiest at table, and by his curious ques- 

[he Italian learns easily and quickly to play the cosmopolite in 
n, speech, action, and in conversation, too — so long as there is no 
ition of art. Touch only tliis source of his passiooiand he reveals 
\ twinkling his southern birth. 

rbe American — and here I hesitate long, knowing that my observ- 
kn will be submitted to the test of a more rigorous examination-^ 
In disposition least wedded to distinctiveness of all. In lack of 
ilude be betrays himself. His travel being hasty> and not often 
i£A(ed, be has not that cognizance of general form which the Rus- 
B and Italian gain by their frequent juurneyings. 
)for in point of language will he have the adaptiveness of the Rus- 
It both from lack of familiarity with conversational idiom, and lack 
that facility in acquisition which seems to belong peculiarly to the 
ders of the Sclavonic tongue. 

Igain, in the way of adaptation to European life, there is somc- 
ag harder yet for the American to gain: it is the cool, Imlf-dis- 
ty world-like courtesy, which belongs to a people among whom 
k obtains, and which is the very opposite to the free, open, dare- 
il, inconsiderate manner that the Westerner brings over the ocean 
b him. 

dor is tlie American, in general, so close an observer of personal 
»it as the European. Those things naturally attract his attention, 
Hrhich he is most unused ; he can tell yuu of the dress of royalty, 
ihc papal robes, and of the modes at an imperial ball ; but of the 
ry-day dress and manner of gentlemen, and their afler-dinncr 
lit and topics, he may perhaps know very little. 
Still, in disposition he is adaptive : what he detects he adopts. He 
lOt obstinate in topic or dress like the Englishman, nor wedded to 
H»eech or his dinner, like the Frenchman. He slips easily into 
fllge. In England he dines at six, on roast beef and ale. At 
ris, he takeb his ca/c^ and fricandeaut and vin orUinaire, and thinks 
liing can be Bner. At Rome he eats maccaroni cd burro j and sets 
rn in his note-book how to cook it. At Barcelona he chooses ran- 
^ptter, and wonders he ever loved it fresh ; and on the Rhine he 
Ba bit of the boiled meat, a bit of the stew, a bit of the tart, a 
K the roost, a bit of the salad, with a bottle of Hocheimer, and 
Isemory of all former dinners is utterly eclipsed. 
m Vienna he will wear a heard, in I'Vaucc a moustache, in Spain 
lloak, and in England a white cruvat. And if he but stay long 
9Ugh to cure a certain native extravfigancc of manner, to observe 
kroughly every-day habit, and to iubtruct himself in the idioms of 
^ch, he is the most thorough Worlds-man of any. 
It has occurred to me, while setting down these observations, that 
nr faithfulness would be sustained by an attentive examination of 
t literary habit of the several nations of which I have spoken. 
UU, Russia, careless of her own literature, accepts that of the world, 
igland, tenacious of British topic, is cautious of alliance with what 
ir is foreign. 
ki i have no space to pursue the parallel further. The curious 


reader can do it at his leisure, while I go back to our Hoaling 

on the Elbe. 

A day and a night we were Boating down the river. The bankj 
were low and sedgy, — not worth a look. A chattering little Frendk- 
man detailed to us his adventures in lEussiu. A clumsj* Engliftbaial 
was discoursing with a Norwegian merchant upon trade. , 

It was the sixteenth day of June, and the nir as hot as hottcsCJ 
summer. Night came in with a glorious sunset. For every (hinf < 
that we could see of the low country westward was goId-^ellow; the 
long sedge-leaves waved glittering, ns iT they had been dipped in 
gulden li^lit, and fields following lietds beyond them. And eastvinl, 
save where the black shadow of our boat, and its clouds of tmoktA 
stretched a slanted mile over the Hat banks, the colour of grast, and 
shrub, and everything visible^ was golden. — golden grain-fields^ aod 
fields far beyond them, — golden and golden still, — till the colour 
blended in the pale violet of the east — far on toward northern Poland; 
the pale violet, clear of clouds, rolled up over our heads into a purple 
dome. By and bye, the dome was studded with stars; the awning 
of our boat was furled, and we lay about the deck, looking out upM 
the dim^ shadowy shore, and to the west, where the red light W 

Morning came in thick fog; but the shores, when we could ier 
them, were better cultivated, and farm-houses made their appearance- 
Presently Dutch stacks oi' chimneys threw their long shadows over 
the water; and, with Peter Parley's old story-book in my roind, I «» 
the 6rfit storks' nests. The long-legged birds were lazing about tlir 
housu-tops in the sun, or picking the seeds from the sedgy grass ii 
the metidow. 

The Frenchman had talked himself quiet. Two or three Dutch-] 
men were whithng eittntly and earnestly at their pipes, in the bow 
the boat, luoking-out for ilie belfries of Hamburg. 1 o reh'eve tb*-] 
tedium, 1 thought I could do no better myself. So 1 pulled out my 
pipe that had borne nie company nil through France and Italy and 
begged a little tobacco and a light; — it was my first pipe with tite 

Cameron would not go with me to Dremen ; so 1 lei\ him at Ham- 
burg— at dinner, at the l^ible of the Kronprinzen Charles, on the 
sunny side of the Jungfernstieg. 

I could have stayed nt Hamburg myself. It is a queer old 
city, lying just where the Elbe, coming down from the mountains of 
Bohemia, through the wild gaps of Saxony and everlasting plains of 
Prussia, pours its muddy waters into a long arm of the Mer du Nord. 

The new city, built over the ruins of the fire, is elegant, and niniost 
Paris-like; and out of it one wanders, before he is aware, into the 
narrow iilleys of the old Dutch gables. And blackened cross-beams 
and overlapping roofs, nnd diamond panes^ and scores of smart Dutch 
caps, are looking down on him as he wanders entranced. It is the 
strangest contrast of cities that can be seen in Europe. One hour, 
you are in a world that bus un old age of centuries ;—pavemcntS| 
sideways, houses, every thing old, and the smoke curling iit nn old-< 
fashioned way out of monstrous chinmey-stacks, into the murky bky: 

five minutes* walk will bring you from the mirl8tof this tntoa region] 

where all is bhockingly new : — Parisian shops, with Parisian plate-glass 




windows —Paristtin Bhopkeepers, with Parisian gold in the till, 
he contrast was tormenting. Helore the smooth-cut shops that are 
KDged around the busin uf tim AUler, 1 could not persuade niysell' 
bat 1 was in the quaint old Hunsc town of Jew brokers, and storks' 
ests, that I had come to see; or when I wandered upon tltc quays 
hat are lined up and down with such true Dutch-looking houses, it 
eemed to me that I was out of all reach of the splendid hotel of the 
Irowu Prince, and the prim [>orter who sports his livery at the door. 
lie change was as quick and unwelcome us that from pleasant dreams 
D the realities ot* morning. 

Quaint costumes may be seen all over Hamburg : — chiefest among 
bem, are the short, red skirts of the flower-girls, and the broad- 
rrmmed hats, with no crowns at all, set jauntily on one side a bright, 
mooti) niesli of dark brown hair, from which braided tails go down 
air to their feet behind. They — tlie girls — wear a basket hung co- 
tiettishly un one arm, and with the other will offer you roses, from 
he gardens that look down on the Alstcr, with un air iliat is bo sure 
r success, one is ashamed to disappoint it. 

Strange and soIenm-looUint; mourners in black, with white ruffles 
ind short swords, follow cotfitts through the streets; and at times, 
rhen the dead man has been renowned, one of them with a long 
ruDipet robed in black, is perched in the belfry of St. Michaers, — the 
tighest of Hamburg, — to blow a dirge. .Shrilly it peals over the 
leaked gables, and mingles with the mists that rise over the meadows 
»f Heligoland. The drosky-men stop, to lot the prim mourners go 
^y*;— -the Howcr-girls draw back into the shadows of the street, and 
^ross themselves, and lor one little moment look thoughtful : — the 
Kirghers take off their hats as the black pall goes dismally on. The 
lirge dies in the tower; and for twelve hours the body rests in the 
lepulchraJ chapel, with a light burning at the head, and another at 
the feet. 

There would be feasting for a commercial eye in the old Ilanse 
liouses of Hamburg trade. There are piles of folios marked by cen- 
turies, instead of years — correspondences in which grandsons have 
grown old, and bequeathed letters to grandchildren. As likely as not, 
the same smoke-browned office is tenanted by the same respectable- 
looking groups of desks, and long-legged stools that adorned it, wl)en 
Frederic was storming the South kingdoms — and the stime tall Dutch 
clock may be ticking in the corner, that has ticked off' three or four 
generations past, and that is now busy with the 6fth, — ticking and 
licking on. 

I dare say that the snuff-taking book-keepers wear the same wigs, 
lUt their grandfathers wore; and as for the snuff-boxes, and the spec- 
tacles, there is not a doubt but they have come down with the ledgers 
ind the day-books, from an age that is utterly gone. 

1 was fortunate enough to have made a Dresden counsellor my 
friend, ujwn the little boat that came down from Magdcbourg; and 
tlie counsellor look ice with me at the cafe on the Jungferostieg, and 
chaiied with me at tid>Ic ; and after dinner, kindly took me to sec ati 
old client of his, of wljom he purchased a monkey, and two stuffed 
birds. Whether the old lady, his client, thought me charmed by her 
treasures^ I do not know; though I stared prodigiously at her and her 
counsellor; and she slipped her card coyly in my hand at going out 


and has expected me, I doubt not, before Uiis, to buy one of her lonf- 
tailed imps, at the saucy price of ten louis-d'or. 

But my decision was nmde ; my bill paid; the tlrosky at the door, 
I promised to meet Cameron at the Oudc Doclen at Amsterdam, nod 
drove off I'ur the steamer for Ilarbourg. 

I never quite forgave myself for leaving Cameron to quarrel out il» 
terms with the vfil^t-<ff-placf at the Crown Prince ; for which I mu« 
be owing him stil) one shilhng and sixpence; for I never sav htoi 
aAerwurd, and long before this, he must be tramping over tlie muin 
of Lanarkshire in the blue and white shooting-jacket we bought on tlM 
quay at Berlin. " 

It was a ^te-<lay at Flamburg; and the steanier that went over to 
Harbourg was crowded with women in white. I was tjuite at a Ion 
among them, in my sober travelling trim, and I twisted the brim of 
my Roman hat over and over agin, to give it an air of gentility, but it 
would not do ; and the only acquaintance I could make, wad a dirt^- 
looking, sandy-haired small man^ in a greasy coat, who asked me in 
broken English, if 1 was going to Bremen. As I could uot under- 
stand one word of the jargon nf the others about mc, I tJiought it best 
to secure the acquaintance of even so unfavourable a specimen. It 
proved that he was going to Bremen too, and he advised me to go 
with him in a diligence that set off immediately on our arriral at 
Harbourg. As it was some time before the mail carriage would leave* 
1 agreed to his proposal. 

It was near night when we set ofF^ and never did I pass over duller 
country, in duller coach, and duller company. Nothing but wester 
on either side, half covered with heather; ami when cultivated at ill 
producing only a light crop of rye, which here and there flaunted iti 
yellow heads over miles of country. The road, too, was execrablr 
paved with round stones, — the coach, a rattling, crazy, half-made and 
half-decayed diligence. A sboemaker'b boy and my companion of tbe 
bout, who proved a Bremen Jew, were with me on the back seat, anJ 
two Jittle windows were at each side, scarce bigger than my baiiij. 
Thret: tobacco-chewing Dutch sailors were on the middle seat, who 
had been at Bordeaux, and Jamaica, and the Cape; and in front ws« 
an elderly man and his wife — the most quiet of all, — for ihe woman 
slept^ and the man smoked. 

The little villages passed, were poor, but not dirty, and the inn* 
des]Mcable on every account but tliut of filth. The sailors at eoeb, 
took tlieir 8chnapi>9; and I, at intervals, a mug of beer or d 
of coffee. 

The night grew upon us in the midst of dismal landscapCt ^ni 
the sun went down over tbe distant rye-fields like a sun at sea. Nof" 
was it without its glory: — the old man who smoked, pulled out 
pipe, and ntid^ed his wife in the ribs ; and the sailors laid their headi 
together. The sun was the colour of blood, with a strip of blue cloud 
over the middle ; and the reflections of light were crimson — over the 
waving grain tops, and over the sky, and over the heather landscape. 

Two hours after it was dark, and we tried to sleep. The shoe- 
maker smelt strong of his bench, and the Jew of his old clothes, and 
the sailors, as sailors always smell, and the coach was shut up, and it 
was hard work to sleep; and I dare say it was but little after mid* 
night when I gave it up, and looked for the light of the next day 







Thk liour rtF inHlnight had just passed away, when four women 
and fi>ur n*en, singly am! stealtliily crept into St. Peter's church, 
ill llie Tower. When there, grouped together, one explained to 
the rest the proposed course of proceeding: all then bent their 
steps to the same point, and were presently engaged, some in lifting 
up a huge flag-stone from the pavement, others in spreading a very 
large cloth by the side of it ; and, two wooden shovels being pro- 
duced, two of the men proceeded instantly to throw out upon it the 
earth from a newly-made grave. This was the grave of Anne 
Boleyn, whose headless body had been rudely and hurriedly thrown 
into it, only twelve iiuurs previously. 

la all possible silence the men worked, and with no other light 
than was thrown on the soil by a small dark-Unteni,niost carefully 
held; but, although silently, they yet worked resolutely, and with 
great vigour and dispatch cast forth all that was found between them 
and the object of their search ; which was an old elm-chest, that had 
been used for keeping the soldiers* arrows in. In this were deposited 
the remains of their late ijucen ; and, the lid being removed, the 
body, which had on the scuflbld been most carefully folded in a 
thick win ding- sheet, was then lilted out, and laid on a large black 
cloak. The lid replaced, and the earth, willigrejit caution and speed, 
being again thrown it^ and the large Hafr-stone again laid down, the 
party hastened to the church door. A gentle signal from w^ithin 
having been answered by the opening of the door from without, and 
the assurance given that all was well, — ihat no one was stirring, or 
in sight, the whole party passed hurriedly away with their burden 
into a house near at hand. Very shortly after the men separately 
retired to their respective temporary lodgings, to ponder rather upon 
their plans for the ensuing day, than to reHect upon the dangers 
they hftd incurred in their proceedings. 

The four women, to whose care the body of the queen had been 
thus confided, were the four faithful, and attached, and chivalrous 
maids of honour, who had attended upon Anne In the Tower, and 
accompanied her to the scaffold- These, when her head was severed 
from tne body, took charge of both, suffering no one to touch them 
but themselves, and having wrapped them carefully in a covering 
they had provi<led, and placed them in the old cuest, which had 
been brought thither to receive them, they went with thoae who 
were appointed to bear away the body to the church, and did not 
leave it till they saw it completely enclosed in the grave which had 
been so hastily opened to admit it. 

One of these four was Mary Wyatt, and one of the four men was 
her brother, Sir Thomas Wyatt, who could not endure the thought 
that one whom he had unce bo funiUy loved, whom he had al- 
ways admired and esteemed, should be buried like a dog^ and 
thrust into the grave, as a thing dishonoured and despised; and, 
when a messenger brought him word, that Anne, but a moment 
before she knelt down on the block, whispered to his sister to im- 
plore her brother to bear off, if possible^ her remains from the Tower, 
and to give her tfie rites of Christian burial in a place she named, K« 


ts fidfl, if prBcticable, 

to himKlf 

a pricoof 
d, bad 
have been executed 
felt this ; and 

vith. and other c< 

»e from inr 
ras povertess. Yet, who 
tfaicaxeoed the lo&t of life 
hovtile Tower, well- 
id brave the vengeance of a 
mwmj tht body fif « queen, of whose person. 
be bad the custody > — And for whose uke 
nk la be eaeoantcred ? The poor queen cuuld give no 
aD is Jiigiate . Wyatt had no money, and 
bat tbat helped him which Has tie!n^<i 
m wo often Achieved success in '. 
bad man's love foi^woman to a^t^H-^ 


Thnir rhirilrir BMidmi, wbo braved without fear the frowni of 
tbeir king, and tbc mialtix^ ipeecbes of bis courtiers, to attend 
opoo tbcir mntm I aaali and maligned queen in her degradatic 
and dnCfcai^ wefe net likely to have dther puHllanimous lovi 
or brothers ; and the men happened to be in this case worthy of tl 
women. Tbey entered immediately and cordially into Wyalt's pi 
jmd t»eparale1y, and without an hour's delay, made their way to 
Tower, to make enquiries as to the health and welUdoin^ of tbi 
respective favourite*. When there, various reason!^ were found fori 
their staying during the night. The ladies themselves would all de«j 
part the next da v. and the assistance of such friends in their reoioi 
was more than desirable. 

Besides, other circumstances within the Tower m some measure 
favoured their projects, — the hurried preparation fur so many ex- 
ecutions within the walls during the last few days, — the arrival of\ 
BO many nobles and counsellnrj*, to sit in jtidgnient upon the jmsoners, 
\u\ the arrival that day within the Tower of the king's brother,, 

the Duke of Suffolk, the king's son, the Duke of Richmond, and 
other high officers of state, to witness Anne's execution, — and their i 
hurried departure, after all was over, with their numerous retinae, 
deranged the usual customary duties of the guard, and made them 
leas inquisitive than they would otherwise have been, as to tlie per- 
sons they admitted. 

Iti adilitinn to this, all the prisoners, who had caused all this ex- 
citement, had been disposed of, — all were executed, and, moreover, 
buried. Thrre wos no one remaining within the Tower cared for 
by any one ; and the extreme vigilance of the constable. Sir 
llliam Kingston, so long as he liad the prisoners in charge, and, 
il he had in every re!f(u-ct obeyed the king's stern decrees ID 
:t of them all, m.ide him, perhaps, now less acvere in his regiHi 
ns towarttft tlic frw unhappy Udien. their frimda, who wooU 
more wttliin the Tower waUs^ 



The j>cculiarly mournful situation of theee Indies, the melancholy 
and -nfflicting scenes they had «o lately witnessed, their heroic con- 
duct, and their deep tli^lress, made it impossible to deny to therathe 
sympathy and visit of a few friends. Mary Wyatt, in her deep sor- 
row^ might well he supposed to need a brottier's consolation, and 
even, in her forlorn state, a brother's protection. This gave him, 
immediately subsecjuent to the execution, an amply sufficient reason 
for visiting his sister in the Tower ; and he soon arranged with 
Blary all the details of his enterprise; and Mary soon secured the 
hearty co-operation of the other ladies, who were but too well pleased 
to lend tht'ir aid to fulfil the last expreijsed wish of their dying 

A quiet entrance into the church was all that Sir Thomas then 
seemed to need for the success of his phins. He strolled into the 
church, conversed unreservedly, and with as much composure as he 
could assume, with the sexton, who pointed out to him the stones 
which covered the bodies respectively of Queen Anne, and her bro- 
ther, Lord Rochtord. The man, it ajipeared, from hia conversation, 
had greatly commiserated the fate of the unhappy queen, and was 
shocked at the heartless manner in which she had been thrust into her 
! grave, without any attendant priest or religious service. Sir Thomas 
Wyatt availed himself of this favourable prepossession, and by per- 
suasions of variou B kinds, some verbal;^ some, perhaps, more substan- 
tia], he obtained of the man permission to enter the church at mid- 
night, and with the ladies who had been the queen's attendants, to 
complete her funeral obsequies secretly and quietly, as they best 

Of course the sexton never knew, nor did the constable of the 
Tower ever dream, of the masterly manoeuvre that had been prac- 
tised against them. So far, however, had Sir Thomas succeeded, 
that he had rescued the body from its grave, and had placed it in 
hands that would, to thetr utmost, protect it. The next step was to 
remove it beyond the Tower walls, 

It was natural enough, that from the excitement and distress of 
the preceding day, from the terror and grief they had been exposed 
to in the actual witnessing on the scalluld the beheading of their 
lovely queen, that the ladies should be more or less ill, and that one 
at least should need to be carried to her litter, from illness and sheer 

When the hour arrived for their departure, they respectively sent 
their adieus and their thanks to Sir William and Lady Kingston, and 
a litter being at the door, three of the ladies, in the deepest mourn- 
ing, entered it ; and presently Sir Thomas Wyatt, and another gen- 
tleman appeared, carrying in their arms a lady, who seemed but 
little able to support herself She also was in mourning, anti closely 
covered up. This was the body of Anne. Having safely deposited 
her with the others, the whole drove away, followed by the other 
maid of honour, disguised as one of the attendants. Quietly and 
together the gentlemen walked through the Tower gates, beyond 
which their horses awaited them ; mounting these, they proceeded 
westward, and, were .soon lost sight of in the crooked and narrow 
street which led directly from the Tower to the City. 

Twelve days had passed away, when Sir Thomas Wyatt rode into 
the court of Blickling Hall, in the county of Norfolk, accom\»w\\«A 

VOL. sxiii. % 




by hi* tiflCer Mary. It wu in this hall that be had parsed 
the days of his early life, a companion and a playfellov 
daughter of his fathcr'i friend, Sir Thomas Boleyn ; hef« 
boy, he had gambolled, aitd walked, and gardened, an 
the sweet littTc girl, Anne Boleyn. Here, as children^ 
joyed together many of the hours of their happier y 
father and her father being for a time coadjutor govemon 
wich Castle, the families frequently visited each other. Ni 
intimacy cease with the removal of the Wyatts to AlHngtfl 
in Kent, since the Boleyns moved also into that county, t 
not altogether exclusively, but very frequently, Ilever CmI 

There Wyatt was a frequent visitor, and with his increas 
increased his attachment to the fair Anne, the playmate of] 
hood. But, it was at Blickling Hall that all his earlier rec 
of the Lady Anne were associated ; and, as he rode throu 
way on that 1st of June, a thousand thnughta riiahed 
mind, — a thousand recollections urged themselves on 
uf her whom he had once fondly hoped to make his bride 
he had since seen made a queen, — and whose headless bod 
so lately rescued from an ignominious grave. 

The Earl of Wiltshire, her father, had two days before ■ 
Blickling to receive his expected guests. None else were 1 
themselves. It was a time of mourning and sorrow for all 
of fear, and not of feasting. Their danger was still great ; 
tection was still possible. One indiscreet slept one unguan 
might still betray them, and bring down the fierceat wrfttli 
most certain death upon them all. _ 

The motives for the Earl of Wiltshire's visit to Bliofl 
natural enough. His daughter had fallen under the kii^^ 
sure, and hnd lost her head in consequence, and every 
means had been taken by the king to defame her charade 
hold her up as an object for the nation's scorn and abhorrei 
father necessarily shared in the disgrace of the daughter ; an 
moment his presence at court, and in mourning, would i 
been borne by the king, who was just then engaged in inb 
his new wife to the citizens of London, and holding high i 
in celebration of his new marriage. ^ 

Retirement to his country-seat, if only for a seasol 
only proper in the earl's case, an<l the most reasonable ■ 
dent thing he could well do. And. as for Alary Wyatt, 
undergone so much of late for Anne's sake, had suffered i 
from anxiety and distress, had witnessed so much, had 
so much, that, to retire altogether from the scene uf i 
disasters would seem equally advisable to her; and the atlM 
stedfast friend of the earl's daughter could not have TfUM 
time to a more suitable home than the earl's halls. 9 

It was sufficient for Sir Thomas Wyatt himself that be 
panied his sister. The presence, therefore, of the three toe 
Blickling Hall, excited no curiosity as to their motives, call 
no observations; no one obtruded upon their grief; nq^ 
turbed their quiet; no one intruded on their privacy; tM 
earl had purposed to reside here again for a few montbjP 
Hall had been of late rather deserted and neglected, various p 
of furniture and goods hud been forwarded from his houi 



use here; some packages of this kind, in old boxes and 

rrived the same day that Sir Thomas Wyatt arrived, and 

ty for hjs better accommodation^ as they were removed at 

Die rooms occupied by him and his sister. 

:, Sir Thomas had scarcely had the covered cart that brought 

ds out of his sight since the day it left London. He 

slowly, for his sister's sake, and invariably rested for the 

erever the cart rested. Still he knew nothing, seemed to 

now nothing of either the cart or the two men who went 

He neither spoke to them, nor did they make the slightest 

on to hira. Occasionally they passed by, or were over- 

" two well-mounted horsemen, who seemed to be travelling 

road with him^ and to have no greater motive for haste than 

ThetiC did occasionally, when the accommodation was suf. 

Ipest for the night at the same inn ; but, whenever they did 

[took no notice of each other. Not a word passed between 

They either were, or seemed, at least to others, to be total 

B to each other ; and thus they journeyed, till they all 

within an hour of each other at the city of Norwich. Here, 

r, the strangers stopped. But not so did Wyatt, nor the 

Ihese proceeded onward to Horeham ; and here Sir Thomas 

I breathe more freely. He had so far succeeded in fulfilling 

wg wish, whose memory he still so fondly cherished, — he 

■ far brought her mortal remains. This night passed, and 

rand a short day's travel over, he would place all that he 

t the daughter in her father's halls. Whatever might be 

k to himself, he had fulfilled what he considered his duty to 

tt not a word on the subject throughout the whole journey 

led between him and his sister. Walls have ears, and so have 

as many have found to their cost; and Wyatt had lived 

at court not to know when it was both prudent and safe 

his tongue at rest, on that very subject especially which 

^e was the most occupying his thoughts. That night, 

*-f passed quietly away, and before the evening of the follow- 

t^ey saw the cart enter the magnificently-timbered park of 

K Hall. Then Wyatt rode on at once to the house; had a 

lerview with the earl ; and the packages were all that night 

way, where no curious eye would be prying into them, and 

jioDs be asked about them. 

far his project had succeeded to his utmost desire. Once 

hne Boleyn rested in the halls of her birth. The fickle 

ho had by his threats driven away the devoted Percy from 

o had deprived her of the happiness she might have en- 

~i that most devoted and atUiched admirer, and of the rank 

he would have raised her as Duchess of Northumberland, 

xl sought to seduce and to ruin her, — who then raised her 

rone, — and finally sent her to the scaffold, — then to be 

rather than buried, to be hid rather than entombed, little 

P that, at that moment, she was again in the hnll of her 

^in that hull from which he had so artfully beguiled her, 

which be had so long, by titles and appointments, estranged 

now once more she reposes, after all the trials and tt-mpta- 
^hich he had exposed her, — aUer all the indignities and 

a -i 


insults to which he had subjected her, — after all the calumnies intl 
falsehoodB he had heaped u)»on her. Oht could she have known when 
she ascended the scafiuld, that within one month from that day ill 
that remained on earth of her would be found in that chamber oace 
called her own at Blickling Hall, how much firmer would have been 
her step, and how much more cheerful her spirit I She had appre- 
hende<l that her remains would be indignantly treated, — that the 
rites of sepulture would be withheld from her, and that her grave 
would be where no meniorinL would be found of her; and, therefore, 
her appeal to Wyatt, to save her. if possible, from the degradation 
that awaited her, — to remove her, if possible, to the tomb of her 
fathers. Her desire had now, however, a prospect of fulfilment,— a 
grave had been opened in Salle church, which was the ancient burial- 
place of her father's family; and thither, on the second night after 
Wyati's arrival, the earl proceede<i, accompanieil by his pue*l«. 
ostensibly for the purpose of having midni^;ht masses said for the 
repose of his daughter's soul; hiailauRhler's remains, however, weal 
with him. They had, under Mary Wyail's care, immediately upon 
their removal from the Tower to her house, been most carefully 
embalmed, and wnip|>ed in cere-cloth. In that state, and covered 
with a black velvet pall, she was placed in one of her lather's car- 
riages, into which Wyatt and his sister entered ; the earl preceding 
them in another carriage alone. 

What that earl's thoughts and reflections were during the two 
hours he was slowly and unobscrvedly travelling, by Aylaham twd 
Cawston, in Salle, it would not be difficult to divine, lie had within 
the month lojit a <laug]iter and a son by the hand of the executioner, 
— that son hiji only son, — that daughter the queen of England. Her 
name, besiilcs, had been branded with infamy ; and, the prime 
mover of all this misery to him, — the most active agent to work him 
all this ill, — to bring his son and his daughter to the block, — was his 
own son's wife, the infamous Lady Rochford. There ended all bit 
dreams of ambition, — all bis influence and prosperity. His children 
beheaded, — his nametlishonoured, — himself shunned. He wo* now 
alone, it might be said, in the world. One daughter, indeed, yet re- 
mained to him, his daugliter Mary; but she had two years before 
incurred the anger of her father by marrying Sir W. Stafford; and 
he was, in consequence, utterly estranged from her. 

The bitter reflections of those two hours, perhaps the better pre- 
pared the earl for the solemn ceremonies that awaited his coming at 
Salle church. He alighted there at midnight. A few faithful ser- 
vants br>re the man;{led remains of his daughter to the side of her 
tomb ; but the perilous duty all there were engaged in would not 
allow uf numerous tapers, — of a chnpelle nrdcnfe^-oC a whole choir 
of priests, — or of grand ceremonials. One priest alone was there, 
and the few candles that were lighted did no more than just show 
the gloom in whicli they were shrouded. 

But, all that could be done for the murdered queen was done,—* 
maw was said for the repose of her soul, — De pro/uHtlu was chanted 
by those present, — her remains were carefully lowered into the 
grave, where they now rest, and a black-marble slab, without either 
inscription or initials, alone marked the spot which contains all that 
was mortal of Anne Holeyn— once queen of England. 





Regioni iiniuenft;, Titi»earohali!e, unknown, 

Ilatik in thf nplenclmir of the stilur zone. Mowtoomeby, 


The City. — Ub Appearance and Popiilaliuu.— State of Society. — The grchi Numlief 
nf PadriiS, or Friesta. — Cliamis. — The C'hurclie*. — Puhlic Rtiiltlin)|(«. — Military 
Force— ticMlolpInis, a oeleHrated Slave. — Frofeatiuiifll Hefifgara. — The Women. 
Tile Ktifinetteof UresH — The I^aiiguage. — Festivals (if Paru. — Festa de Naxare. 

A VEHV strange-Iottking city is Para, with its low white-washed 
dwellings covered with earthenware tiles; its lofty commercial 
buildings, with little balconies jutting out towards the street; its 
dark-walled churches, with their towering spires ; its gardens, teem- 
ing with all the beauty and variety of tropical vegetation, and its 
swarthy inhabitants, difCering as much in their coniplexiuns us the 
birds of the forest vary in the tints oi' their plumage. 

As no regnliar census has ever been taken in the city, it is impoa- 
eible to state with accuracy the amount oTthe population ; the num- 
ber, however, cannot be less than fifteen thousand. That of the 
whole province has been supposed to be abimt two hundred and 
fifty thousand, including the blaek;^ and Indi.ins, who compose by 
far the greater part of this number. 

Owing to the general ignorance and superstition of the lower 
classes, the lack of schools and inslitulions of learning, the restric- 
tion of the press, and almost toljd absence of bouks, there is no 
societif^ in the E[iglii*h or American acceptation of the teriir Per- 
haps a better reason for ttiia than any before-mentioned is the wani 
of refinement among the females, and the great disrespect which is 
here exercised towards the sacred institution of marriage. There is 
no better criterion, not only of the state of society, but of the general 
prosperity and commercial importance of a country, than tlie intelb- 
gence, the influence, and the power, that ** lovely woman" brings to 
bear upon the destinies of man. We need only glance at 
the condition of England and America, in proof of this assertion ; 
nor need we look further than Brazil to illustrate the contrary, — 
that where woman is de;^raded the people arc corrupt, enervated, 
and superstitious, — the government weak, inautHcient, and jiower- 
lesa. This is particularly the case at Para, which is decidedly the 
must independent of the whole nineteen provinces into which the 
vast empire of Brazil is divided. 

The executive of the province is termed a " preaidente," and re- 
ceives his appointment from the emperor. He is allowed three as- 
sistants, who are called vice-presidents. The chief of the police 
is considered next in rank to the preaidente, and he also receives 
his appointment directly from Rio Janeiro. 

In the selection of these distinguished officials no regard whatever 
is paid to colour. The president himself, at the time of our depar- 
ture, was a woolly-headed mulatto, and, not only that, but he was 
reputed to be the son of a padre . and, as the pacirc* «tc ^T<J^vWv^A^ 



from matrimony by the statutes, his genealogy certainl 

be of the moji honourable character. The chief of the pa 

bad A diirk complexion, hardly more enviable than that of 

sident. These were the men selected to represent the di^ 

province — worthjf representatives, truly ! ^| 

All are obliged to do military duty at Para ; none are e 

from this service but padres and slaves ; and, as the dat 

onerous, it becomes quite desirable to assume the office 

ConsetjuentlVf it is not so much to be wondered at that th 

of these " pious and highly-favoured individuals " in th^ 

amounts to several hundreds. 1 

" But how, under heavens, do so many of them cam 

hood }" methinks I hear the reader exclaim. This, doubt 

be difficult indeed, in such a heathen community, bv thi 

the principles of religion and virtue alone. To tell th< 

do not earn their living by the practice, but by the 

their profession. Superstition aids them in the impositii 

they ensnare the unsuspecting natives, and wring frona 

earnings of their industry and labour. 

The most profitable branch of their profession is that 
crating small stones, shells, and other articles of trifling s 
then vending them to the natives at enormous sums, as 
charms against certain diseases or evil spirits. We not 
every black or Indian we encountered in the streets, had 
less of these baubles strung about their necks. £ven C 
invaluable cook at Nuzare, had at least a dozen of them, j 
she had paid as many dollars, and sincerely believed in thi 
of warding off the different evils for which tUey were scr 
tended. Whenever one of these *' holy trifles '* is found in tl 
it is carried immediately by the finder to one of the churi 
there suspended on a certain door, where the original oM 
in his search, recover it again. fl 

The churches are of immense size, and constructed of SQ 
They are destitute of pews, have several richly carved a! 
are profusely ornamented with pictures, and gorgeouslj 
images of the saints. The cathedral is probably the larg< 
of the kind in the empire. It has two steeples, well supp 
bells, whose sonorous chiming may be heard at all hours ol 
Among other public buildings may be mentioned theCustoi 
which is a structure of extraordinary size and antique appe 
one department of it answers the purposes of a prison, and 
well tenanted by villainous-looking convicts. This bi 
great age, and was built, I believe, by the Jesuits, a»j 
monastery or abbey. It stands on the brink of the rii 
well situated for the transaction of commercial business, 
conversion into a Custom House. 

The president's palace is also a stupendous pile, but it 
but little architectural skill, or taste m iU construction, 
built more than a century ago, when Portugal was looking a 
forward to this province, as the seat of the national govMj 
the empire. I 

The ancient Jesuit College has been converted into 1 
siastical seminary. The old convents, which at one time w 
numerous^ are now reduced to two or three, uf the Francii 

and 1 


The edifice in which the assembly of deputies hold their sessions, 
was once a convent of the Carmelites. These deputies are chosen 
by the people, to attend to the public affairs of the province ; all of 
their acts, however, have to be referred to Rio Janeiro for con- 

On uccount of the revolutionary spirit of the people, a large mili- 
tary force of regular troops is distributed throughout the province. 
The number in the city alone cannot be less than eight hundred or 
a thousand. At all the tmportanl posts of the city, such as the 
palace* custom-house, and arsenal, guards are stationed, who may 
lie seen standing or walking about listlessly during the day, with 
huge musVets on their shoulders, or stretche<l out before the door- 
way itself, in a state of half intoxication, worldly indifference, or 
repose. On a certain evening, it is said, that as an inebriated Yankee 
or English sailor was perambulating the streets of the city, sere- 
nading the inhabitants as he reeled along, he was suddenly hailed 
by one of the custom-house guards, (as he was making a short tack 
to carry himsfelf pn&t that L'slablishmenl,) with "Quern vai la" (who 
goes there), to which que&tJon the customary reply is " Amigo" (a 
friend). Our hero, however, not understanding a single word of the 
Portuguese language, had no idea of the interrogatory that had been 
put to him by the guard, in fact, he was quite indignant that any 
one should have the impertinence to address him in such an au- 
thoritative manner, and, therefore, cried out in a stentorian voice, 
which waa audible at the distance of several hundred yards — " You 
^— screaming Portuguese sun of n gun, stop your confounded 

noise, or I '11 send you to " Perceiving that our friend was 

somewhat exhilarated, and not knowing but the reply he had made 
was to the effect that he did not understand the language, he was 
permitted to pass on without any further molestation. 

A military body never embraced a more motley collection of men 
than that of the national guard at Para. Such a ludicrous com- 
pilation of individuals, as is here assembled, is not to be witnessed 
in any country without the frontiers of Brazil. Here you may see 
men of all classes, all colours, and all sizes, indiscriminately mixed 
together into one grand living pot-pie. The most respectable com- 
pany that we noticed, was composed entirely of free blacks. They 
were all fine formed men, and the bright colours of their uniform, 
contrasted finely with the sable hue of their complexions. It can 
easily be imagined, that a company thus made up would have a 
much better appearance than another, composed of n heterogeneous 
assemblage of blacks, whites, Indians, and all the numerous inter- 
mediate shades which result from the different combinations of each. 
The pecuniary remuneration which the common soldiers receive for 
their services is extremely small, not amounting to more than five 
or ten cents per day. Thus we were informed by Joaquim, who 
was himself obliged to perform military duty one or two days during 
the week. The regular imperial troops stationed at Peru, are com- 
posed mostly of native Brazilians, but still they are a swarthy and 
ugly-faced set of fellows, and but little superior to the provincials 
in their general appearance. 

The Brazilians are noted for the kindness which they exercise 
towards their slaves, and this is particularly the case at Para. They 
are here treated with extraordinary clemency by their mastet*» ^vwA. 


242 VAU\ ; OR, 

but 1iu)e labour comparatively is required of thecn. Having per- 
formed the usual amount of work that is assigned thero, they irt 
permitted to work during the residue of the day for whomever the; 
please, the proceeds of which goes towards purchasing their free- 
dom. Even their masters remunerate them for whatever laboo 
they perform^ beyond that regularly allotted them. This decidedly, 
is one of the best traits of the Brazilian character. Instances ti 
singular generosity towards the slaves occur frequently at Para. A 
Scotch gentleman, well known for his liberality and many good 
qualities, loaned to a certain slave of an enterprizing turn of mind, 
an amount sufficient to purchase the freedom of himself and family. 
Godolphus (for this was the name of the slave,) was a noble fel- 
low, and as much esteemed as any one could be, occupying his low); 
condition. Having acquired his liberty, a new course of life oiTcmti 
before him- By dint of industry and perseverance, he finally be- 
came the leader of a large company of ^anhadores and began lo 
accuraulale money very rapidly. For a black, his reputatioD wu 
wonderful. Whenever a number of men were required to lands 
vessel, or to perform any operation which calletl for the exerci&e of 
physical jwwer, the applicants were always referred to Godol- 
phus, who furnished immediately whatever number of men might 
be desired. Pros])erity and happiness smiled upon him, and in less 
than two years he paid off the entire sum that his kind-hearted 
benefactor had loaned him. Godolphus became known and re> 
spcctetl by everybody ! His heart bounded with joy ! — for he wi» 
released from servile bondage for ever^he was a slave no more! 

The beggars of Para are so numerous that they may be said to con- 
stitute a distinct class of society by themselves. On account of 
their great numbers they are only allowed to make their professvynal 
visits on Saturday. On this day the streets literally swarm with 
them. 8ome have bandages round their heads; others have their 
arms suspended in slings ; while many are afflicted with blindness, 
and divers other maladies, which we will not take upon ourselves to 

The people for the most part are disposed to be charitable towards ■ 
these poor mendicants, and no one thinks of refusing them thrir | 
regular vinten. Should a person be so unwise as to do eo, instead 
of a blessing and a score of thanks, he would probably be saluted 
witli a shower of reproaches, accompanied with imprecations and 
epithets of a highly derogatory character. This being their policy, 
it is no wonder that their business, in a pecuniary point of view, is 
so attractive as to draw into its ranks such a long li^t of votariea. 
Besides the uniformity and blandness of the climate, although ex- 
ceedingly invigorating for consumptive invalids, seem to have on 
enervating eflect upon the character of the natives, indisposing them 
for exertion of any kind, and rendering them insensible to all the 
finer feelings of humanity. 

It now behoves us to say a word concerning the character and 
personal appearance of the women who inhabit this fair section of 
the globe. 

They are of many kinds — of different races — and of many varia- 
tions of complexions; but, with few exceptions, they all have fine 
forms — and are jovial and light-hearted in their dispositiuns. Their 
passions are strung, and their aflections ardent; and when jealousy 





invades their bosoms their resentment knows no bounds. It is a 
well eittablished fact, that the bliss of acute love, founded on passion, 
\& ot\eii as transient and deceitful as the awful stillness of the ele- 
ments which precedes the hurricane, and followed by consequences 
as deplorable and severe. Hate takes possession of the mind, and 
the heart itself is soon converted into an infirmary of wickedness. 
Revenge follows, and crime throws a dark pall over the scene ! 

The pasMons predominate in all tropical countries, and amonf^ the 
women ; this is particularly the case at Para. The blacks have all 
regular features and are in some instances quite good liK^kinf^— the 
mulattoes are quite comely — the confusas (a mixture of Indian and 
black) are very animated, having the features of the former and the 
curly hair of the latter — the Portuguese and native Braxilians are 
^nerally pretty ; but to our taste, the manielukes or half-bred 
Indian girls, with their dark eyes, luxuriant hair, and olive com- 
plexions, are dccitledly the most beautiful and interesting ! The 
women make use of no more clothing than is absolutely necessary ; 
and the children, of both sexes, may be seen running about the 
streets continually in a state of utter nudity. The men, on ordinary 
occasions, wear white pantaloons, and frock-coats, or blouses of the 
same material. But no person is considered in full dress, unless he 
is habited in black from head to foot. 

Whenever a person is invited to a select dinner-party, it is always 
expected that he should make his appearance in a sable coat of clotft ; 
but. immediately on his arrival, he is invited to take U off] and offered 
a light one of tine linen to substitute in its place. This custom is 
founded on correct principles, and always meets with the entire 
satisfaction of strangers — for it is indeed a hardship, to be obliged 
to wear a cloth coat at any time, in so warm a climate, especially 
at d'iuttcr, when one likes to have his motions as free and easy as 
fashion and the laws of etiquette will permit! The less restraint that 
is put upon a per.son in the mastication of a meal, the more cheerful 
and animated will be his conversation— the more pungent his wit, 
the more tiearty his jokes, and the more perfect and satisfactory his 
digestion ! 

The greater proportion of the white inhabitants of the city are 
Portuguese; and their language is the one that is principally, if not 
universally, spoken throughout the province. It is soft and musical, 
and is acquired by foreigners with extraordinary facility. The 
English and American residents are sufficient in number to form an 
excellent society by themselves, and they are all extensively engaged 
in commercial transactions with their respective countries. 

The festivals of Para arc numerous, and appear to be well suited 
to the romantic beauty of the country, and the superstitious charac- 
ter of the inhabitants. Almost every other day, is the anniversary 
of some distinguiblied »aint, ami is celebrateil with all the pomp and 
magnificence of the country. The bells are kept ringing throughout 
the day — a gorgeous procession moves through the narrow streets, 
and the evening is consecrated by dancing, fireworks, and illu- 

The most remarkable holyday season that U observed in the pro* 
vince is termed the '• Festa de Na/.are." This great festival takes 
place either in September or October, according to the state of the 
the light of that luminary being indispensable on this ucca- 


para; OB, 

gion. The usual period of iia continuance is about two weeks, 
during which time the stores in the city are closed, and busines* 
almost entirely suspentlecl. All take part in the festivities, both the 
old and the young, tlie rich and the poor; and for weeks previous 

Iireparations are being made, and nothing is talked of but the d^ 
ights and pleasures of the approaching season. The wealthy con* 
tribute large sums in cleaning and beautifying the grounds, and in 
erecting temporary habitations, for thcmselvea atid families to 
occupy during the period of the feast. 

The poor eitpend whatever they may have amassed by months of 
untiring labour, in purchasing gala dresses, and ornnments for the 
occasion. An intense excitement prevails among all clashes, such M 
those only who have been there can possibly realize. 

The origin of the feast was given me by a venerable old man io 
nearly the following words; — 

Many years ago, as a certain horseman was riding on the flowery 
plains of Portugal, he perceived a nimble deer, gracefully gliding 
over the grassy meadow, a long way off before him. In a moment, 
he " dashed the rowels in his steed," and was bounding over the 
plain in eager pursuit of his intended victim. Like an arrow frocD 
a bow, the ill-fated deer continued his rapid 6ight, but, notwith- 
standing all his efforts, every moment brought his pursuer nearer. The 
eyes of the horseman were so intensely fixed upon the animal llul 
be was whoUv regardless of all else than the possession of his prey/ 
and this single object 61letl and engrossed all his faculties. Danger 
was near, but being unconscious of it, he pressed recklessly on ; at ls$t 
the deer arrived at the brink of an unseen precipice,and plunged head- 
long into the abyss beneath. The horseman, vho was but a short 
distance behind, followed with lightning-like rapidity onward— 
when within a few feet of the verge, the rider was suddenly arouied 
to a sense oC the awfulness of his situation. It was a critical and s 
solemn moment! — all human aid was vain! This the rider knew, 
but still his courage did not forsake him, even in the presence of the 
impending catastrophe; raising hittarms imploringly towards heaveo. 
he inwardly murmured, *' Santa JMaria, salve me," (holy Mary, save 
me.) The prayer %vus heard ! — by her supernatural influence, the im- 
petus of the fiery charger was checked — and his rider was saved! From 
this wonderful interposition on the part of the Sainted Virgin, the 
festival of Nazare is said to have derived its origin, and however 
absurd the story may appear to the reader, yet it is positively be- 
lieved by many of the simple-minded natives of Para. 

The historical account of the origin of the festival, as given by i 
celebrated Portuguese author is far more satisfactory and credible 
than the foregoing. According to it, there lived many years ago, 
in the vicinity of Para, a certain mulatto, by the name of Placido, 
who was distinguished for his extensive piety and devotion. 
This solitary individual had in his possession a small and rudely 
carved image of the Virgin Mary, which he was accustomed to 
worship both morning and evening. This he kept in his little 
leaf-covered habitation, and guarded it with the greatest assiduity 
and care. On the death of Plactdo, the sacred image fell into the 
hands of an exceedingly zealous person called Antonio Angostinho, 
who, by his extensive influence, induced a body of religious entliu- 
I siaits to build a kind of hermitage for its accommodation. TUi 



hermiuge was situated within a short distance from the city, and 
l>eing easily accessible, it soon became a place of popular report by 
many of the citizens, who frequently repaired thither for holy pur- 
poses. Finally^ on the 3rd ot July. 171^3, it was solemnly decreed 
by the captain-^encra) of the province, that a regular festival, in 
honour of the Vir^n Mary should be held near this place every 
year. Thus was the Festa de Nazare established — and so well 
did it accord with the spirit and genius of the people that it has ever 
since been most scrupulously observed. 

The festivities on this occasion are commenced by a brilliant and 
extended procession, which forms in the city, and moves out late in 
the aflemoon, towards the Largo de Nazare. The procession is 
Jed by a number of citir.ens on horseback, after whom an immense 
Tehicle, styled the " car of triumph" is drawn along by a pair of 
oxen, handsomely decorated with ribbons and flowers. Within the 
car are several youths, who afford entertainment to the vast multi- 
tude by occasional discharges of rockets or other fireworks. 

A fine band of music next follows, prece<ling a large body of 
military. Then comes the pres^ident of the province, mounted on a 
richly capariitoned horse. After him succeeds a chaise, bearing in 
it a single priest, together with the sacred image of the virgin. The 
procession is closed like all others in Brazil, by a motley crowd of 
the lower classes — men, with huge trays of fruit and sweetmeats on 
their heads — Indian damsels, witn chanis of massive gold suspended 
round their necks, and children of every complexion, revelling in 
all the freedom of absolute nakedness. 
■HSTbe procession having arrived at the Largo, the image of 
^B»ra Senhora is deposited in the little church fronting the 
lioscenia de Nazare. A holy ordinance is then performed, and a 
hymn sung ; and, every day throughout the festival, these religious 
ceremonies are repeated in the chapel, both at sun-rise and sun-set. 
The church being exceedingly small, but few persons are able to ob- 
tain an entrance, yet hundreds crowd together before the porch, and 
zealously engage in the chants to ttie blessed Virgin. The services 
being concluded, the populace are allowed to enter the church, and 
e«ch, in their turn, to kiss the consecrated ribbons by which it ia 
profusely ornamented. 

In the evening an infinite variety of amusements are resorted to. 

Fancy yourself, dear reader, for a moment transported to the 
enchanting province of which we write. It is a lovely moonlight 
evening, such as is only witnessed in the tropics, and you are strolling 
out of the city with a friend, to observe the festivities of Nazare ! 

How beautiful the dense thicket of shrubbery through which you 
are wending your way — how prettily those tall palms droop their 
feather-like branches and quiver in the fragrant breeze — how mer- 
rily the insects hum and Hit about in the pure atmosphere! but 
listfn an instant to a sound surpassingly rich and melodious, that 
now breaks upon your ear, like a voice from the "spirit land,"- — ay, 
it is the plaintive note of a " southern nightingale," charming his 
mate with a love-song of bewitching sweetness. Attentively you 
hearken to the delightful strain, and a soft melancholy steals over 
Tour mind. But at length you arrive at the monument of Naaare! 
What a gorgeous spectacle now meets your eye, and what a rapid 
transition in the state of your feelings instantly takes place. 






















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HKFOaMRH Rome is just ns rich in huIiJays ns the Rome of the 
Miticlle Ages, — nay ricner. Tor the oUl list is increased Uy the ail<H- 
lioiioftJie political and nntional guard festivalA; and, ou all these 
da^'Sj galleries, museums, imd shops are clused, and no one will "do 
any manner of work." Of course I do not mean that the Romans lay 
themselves under any restraints like tht)8e of a Puritanical Sahbalh ; 
their reason for refraining from work is simply to enjoy play. In 
u'liat manner thiti inordin:ite lioliday-niakjng will be found to agree 
with the requisitions of a reformed constitution, nml an improved 
administration of public affairs, I cannot imagine, but fortunately 
it's no business of mine. 

After the Christmas-eve came tiiree Christmas-dnya, 8nturdnr> 
Sunday, and Monday ; Friday, the New-yparVeve» was also ob- 
served with all the honours, — New-year's-day is a holidiiy all the 
world oi'er. The next day was Sunday, and nobody of course could 
object to being idle then; and to-day, on which I am writing, is no 
less a day than llie day of the Trc Re Mogij or Twell\h-day, as it is 
prosaically called in England. 

Here, tnen, are six whokv and three half holidays^ out of fourteen 
duys, in which the great necessities of life are lost sight of, and no 
doors but those of restaurants, cafes, or perhaps apothecaries, re- 
main open. 

We northern travellers are, however, well pleased to find that 
Rome is Rome still, and still wears, in spite of reform, the robes of 
her ancient mngnificence, with nothing retrenched, oidy here and 
there a little addition mflde. The guartlia civiro, with its glittering 
helmets, dazzling uniforms, and broad Roman swords, does but in- 
crease the splendour of the ecclesiastical processions, and harmonizes 
well with them ; these in the Christmas of 1847 answered precisely 
to the description written of them in 1447, and many times since; and 
for this reason you need not fear my inflicting upon you a description 
of them now. The thousands of wax-li^^hts and the decorated crib, 
reminded me of what I had seen in Germany ; but here grown 
people were kneeling in apparent devotion round these wax and 
woudeu dulls, which looked peculiarly mean and paltry in Rome, where 
art ennobles and reconciles us to so much that would be otherwise 
painful- They who were kneeling were, it is true, mostly peasants, 
but wh}? should they not rather kneel to the exquisite Madonnas 
and holy children which the old masters have called into life, than 
to those newly varnished things dressed up for the occasion. I 
know not, but it seems the old faiih clings to them in preference. 

On the New-year's-day, a beneficent tramoniana had driven 
away the rain clouds, piled up by a sirocco of long continuance, and 
to enjoy ray holiday, I ascended the tower of the capitol, and gazed 
down on that living picture of the past, the present, and the future, 
that there lay spread out before me. Old and new Rome was at my 
feet, bathed in guldeti bunshinej and while in niy native north all 
nature lay wrapped in snow, here the fresh green was every where 
bursting forth among the palaces and temples, anil aU ttN^x ^Xv» 




vegetable gardens and corn-fields in the distance. The Alban and 
Sabine hills seemed floating in a violet-coloured vapour, and onlr 
the highest summits of the Appenines were still enwreathed with 
wintry clouds. On this, the first day of January, the winter seemed 
already past ; a few storms, and it is all over ; and in another week 
the whole country will be bursting into bud and blossom, and the 
violets be springing up amongst the ruins. As for the daisies, ox- 
eyes, SiC, they have been emulating the cypresses and oliveSi and 
have been blowing all the winter through. 

Just as brief has been the stormy period of the political world. 
The clouds that for a while looked threatening, have been blown 
away, and all is again confidence and peace. The Pupe and his sub- 
jects are of one heart and one mind ; a step has been made on the path 
of progress; and during the Christmas holidays even Naples and 
the TeJeschi are forgotten, and pleasure is the order of the day. 

Many of my readers, perhaps, have witnessed the celebrated 
Christmas markets of Germany, which, from bavins been originally 
merely an accessory,— a means to the important end of the purchaafi 
of playthings and presents, — have come gradually to be themselves s 
principal feature in the festivities. In Rome there is a grand market 
held for a similar purpose, but twelve days later than Christmas-eve, 
namely, on the eve of the day of the Trc Re Magt, This is the 
Befana market, to which every body goen ; for even those who dont 
intend to buy, have to look at those who do. Ity the by, it ceems 
to me that there is more of a symbolical meaning in the time chosen 
for the Roman celebration, for there does not seem to be any con* 
nection between the event of Christm;is-day and the makmg of 
presents, whilst tJie day on which Kings of the Kast brought ibeir 
gifla might naturally suggest such a custom. 

This incident seems especially to have seized on the imaginatiomsof 
our forefathers, for throughout the whole course of the middle ages, 
we find it frequently referred to, and illuminated with all the moft 
glowing coloura of fancy, and all the powers of art. I recollect an old 
Florentine picture on this subject, — I believe in the AcadcmU delU 
Belie v4r/i,— where the artist, not content with lavishing upon the 
three kines all the most gorgeous colours of his palette, has called 
in the aid of the goldsmith and jeweller, and bestowed on them 
crowns, swords, spurs, and jewel-caskets of solid gold, and gems. 

What the Befana has to do with the Three Kings of the Kast, ii 
more than I can tell, or whether she is uf ancient classic, or Lom* 
bardo-Gothic origin, but she is, I think, certainly of the same faaiily 
as the German Kuecki Rupert, and comes down the chimney in his 
fashion, laden with presents for good children, in the night between 
the filth and sixth of January ; and I am told that in the excited state 
of the imagination of" Young Rome," there is not wanting testimony 
to the fact of her having been not oii\y heard in the chimney, but 
actually seen stepping cautiously out with her arms full of presents 
— but then of course witness had to close his, or her eyes, for those 
who watch, it is known, get nothing. The morning of Twelfth-day, 
when they get their presents, is the festival of the children ; the 
eening before that of the present-makers, the grown people. 

The fair is held in the little market-place of St EusUce. a space 
so small that the lender care of the Prussian police would not allow 
more than a hundred people to enter at a time lest they should b« 

d ; yet. here thousands stream in and out, without even any 
■enient crowding or pushing, which is a fact I must say incora- 
isible to me, as well as that none of the fragile wares with which 
Dtbs are covered should be thrown down and trodden upon^ and 
le dealers should be able to do any business in Buch a throng, 
m the market-place, which is its centre, the fair radiates in 
8 directions into the neighbouring streets and alleys — and it is 
a striking picture which is presented by these narrow lanesj 
ed in by massive houses, towering to the skies, till they look 
arrow clifts or chasms between lofty precipices, and below a 
* light from thousands and thousands of wax lights, fading 
gradually on the upper stories. There is something in the 

of this seemingly subterranean labyrinth, that reminds one 
*. Grotto-worship, and of KleuMnian mysteries. Some magic 
must certainly be in operation within it, for almost everyone 
nters its precincts, is immediately seized with a kind of insanity, 

induces him to suppose himself again a little boy, and not 
>uy drums, and trumpets, and whistles, but immediately try 
jowers, and go squealing, and too-tooing, and row-de-dowing, 
the fair, to the perfect distraction of all within hearing, 
id at first declared my intention of not going to the fair, but 
>st looked at roe when 1 said so, with such astonishment tliat 
quite ashamed of myself, and hastened to retract my words, 
esolved, being at Rome, to do as Home did. 1 noticed, that 
^ the rattletraps exhibited on the booths, the usual policinellos, 
loons, &c. had been in many instances replaced by images of 
ew civic guard done in sugar, in wood, or in lead ; and one 
e of the popular life in Home which I was here struck with, I 
i not pass over, namely, the exemplary order and mutual po- 
M that prevailed amongst this noisy merry throng, and how, in 
idst of the wildest tumult of fun and frolic, no word, no gesture, 
le, betrayed any of that brutal coarseness of feeling mostly so 
illy observable in popular sports. I noticed the same thing in 
ace, and this is, in my opinion, a fact well worth pondering 



SAW him litting on the dark vay-side, 

Amtd^l the throng n solitary child, 

Wuli ringlets fuir uiid eyt'H mi blue and mild. 
But on hi« lip a noble conseiouK pride; 
Hi* dark Ufth, fullint? on hia ruddy cheek, 

TrembltKl with one bright Mrrow-speaking t«ir, 

AlTei^tinn's gem for ilU long-loct and dear! 
What dt»tttutioa did these signs besjKok ! 
My soul felt heovy us I passed him by, 

And AAw liis martile LJnihR in tatters shewn; 

And heard the loir nnd grief-represMing moan. 
While kindred tears bedewed my pitying eyol 
I turned to question one so all furlDm. 

He M gone ! but where or how ? no one was by. 

I siop|>ed, to wipe the tear from off my eye, 
And fQund my handkerchief was aUo gone I 




TWm Cinr bMlla» «f whitk a eoUfwy ctant would have cMeatiallT vmned 
MM «r tfM ««rU £■ aD iUMikMqiwn HcnM«— Uallak. 


Qnid il^tiFM, «li Bmbb, Nenoaihas, 
T«NU Mcaanim ftiaan, et Ujadnibal 
PiniiiUM, t ftilchar fbfuis 
nk diM I^tio tcaobcu. &c 

UoBATiui, ir. Otf. 4. 
Ttie tofiaii] Nms who nftde the naeMaUed march, which dereived Hamuli 
And defeated HaadrahaL tbcrrty aCTMnpfahiay aa achievemeut almcMt imrirvUed 
in miULATT annab. The fini iotdOagoioe of ta% irciim, tn tiannibaU was lia 
light of Uaidrabal** bead Uirovn into his camp. Whra Hannitial saw this, he cc> 
dikifned with s sigh, that ** Home would now be the mistress of Uie world.'* To thii 
rkiory of Nrro'i it might be owing that bis imperial naxntMske reigned at aU. Bai 
the tnfamT uf the oo« has odip — d the fflorf oC the other. When the name of Nen 
is heard, who thinks of the consul ? But such are human things. — Bvaox. 

About midway between Ritnini and Ancona a little river falU into 
the AtlriatiC:, ftfYer traversing one of those districts of Italy in whii 
the present Roman Pontiff is striving to revive, after long centui 
of M^rvitude and shame, the spirit of Italian nationality, and i 
energy of free institutions. That stream is still calle<l the Metauroi 
and wakens by it^t name recollections of the resolute daring of 
cient Rome, and of the slaughter that stained its current two 
sand and sixty years ago, when the combined consular armies 
Livius and Nero encountered and crushed near its banks the van 
host, which Hannibal's brother was leading from the Pyrenees, thai 
Rhone, the Alps, and the Po, to aid the great Carthaginian in hijl 
f^tern struggle to trample out the growing might of the Roman Ke-l 
public, and to make the Punic dominion supreme over all the natioiul 
of the world. 

The Roman historian, who termed that struggle the most memo- 
rable of all wars that ever were carried on,* wrote in no npirit of j 
exaggeration. For it is not in ancient, but in modem history, thsti 
parallels for its incidents and its heroes aie to be found. The simili- 
tude between the contest which Rome maintained against Hannibal, 
and that which England was for many years engnged in ngainst 
Napoleon, has not passed unobserved by recent historians. " Twice,* 
says Arnold, t •* has there been witne8»e<l the struggleof the highest' 
individual genius against the resources and institutions of a greatj 
nation ; and in both cases the nation has been victorious. For seveiwj 
teen years Hannibal strove against Rome; for sixteen years Napo- 
leon Uonitpttrte strove ngainst England : the efforts of the first ended 
in Znma, — ihewr of the second in Waterloo." One point, however* 
the similitude between the two wars has scarcely been adequately 
7cll on. That is. the remarkable parallel between the Roman 
icral who finally defeated the great Carthaginian, and the English 

LivT, Lib. xxi. Soc 1, 

t Vol. UL p. 

S«e also Alison, 



ral, who i^ve the last deadly overthrow to the French emperor. 
pio and Wellington both held for many years commands of hif^h 
portaiicc, but distant from the main theatres of warfare. Tiie same 
untry was the scene of the principal military career of each. It 
IS in Spain that Scipio, like Wellington, successively encountered 
Ind overthrew nearly all the subordinate general of the enemy be- 
bre being opposed to their chief champion and conqueror himself, 
poth Scipio and Wellington restored their countrymen's confidence 
^ arm's, when shaken by a series of reverses. And each of them 
josed a long and oerilous war by a complete and overwhelming de- 
feat of the chosen leader and the chosen veterans of the foe. 
Nor is the parallel between them limited to their military' charac- 
and exploits. Scipio, like Wellington, became an important 
der of the aristocratic party among his countrymen, and was ex- 
to the unmeasured invectives of the violent section of his po- 
antagonists. When, early in the last reign, an infuriated mob 
ulted the Duke of Wellington in the streets of the Knglish capital 
the anniversary of Waterloo^ England was even more disgraced by 
iat outrage, than Rome was by the factious accusations which dema- 
»gues brought against Scipio, but which he proudly repelled on the 
ly of trial by reminding the assembled people that it was the anni- 
ersary of the battle of Znma. Happily, a wiser and a better spirit 
IS now for years pervaded all classes of our community ; and we 
lall be spared the ignominy of having worked out to the end the 
OBllel of national ingratitude. Scipio died a voluntary exile from 
e malevolent turbulence of Rome. Englishmen of all ranks and 
llitics have now long united in aHfectionate admiration of our mo- 
vn Scipio: and, even those who have most widely differed from 
e Duke on let^islativeor administrative questions, forget what they 
^em the political errors of that time-honoured head, while they 
ratefuUy call to mind the laurels that have wreathed it. If a pain- 
l1 exception to this general feeling has been recently betrayed in 
ic expressions used by a leading commercial statesman, the univer- 
tl disgust which those expressions excited among men of all parties, 
served to demonstrate how wide-spread and how deep is £ng- 
d's love for her veteran hero. 

Sdpio at Zama trampled in the dust the power of Carthage ; but 

power had been already irreparably shattered in another field, 

here neither Scipio nor Hannibal commanded. When theMetaurua 

itnetfced the defeat and death of Hasdrubal, it witnessed the ruin of 

e acheme by which alone Carthage could hope to organize decisive 

cceu, — the scheme of enveloping Rome at once from the north 

the south of Italy by two chosen armies, led by two sons of 

amilcar.* That battle was the determining crisis of the contest, not 

lerely between Rome and Carthage, but between the two great 

kmilies of the world, which then made Italy the arena of their oft- 

rnewed contest for pre-eminence. 

The French historian, Michelet, whose " Histoire Romaine " would 

are been invaluable, if the general industry and accuracy of the 

Writer had in any degree equalled his originality and brilliancy, 

iifquenily remark.% " It is not without reason that so universal and 

livid a remembrance oi' the Punic wars lias dwelt in the memories 

if men. They formed no mere struggle to determine the lot of two 

* See Amoia, vol. iii. S87. 



cities or two empires; but it was a strife, on the event of vhidi 
pendecl the fate of two race^ of mankind, whether the doroinios 
the world should belong to the Indo Germanic or to the Seoii 
frfVnily of nations. Bear in mind, that the first of these com 
besides the Indians and the Persians, the Greeks, the Rom 
the Germans. In the other are ranked the Jews and the A 
Phcrnicians and the Carthaginians. On the one side is the 
heroism, of art, and legislation: on the other, is the spirit of M 
try, of commerce, of navigation. The two opposite races have er 
where come into contact, everywhere into hostility. In the 
tive history of Persia and Chaldea, the heroes are perpetuaTly 
gaged in combat with their indu:itrious and per6dious neighbov 
The struggle is renewed between the Phcenicians and the G 
on every coast of the Mediterranean, The Greek supplants 
Fhcenician in all his factories, all his colonies in the east : voofi 
theHoman come, and do likewise in the west. Alexander did far 
against Tyre than Salmanasar or Nabuchodonosor had done. 3 
contented with crushing her, he. took care that she never should 
vive; for he founded Alexandria as her substitute, and chang^ 
ever the track of the commerce of the wurld. There remii 
Carthngc — the great Carthage, and her mighty empire,— mighty 
a far different degree than Phoenicians had been. Home annih 
it. Then occurred that which has no parallel in history 
civilization perished at one blow — vanished, like a tailing s' 
Periplus of Hanno, a few coins, a score of lines in Plautus 
all that remains of the Carthaginian world ! 

'' Alany generations must needs pass away before the struggle 
tween the two races could be renewed ; and the Arabs, that 
midable rear-guard of the Semitic world, dashed forth from 
deserts. The conflict between the two races then bec-ame 
fiict of two religions. Fortunate was it that those <)aring 
cavaliers encountered in the East the impregnable walls of 
tinople, in the West the chivalrous valour of Charles Alartel, and 
sword of the Cid. The crusades were the natural reprisals for 
Arab invasions, and form the last epoch of that great struggle b^ 
tween the two principal families of the human race." 

It is diflicuU, amid the glimmering light supplied by the allu^ioai 
of the classical writers, to gain a full idea of the character and insti- 
tutions of Rome's great rival. But we can perceive how infen'or 
Carthage was to her competitor in mih'tary resources^ and how bt 
less fitted than Rome she was to become the founder of concentrated 
centralizing dominion, that should endure for centuries, and fuK 
into imperial unity the narrow nntioimlilies of the ancient races, that 
dwelt aruund and near the shores of the Alediterranean sea. m 

Though thirsting for extended emnire, and though some of hM 
leading men became generals of the nighest order, the Carthsj^ 
nians, as a people, were anything but personally warlike. A» 
long as they could hire mercenaries to fight for them, thev hid 
little appetite for the irksome training, and the loss of valuable 
time, which military service would have entailed on themselvlfl 

As Michelet remarks, " The life of an indualrious merchant, ol^ 
Carthaginiun. was too precious to be risked, as long as it waspo^ 
sible to substitute advantageously for it that of a barbarian frooi 
Spain or Gaul. Cartha e knew, and coulil twJl to i drachma 



of a man of each nation came to. A Greek was worth more 
Canipanian, a Canipaninn worth more than n Gaul or a 
When once this tariff of blood was correctly made out, 
began a war as a mercantile Bpeciilation. She tried to 
Hique^ts in the hope of getting new mines to work, or to 
Vefih markets for her exports. In one venture she could afford 
nd 50,(XH) mercenaries, in anotlier, rather more. If the returns 
{ood, there was no regret fell for the capital that had been 
the invefilment : more money got more men, and all went on 

■ceive at once the inferiority of auch bands of conttofitrt-i, 
bt together without any common bond of origin, tactics, or 
the legions of Rome, which at that periotl were raised 
very flower of a hardy agricultural populition, trained in 
test discipline, habituated to victory, and animated by the 
»lute patriotism. And this shows also the transcendency of 
[us of Hannibal, that could form such discordant maleriala 
ipact organized force, and inspire them with the spirit of 
liscipline and loyalty to llieir chief, bo that they were true 
in his adverse as well as in his prosperous fortunes ; and 
Jbout the chequered series of his campaigns no panic rout 
iisgraced a division under his command, and no mutiny, or 
!mpt at mutiny, was ever known in his camp. 
'esifge of national superiority had been given to Rome by 
tardly submission of Carthage at the close of the first Punic 
^action and pusillanimity among nis countrymen thwarted 
*8 schemes, and crippled his resources. Vet did he not 
eplace his country on an equality with her rival, but gave her 
•eemed an overwhelming superiority, and brought Rome, by 
wn acknowledgment, to the very brink of destruction. 
ut if Hannibal's genius may be likened to the Homeric god, 
in his hatred to the Trojans, rises from the deep to rally the 
mf Greeks, and to lead them against the enemy, so the calm 
|E with which Hector met his more than human adversary in 
untry's cause, is no unworthy image of the unyieluing magna- 
Ldisplayed by the aristocracy of Rome. As Hannibal utterly 
h Carthage, so, on the contrary, Fabius, Alarcellus, Claudius 
Peven Scipio himself, are as nothing when compared to the 
and wisdom, and power of Rome, The senate, which voted 
"l« to its political enemy, Varro, after his disastrous defeat, 
he had not despaired of the commonwealth," and which 
either to solicit, or to reprove, or to threaten, or in any 
^notice, the twelve colonies which had refused their accus- 
ipplies of men for the army, is far more to be honoured than 
jueror of Zama. This we should the more carefully bear in 
'because our tendency is to admire individual greatness far 
thnn national ; and, as no single Roman will bear compa- 
CO Hannibal, we are apt to murmur at the event of the con- 
,nd to think that- 1 he victory was awarded to the least worthy 
combatants. On the contrary, never was the wisdom of Go<t's 
Jence more manifest than in the iitsue vi the struggle betwfen 
' an<l Carthage. It was clearly fur the good of ntankind that 
ibal should be conquered ; his triumph wmild have stopped 
pew of the world. For great men can only act permanently 




by forming great nations ; and no one man, even Ui 
Hannibal himself, can in one generation effect such a wi 
the nation has been merely enkindled for a while by 
spirit, the li^bt passes away with him who communii 
ihe nation, when he is gone, is like a dead body, to wl 
power had for a moment given unnatural life : when the 
ceased, the body is cold and stiff as before. He who gi 
the battle of Zama. should carry on his thoughts to a pe 
years later, when Hannibal must in the courbe of nature, 
dead, and consider how the isolated Pha*nician city of Cml 
fitted to receive and to consolidate the civilization of 
its laws and institutions to bind together barbarians 
and languaj^e into an organized empire, and prepare 
coming, when that empire was dissolved, the free mein] 
commonwealth of Christian Europe."* 

When Hasdrubal, in the spring of 207 B.C., after fikill 
tangling himself from the Roman forces in Spain, ai 
march conducted with great judgment and little loss U 
interior of Gaul and the formidable |>asses of the Alps, S| 
the country that now is the north of Lombardy, at the hea 
which he had partly brought out of Spain, and partly le* 
the Gauls and LiguriauKun his way; Hannibal with his un 
and seemingly unconquerable army had been eight year 
executing with strenuous fcri>city the vow of hatred to Ra 
had been sworn by him while yet a child at the bidding O 
Haniilcnr; who, as he boasted, had trained up hi* three I 
nibiil, Hasdrubal, and like three lion's whelps, to ] 
the Romans. 13ut Hannibal'ii latter campaigns had not be 
ized by any such great victories as marked the 6rst ye 
invasion of Italy. The stern spirit of Roman resolution, ev 
in disiister and danger, had neither bent nor despaired \h 
merciless blows wnich the dire African dealt her in r 
cession at Trcbia, at Thraaymene, and at Cmnte. Her j 
was thinned by reneatetl slaughter in the field ; poverty t 
scarcity ground down the wurvivors. through the fearfu 
which Hannibal's cavalry spread through their corn-1 
pasture-lands, and their vineyards ; many of her allii 
to the invader's side ; and new clouds of foreign war thi 
from Macedonia and Gaul. Hut Rome receded not. Rich 
among her citizens vied with each other in devotion to thei 
The wealthy placed their stores, and all placed their Hv^ 
state's dii^posal. And though Hannibal could not be dri^ 
Italy, though every year brought its sufferings and sacrific 
felt that her constancy had not been exerted in vain. ] 
weakened by the contiimed strife, so was Hannibal also ; < 
clear that the unaidi^d resources of his army were uneqn 
task of her destruction. The single deer-hound could not | 
the quarry which he had so furiously assailed. Rome 
stood fiercely at bay. but had pressed back and gored herai 
that still, however, watched her in act to spring. She wi 

• Arnohl, vol. iii. p, GI. The blto%f is oue uf the numeroui biuvU O 
thnt lulorn Arnold's but volume, nnd cause sudi deep rv^prt that tt 
should havtf brt'n the Iniit, aud its great aiitJ giKxl author have be«n cutj 
work tliui inottmjilcte, 

bleeding at every pore ; nnd what hope ha<l she of escape, if the 
> hound of old Hamilcar's race should come up in time to aid 
rother in the death -;,;rapple f 

t armies were levied for the defence of Italy when the long- 
led approach of Hasdrubal was announced. Seventy-five thuii- 
Homaus served in the fifteen legions, of which, with an equal 
>er of Italian allies, those armies and the f^arrisona were com- 
I. Upwards of thirty thousand more Romans were serving in 
f, Sardinia, and Spain. The whole number of Homan cilixens 
i age fit for military duty, scarcely exceeded a hundred and 
r thousand. These numbers are fearfully emphatic oC the ex. 
n.y to which Rome was reduced, and of her gigantic efforts in 
p-eat agony of her fate. Not merely men, but money and mili- 
Itores, were drained to the utmost ; and if the armies of that 
should be swept off by a repetition of the slnughters of Thra- 
tie and Cannce, all felt that Home would cease to exist. £ven 
I campaign were to be marked by no decisive success on 
f side, her ruin seemed certain. Should Ha^rubal have de- 
d from her, or impoverished by ravage her allies in north 
; and Etruria, Umbria, and north Latium either have revolt- 
f have been laid waste, as had been the case in south Italy, 
Igh the victories and mancpuvres of Hannibal, Rome must 
Ily have sunk beneath starvation ; for the hostile or desolated 
try would have yielded no supplies of corn for her popula- 
. and money, to purchase it from abroad, there was none. 
bt victory was a matter of life and death. Three of her 
rmies were ordered to the mirth, but the first of these was 
[red to overawe the disafl'ectcd Ktruscana. The second army 
le north was pushed forward, under Porcius, the pra?tor, to 
and keep in check the advanced troops of Hasdrubal; while 
[bird, the grand army of the north, under the consul Livius, 
had the chief command in all North Italy, advanced more 
y in its support. There were similarly three armies of the 
\f under the orders of the other consul, Claudiutj Nero, 
knnibal at this period occupied with hia veteran but much- 
^ed forces the extreme south of Itnly. It had not been 
tttd eitlier by friend or foe, that Hatidrubal would effect his 
Ige of the Alps so early in the year as actually uccurred. And 
rwhen Hannibal learned that his brother wa^i in Italy, and had 
^cetl as far as Placentiu, lie was obliged to pause for further in- 

rnce, before he himself commenced active operations, as he 
not tell whether his brother might not l>e invited into Etruria, 
i the party there that was clisafl'ected to Rome, or whether he 
d naarch down by the Adriatic sea. Hannibal concentrated his 
\K, and marched northward an far as CanuMum, and there halted 
nect^lion of further tidings of his brother'^ movements, 
tanwhile, Hasdrubal was advancing towards Ariininium on the 
Hic, and driving before him the Roman army under Porcius, 
jifrhen the consul Livius had come up, and united the second 
third armies of the north, coidd he make he;u) ngaitist the in- 
ra* The Romans still fell back before Hasdrubal, beyond Ari- 
Bui, beyond the Metaurus, and an far as the little town of 
he soulh-ea<it uf that river. Hasdrul>al was not un- 
:' the necessity of acting in concert with liis brother. 


He sent messengers to Hannibal to announce 
march, and to pro^Kjse that they should unite their 
Umbria, and then wheel round against Rome. Those m 
traversed the greater part of Italy in Rafety ; but, when cl< 
object of their mission, were captured by a Roman detachna 
Hasdrubal's letter, detailing his whole plan of the canspi 
laid, not in his brother's hands^ but in those of the comn 
the Roman arraios of the south. Xero saw at once the ful 
ance of the crisis. The two sons of Haiuilcar were now w 
hundred miles of each other, and if Rome were to be saved 
thers must never meet alive. Nero instantly ordered sc 
sand picked men, a thousand being cavalry, to hold then 
readiness for a secret expedition against one of Hannibal's \ 
As soon as night fell, he hurried forward on his bold entei 
against any petty garrison, but to join the armies of the n 
crush Hasdrubal, while his brother lingered in expectati 
intercepted despatch. Nero's men soon learned tlieir leadei 
and each knew how momentous was its result, and he 
depended not only upon their valour, but on the celeriV 
inarc'lh The risk was fearful that Hannibal mi^ht receive 
tion of the movements of the armies, and either follow thei 
fatal pursuit, or fall upon and destroy the weakened Rora 
wliich they had lel\ in the south. Pressing forward with 
and unintcrmitted marches as human strength, nerved i 
superhuman spirit^ could accompliiih, Nero approached 
league's camp, who had been forewarned of his approach, 
made alt preparations to receive this important reinforcen 
I his tents without exciting the suspicions of Hasdrubal. 

sagacity of Hasdrubal, and the familiarity with Komui 
uhic'it he had acquired in Spain, enabled him to detect the 
nK both the Ruman consuls in the army before him. In d 
difficulty as to what might have taken place between the I 
the south, and probably hoping that Hannibal also was appi 
Hasdrubal determined to avoid an encounter with the C 
Rmnan forces, and retreated towards the ]\letauru8, which, if 
have passed in safety, would have been a barrier, behind \ 
might safely have kept the Romans in check. But, the Qa' 
cruits, of whom a large part of his army was composed, wen 
ed fur mancEUvring in retreat before an active and well-cUi 
enemy. Hotly pursued by the consuls^ Hnsdrubid wheeled t: 
gave them battle close to the southern bunk of the stream, E 
bers were far inferior to those uf the consuls ; but^ all that 
ship could accomplish was done by the Carthaginian com 
His Gauls, wlio were the least trustworthy part of his force, 
up on his lefl on diHtcuU and rising ground ; his Spanish 
fonneil his right ; and his centre was composed ofthe Ligurian 
whuse necessarily slender array he placed his armed elepha 
a chain of moving fortresses. He seems to have been defi 
cavalry, — anarmiii which Nero's reinforcement gave peculiar) 
to the Romans. The consuls, on the other side, led their 
to the attack, each commanding a wing, while the pra'tor 
faced the Ligiirians in the centre. In spite ofthe disparity* 
bers, the skill of Hasdrubal'a arrangements, and thcobstinaU 
of his Spanish infantry, who received with unyielding 



shock ofLivtus' legH>ns, kept the i&sue ol'the Jight long in suspense. 
But Nero, who found that Hasdrubal refused his left wing, and 
who could not overcome the difficulties of the ground in the quarter 
assigned to him, decidetl the battle by another stroke of that mili- 
tary genius which had inspired his march. Wheeling a brigade of 
his best men round the rear of the rest of the Romitu army, Nero 
fiercely charged the flank of the Spaniards, who bad hitherto held 
their own against Livius with heavy mutual carnage. The charge 
was as successful as it was sudden. Rolled back in disorder upon 
each other, and overwhelmed by numbers, the SpanianU and Ligu* 
rians died, 6ghting gallantly to the last. The Gaul^, who had taken 
little or no part in the strife of the day, were then surrounded, and 
butchered almost without resistance. Hosdrubal, after having, by 
the confession of his enemies, done all that a general could do, when 
he saw that the victory was irreparably lost, scorning to survive the 
gallant ho^t which he had led, and to gratify, as a captive, Roman 
cruelty and pride, spurred his horse into the mid&t of a Roman 
cohort, and, swurd in hand, met the death that was worthy of the 
son of Hamilcar. and the brother of Hannibal. 

Success the most complete had crowned Nero's cnterprize. Re- 
turning as rapidly as he had advanced, he was again facing the 
inactive enemies in the south before they even knew of his march. 
But he brought with him a ghastly trophy of what he had done. 
In the true spirit of that savage brutality winch deformed the Roman 
national character, Nero ordered Hasdrubal's head to be flung into 
his brother's camp. Ten years had patised since Hannibal had last 
gazed on those features. The sons of Hamilcar liiid then planned 
their system of warfare against Rome, which tliey had so nearly 
brought to successful accomplishment. Year after year had Ilanni- 
bal been struggling in Italy, in the hope of one day halting the 
arrival of him wliom he had left in Spain ■ and of seeing his brother's 
eye flash with affection and pride at the junction of their irresistible 
hosts. He now saw that eye gl.-ixed in death, and in the agony of 
his heart the great Carthaginian groaned aloud that he recognized 
his country's destiny. 

" Meanwhile, at the tidings of the ^^reat battle Rome at once 
rose from the thrill of anxiety and terror to the full confidence 
of triumph. Hannibal might cling to hi» hold on Southern 
Italy for a few years longer, but the imperial city, and her allies, 
were no longer in danger from his arms. And, after Ilannibal's 
downfall the Great Military Republic of the ancient world met in 
her career of conquest no other worthy competitor. Byron Jius 
termed Nero's march *' unequalled," and, in the magnitude of its 
consequences, it is so. V^iewed «»nly as a military exploit, it remaina 
unparalleled save by Marlborough's bold march from Flanders to 
the Danube, in the campaign of Bleidieim, and, perhaps, also, by 
the Archduke (Charles's lateral march in XjUd, by which he ovrr- 
whelmcd the P>ench under Jourdain, and then, driving Alorcnu 
through the Black Fore.^t and across the Rhine, for a ythi\e freed 
Germany from her invaders. 





of ifoot Breaon and its 

rf _ . 

ft tmmm pfwlhili BMiked oat for the veagnoce of the 

lad vver againp and Tv-bai)| 

It IB mam two yrmn dnee iu laat demolition 

|m «f ibe lMuldiiig&. Nothing c« 

it prawats at tlk« moment ; tWn 

aaa jpQa «f ataocs as tbey M| 

b kalMaases mi^ Macfe loaois iobabited tq 

vfca ^ Ml saas la lave tbe heart to desi 

TUs place has long bcei 

sf vatcfcBskerSy iMMt of the works being 

aapfj y Cit r a «kh its est eemid merchandise. 

ficv tiha ■MMttaias, d te p M and deeper still tba 

rf wight ai uto aJ L aaoy the lime we readwi 

TJIhy af dk. lEartia, edrhntad §tT the gWioiu view of 

of which an 
«ar jouney. I hsd pre* 
a hotwa of teeing the view, $$ t 
vesalKyre thecsrcling 
ubHgtd to take mj place in the ci 
B as t» ChaaMsay, as oager carnages 
sl^ tha laad. A few migmiiUs appeared 6tiu 
that V Goat^ aad te Dwae^ b«t Moat fihuic was inexorable. Onti 
af te hig he tt vaa^ I had m trareUed led us iowardH Chedc 
the waads were thidk below, and the hedges covered with i 
Matii^ aaaae of which I gatbend as s reminisoeDce of a home 
former enjoyment of which tbe moment reminded me, and I 
beginning to rejuice in the awakened hope of fair weather from a sud- 
den I^Mun a»d the apparitMo of several fields of snow directly befuR 
ofc raaa a chaaga caiaa as rapidly* and huge grey masses of cloud biii^ 
ried acroas the view, shutting it out altogether ; a few drops of rsift 
began to fall, and we reached the village of Servos in a hard shoveft 
The viUaga was all alive with a wedding, and by tbe time the gsf< 
party caoM out of the neighbooring chnrch, tbe rain bad cea«edt sad 
]>ermitted tbe duttenng procession to appear in all its splendour. A 
train of voung women came forth, very neatly dressed in bluck off 
purftle petticoats, n-iih their white broad caps filled with bright Sowei* 
and ricb-coloured ribboas, their cavaliers having pty ribbons in their 
hats also. The lively, stout, merry bride paced juyou&ly along, and 
every laee waa smiling and Iiiippy, as ibey greeted us where ue sat il 
our char-a-^OMc wailing for burses. 

Scarcely bad we left Strvoz, than the gloom increased, and the 
ending rain augmented the torrent cascades, which tumbled over th0 
:kR in our path. i 

Alas I Btill heavier and more decided grew the inauspicious aspedf 
of our star, and at ten o'clock in the morning we druvc into Ch^ 

1 Uh 




Auuny, Acarceljr able to distinguish through the mist the ailvpr glacier 
^i Bos'son, which announced the wonders of its iiei^hbimrhood. 

In a torrent of rain precisely similar to that which a few years be- 
fure had ushered me into the deep valley of the Baths of Mont Dore, 
tlien first visited, our char drove up to the hotel, and we were assisted 
from our dripping "leathern conveniency/' Out of u countless range 
of rooms, we chose those that suited us, had a blazing Hre lighted, and 
resigned ourselves to our fate. All that day, with intervals of about 
twenty minutes, the rain descended with indescribable fury, and ahnost 
all that time did I stand at my window watching for the sight of a 
friendly ray which should disclose the magic picture covered by an 
envious curt^iin. Those gleams came; rapid, and beautiful, and 
vtrungeiy deceptive, were the forms they exhibited, a thousand shining 
aiguilles bristled up into the wreathing cloud^t which waved over the 
blue surface of the most lovely of glaciers, now showing its broad motion* 
leai waves and arrested foanii now hiding it in a robe of transparent 
niat* and then dropping down over the whole scene, and descending 
onoe more to swell the raging, terrified Arve with an increasing deluge. 
In the midst of one of tlie most violent showers, as I stood regarding 
the gambols of the river close beneath my window, the apparition of 
a party of travelliTs, drenched and fatigued, and looking the pictures 
of woe and disappointment, flashed upon my sight. There were three, 
and one was a female ; they bore long alpenstocks, were covered with 
mud, and their clothes clung close to them like their skin. Thev were 
returned from an excursion across the Tete Noir to the Jardin, had 
passed the night in a chSlei on the edge of the ice, had had nothing 
but fog, ruin, and cold, for their portion, and now descended to Cho- 
mouny drowned and dispirited. We could not but congratulate our- 
selves on our own escape, for the time we should have chosen would 
have been that selected by these ill-fated adventurers. Still, there 
was little to boast of in our own y>osition, except shelter, for the thir- 
teen thousand feet of ice above us was as distant from our vision as if 
we were " in England far beyond the sea." 

It is true I heard, or fancied I heard, the shrill scream of an eagle 
over the great glacier, and imagined or saw the flight of an eaglet 
through the mist, hut the only certainty was, that the rain poured in* 
OMsantly, and no hope dawned for that day. 

It seemed incredible the number of guests at the iabU-d'hdie, for 
the iun was liushed and quiet as if no one was breathing within its 
walls. All were telling of adventures, but none appeared in spirits, 
and looked forward with apprehension to the morrow. There were 
travellers of all nations, but fewer Knglish than usual, as was the case 
thix year throu<;hout Switzerland, owing to the political commotions 
which continued to agitate the country. We ventured out for a few 
uinutea in the evening, but were warned by a peasant to return, which 
we did just in time to escape a deluge, and were forced to retire to 
rest nnaatisfled and murmuring. 

At daybreak the next muming I looked out in the direction of the 
glaciers, but all was dim and dreary, and sadly and sorrowfully I re- 
turned to bed, thinking 

" No future grief ontiM touch me more." 
1 think 1 fell asleep, wearied with watching, but was roused by a 
bright liglit in my room and, losing not a momeut. I was again at my 
vtatioOy now indeed repaid fur severe disappointment. 

Before me curled in ■ bUze of sunsKine the one, broad, 
of the Glacier de Boasoa, with alteadant peaks shining < 
gold against a sky intensely blue without a cloud. A ] 
glittering |)oint8 ran along as far as I could see^ and a part 
de Gloco ilsflf spread out^ white and cleur, although ms yel 
by the vivilyiog ray which brought gladness to the earth. 

No time was litst in our setting furth to the source of Uu 
for we thought it poaaihle to accomplish that object, at A 
the bright moment tbat invited us. ^ 

We soon reached the fine amphitheatre of roclcs at tlie 
glacier, and climbed amongst them to the source, whic 
curious than imposing : a tine ice bridge, of a rich blu^ 
fiilltn only a few days before, and its mosses were lying p^ 
the stones: it will form again and renew the beauty iH 
which now suffers from its absence. A grove of very l^rge 1 
at the edge of the river, and here we left our char while wi 
about the dry bed of the stream, which in spring must pre 
ditfercnt aspect from that which it now offered; for no w, 
be seen, except a narrow rivulet of intense blue-greei 
amongst ]>ebbles, and winding round huge masses of stone. 

Of cour^, we did not resist the importunities of several ] 
Tendon of mineral treasures, almost infanta, with soft cleai 
like the ice above them and round laughing cheeks a« bri 
robv hues on their native peaks. Nor did we fail to yield ti 
tation of possessing ourselves of others more elaborate, offi 
shop in Chamouny kept by the numerous guides. 


The morning couliuued still to incrt:ase in splendour^ 
pronounced by the experienced one of the moett proniisinj 
been known in Chamouny during the summer. Mui^s and h 
instantly in requisition, and the clatter of hoofs and the soun 
anade a strange contrast to the disconsolate stiUne&s of the d 

While other travellers were departing, and our mulea a 
preparing, we hastened to explore the sliops, which are full 
of iuteiest; and, at last, it was with infinite joy that I fou 
ounfurtablj seated on a safe saddle, which had been, aoeordi 
UnUi carenilly visited by competent authorities, and, enco) 
the tmuranoea of tw o of the bfst guides of the country that 
rrawMliblr expect beautiful weather, we set forth on the m« 
and delightful of all adventures, a visit to the Mor de Glace. 

h\v the next five hours we were ascending the beautiful 
•ft ibt tummit of which the treasures of Mont Blanc are spn 
•Utbtir glory. We had two guides besides on rusuul careful i 
and were joined early on tlie ascent, by a very pretty interest 
[trL the daughter of the eldest guide, a man who ap|ieared 


reputation for b<»1dnesa and experience, and to be the ackt 
of hia class, lie h»d been three times to the hummi 
Blanc with different travellers, and narrowly escaped with 1 
m Md uvcasion, when three pcrbous were killed by the sudd 
Ml avalanche: he was himself precipitated into an ice chaM 
vAlnenteil with extreme dilliculty. ■ 

♦'When 1 was drawn out," sttid he. *' and recovered my 

Ilk »er th«> ihrei' IkkIIcs of my dead friends lying uxti 
MNr* All 1 that was a Mght to make one ikink !" 
U« W»» ?vry gnAve, and the fearful dangers he hud gonej 





peared to have deeply impredsed his mtnd. Tlie other guide was 
fomewhat of a dandvj M\ of compliments, and culling bis expressions 
u if be intended to make a poay of tliem, all being selected appa- 
rently according to Airs. iVIaluprop's plan of forming " a nice derange- 
ment of epitbipLs." 

The lively young girl was dressed with peculiar neatness, and wore 
a large straw hat, tied with hlue ribbons: she held, like the others, a 
long alpenstock, and as she skipped over the rugged paths she appeared 
a must poetical specimen of a mountain maiden. Every now and then 
she paused to gather wood strawberries which grew almost on tbe 
brink of the glacier, and loaded us with them and wild Huwers, which 
we admired, and kept or flung away, according as tbe smoothness or 
roughneas of our road inspired us. 

It in very toilsome, but extremely exciting, this riding up the almost 
perpendicular mountain: there is but little danger, and, with so many 
protectors, it would have been absurd to feel nervous: nevertheless, wc 
met with one adventure which might have gone far to frighten a timid 
traveller ; a little more courtesy on the part of those who cauaed the 
embarras would have made tbe circumstance an ordinary aifair, as it 
was there was some peril and annoyance. 

We hud juat reached a very steep corner where tbe zigzag road was 
peculiarly broken and rugged, and where so much of the mould had 
ieen washed away, by the recent rains, that the path was quite Itollow, 
and there was scarcely standing room by the side of a twisted tree 
which grew close to the roud over a precipitous descent : at this mo- 
ment one of the guides ran forward and shouted to a party descending 
on mules, begging tht^m to pause higher up, and allow us to pass, as 
it was dunger«jus to meet on the spot where we stood. 

Regardless, however, of his request, and our exclamations, we beheld 
twu persons mounted, coming, as it were, straight down upon our 
heads ; the equestrians moved doggedly on, and, as tbey approached 
nearer shewed by their looks that they had no notion of making way 
for ua. As quickly as thev could, our guides, finding further remon- 
Urance unavailing, dnigged our mules on one side, and I found myself 
perched almost on the branches of the old tree, while the invading 
lady and gentleman, silent and sullen, pushed by, their saddle-girths 
being rudely wrenched by dose contact with those of our steeds as 
they forced their way through the ravine. On went this singularly 
independent pair, without a word of commeat — what country had the 
honour of claiming them ha her children we did not discover, as no 
word issued from their lips ; and we were left to conjecture, while our 
divcoroposed girths and coverings, which had been displaced on their on- 
ward march, were set to rights. As they took the inside they would 
have been perfectiv safe, even if they had pushed us over the precipice, 
therefore their minds remained placid while ours were for some mo> 
oieuts considerably ugitateil. 

We aooQ fitrgot this incident in the sublime prospect before and 
around us, as we passed through woods of gigantic pines, and saw the 
iced turrent whose course we had been following upwards, increasing in 
volume and width. At length we reached the summit, and, dismount- 
ing, gave our steeds to the care of the mountain maid, and proceeded 
at once to the brink of the Icy Sea. 

The sun wus brilliant, without a cloud over thu whole face of tbe 
intensely blue sky: broad fields uf azure icii ploughed with huge 

ht Miierf liif fir to U» 

^MK ■•( Wae itt avftl 

isdawfiil n it tosftiad oa a mms «£ iecv fl^e of* 
««v«« Ift a ptti it tj M^ Hid iMk mud oa Ike ttilM wmters wUek 
ecCMM^ M if raady to r«sk donra in torrents and 
•11 totoRw Abaw rise ptoks aad jiTvlito W tiiiaii^iM, 
to tW vther otf' which tha ejv wwden k their bmmk an 
oalM orrr— iadiridttak af the fnmtm anay ofa ftvaea rrgiaa. There 
ar« tli« AicuiUet B ao g ea — the OnmA Maleto, the Efrdets, the DUtiere. 
thr Unuid Periadeik Lcchsnd. the Chapcas, the Col tie Baime, the 
Brvwu, the Flagita— three, seres, thirtrcst ihinniaial £rat ahuire the 
irr viiller^ — there spread fmr avaj, into iwairaiiinblg dataaee, gladicr 
n^cr )(li^ier— da Boia, da Boooos, da TalcA^^ nrnnnitotiMT hj ■ 
tliouMuid glitwring pinoades, where, abava then al^ the pore tm»- 
^parant Aiguille V'crte 

*" PoioU with its ti^vr ipir« to lw»vea.** 



After linf^ring for some time in the snnshine» on tlteae icy rocks 
we descended lo the '* Pierre des Anglais," so culled from Uie two 
En^rliftlimt'ii, Poct»cke and Wyndham, who first reached this point in 
1741, A century has not chant^ed the glaciers round, but» since our 
sdrenturoiis countrymen first gnzcd upon the wondrous scene, singular 
hame been the facilitiefc afforded, so that the mere "inquisitive trarcl- 
Jer *' can now penetrate much further with little or no peril. 

As 1 had no scientific pur|Mise to attain, and the one grand effect had 
been produced upon my mind, which no future sight of ice or snow 
could increaae, I was content to return from this excursion without 
reoturing further amongst the icy billows of the Alonlanvert. Most 
bappily had this charming journey been accomplished, and feeling that 
•everau long whole Runimers ivould be insuthcient to i^hew me ull the won- 
ders &nd beauties of this magic region, I could not regret leaving enough 
for a little life to come, and, after a lingering look at the sparkling 
Mer de Olace, I turned away — with pensive steps and slow- — and took 
from this icy Eden— my solitary way, indulging, meantime, a hope that 
another day I should renew my slight acquaintance with a land sacred 
to tliought and poetry* 

On our return to Chamouny, having resisted the temptation of 
taking the route by the Tete Noir, because the day was too far ad- 
vBQced to allow of our crossing the mountains without risk of being 
benighted, we prepared to quit the scene of these adventures, and to 
pf buck to St. Martin for the night, on our way to Geneva. 

While waiting fur our char-a'bauc we strolled into a house, where 
we heard there was a newly caught chamois to be seen. We mounted 
a steep Hight of stairs, and there, in a rt»om on the first floor, strewn 
with hay, stood a beautiful little creature, worthy of being the cherished 
guelle of Leila. Its terror on beholding our entry was extreme — ita 
6ne dark eyes were distended with alarm — its limbs shook, and, with u 
rapid spring, it perched itself on the ledge of the chimney-piece, sup- 
porting its delicate body on itK four little feet placed close together, as 
one often sees the pretty animal represented on a pinnacle of ice at 
inme high point of its native mountains. In vain we tried to soothe 
ind encourage the wild little creature, and we left the room at the 
Mtsgestion of the proprietor, who seemed dreadfully afraid of its making 
a oSirt and clearing the stairs at u l>ound. I felt greatly inclined to 
wish it had done so, for the mercenary being who had charge of it did 
nut denexve that bis domicile should be ennobled by its fairy presence. 

Quite unmoved by our raptures at his graceful inmate— perhaps 
fearing that in our absence of mind we should forget his claims upon 
oor purses — the insensible churl had hardly shut the door upon his 
gazelle than he began to clamour for immediate remuneration for the 
light. Indignantly we dispensed the gmtuity, reproaching him with 
hi* greedinci^a which could not wait even till we had descended his 
it#ep atairs, but we could not help mischievously assuring him that 
kia too evident anxiety for lucre had deprived him of customers for his 
•tore of crystals, which he now wanted to recommend. With considerable 
tttisfaction we went into a rival shop before his eyes, and enjoyed bis 
vexed expression. There is. however, much less clamouring and un- 
civil importunity than formerly at Chamouny. Visitors, we were 
totd> were so much annoyed by incessant demands of tlie most extrava- 
gant description, thut at lust they became wearied with the intiiction. 
Chamouuy got a bad reputation, and the magistrates were obliged to 

wU, fcj tlM bfCb aU kflfft Aifi 

WIOI MM ViiM fvproml him, tar tWy «« 

IW cirilitj Mi^iWiBti— wlnck xkej rvBllj 
^« raiUcd CImomui J lata •■ ■ f 
«t fM. Mtftio M bcfertr wd now ill 

•• TU nUffjr ky I 

whicti w*t li:ul pAftfted tbfl dijr Wort ta tormfta «£ rmnu sad docM 
a veil uf mikti wtiich iliut out rvery object. Pram crerr bcigbt 
down dlvirr catiimru nver cTMf^gj rocJcs of immeafte Mxe» 
roormmia tr«eii nnti ((re«ii bunk*. We left the beautiful Glacier 
BuMofi« l)i*hinil, i^hininft in the »na with nil the coluun of the 
bair. TUin ^Ui'ii^r in of tho most exquiftite form, by far the most 
any ; il hun^ in mii* immeiiHe wave on the rocka, undulating vhk 

r^vful curvoti, ntiil crowned with a diadem of foam, which ia changed 
icy iM»inti npreiuling over the aurfacc: the under side of the gr««( 
.bilhtw in of a rich cUnir trrtnHpar<*nt blue, which fthines out against the 
diirk nmntinc honrnth it, and contrasts with the dazxline whiteneflo^ 
itlie tnowa abttve. It heema alwflyi to shew it»elf in pronle, and offm 
ctiulinuul heauiii*a in rivalry with its mighty neighbour, the Merde 
Ohici*. We hiul continued our wnv for sonic time» the high surroond- 
in|{ mouniainii hiMuinin^ in the valfey. und shutting out all view but of 
their nnuw-cn|ipiHl heiuUi when, us we ascended a steep road» I wtl 
•truck UB I l<H»kcd from the char-o-hanc at the sudden apparitioo ofi 
lon^ lino, of whnt mvmcd to l>e a gi^ntic mass of white clouds bbl 
in II itky of drtKxlini; blue. I exclaimed in admiration of the 
cent ftight : the char was stopped and the truth proclaimed. 

The vipiion wai nothing leaa than the atupeadoos range of Ml 
HUnc it*clf, erery peak, rrarj nimection. eren* dome, ererv 
nac4c. all cloar* un»aAdrd and distinct, the outline so sharply 
against the »ky that it aeemed almoat too tramckmmi far aalurvb 
imrgvous apoetade had startvd forib as if by mixade, foe, k 
Uf% hf aaviral wnin do inb a bkaat «f tbe vaUej bad 
glhniiM of ibt IHAtl laaaarcb wba M«r ^akaed to 
■MTtal aras fai all bk tadfaat gUir. 

Mafawowt as tba Pjim m «pp«r 
MMdttpMi lbc«r kNi( wwaaad mk tbegiwcMoniaar «f tbe 
mU, I bad Mf«r Wm la alartM » aa lb» 
tbe tna>nMrfi>t •filotttar af 
Qaatf. wftb a aWwaiiM aw asBr nmwim iP ana Ae a— » Jcr, 

af aabti^Miid «aa^ ■imalM Aa Im^M ^m af ai 



We coTikinned our route by the beautiful Col de Forclaz, and 
Ktrned nside to visit the pretty secluded baths of St. Gt^^rvaiH, where 
ve lingered for some time, dilighted with the situation and the 
.irrangements nf this delicious spot. Behind the enormuua building 
irhicli IS a perfect town, where the patients reside and where there are 
fine salons and ball'roums in the usual style of public baths, a winding 
Mth leads from a rustic bridge which spans the roaring torrent of the 
ooorant, up a precipitous hill, the toilsome ascent uf which is repaid 
by the sight of a series of cataracts of the most pictures<]ae chiirflcter, 
foaming and leaping over projecting ledges of rock embedded ia a 
thick \4 wid. 

As erery one of the patients nt this extensive establishment whs 
out on excursions in the neighbourhood, it did not appear that they 
were great sutTerers; indeed, the marvellous accounts given by the 
guide of the sudden miracles perfurmed it would seem by the very sight 
of the valley and the rapidity with which ailments oi the most ob- 
stinate kind disappeared after a few visits to the wondrous well, 
night convince one that the waters are like those of Zemsem, able 
to cure all evils. 

A few weeks passed in this charming retreat must indeed 1>e very 
rnjoyable, for there is every accommodation that the most fastidious 
could require, and, moreover, the charges are more moderate than nt 
many other places of a similar nature* 

I suppose, to Judge by the vastness of the building, the concourse of 
strangers must, At times, be very great, but so uncertain is the favour 
of robust invalids, that I undenttuod another spring, higher up the 
mountuin. not long since discovered, bad in a great measure super- 
seded that of St. Gervais, for several seasons. The rival is said to be 
even more charmingly situated than this, but I cannot imagine that 
possible, so much was I delighted ^vith the spot nltogether. 

H'e were rather late in arriving at Sallenches, our road being at the 
foot iif a most beautiful mountain, whose heights nnd glades and voles 
presented scenery as fine as any we hud seen, lighted up by the glow 
of a rich bunset. 

Sallencbes is another Cluses, a town reduced to the very depths of 
ruin and desolation In consequence of a frightful conflagration which 
has burnt almost every house to the ground. A more wretched effect 
than its desolate and encumbered streets present cannot be imagined, 
Mid the air of gloom and melancholy on every countenance was really 

^lien we were at Chnmbery, on our first arrival in Savoy, we had 
heard of the catastrophe which had destroyed this devoted place, con- 
tinually subject to the same visitatiim ; ana we were told also that the 
King of Sardinia proposed going himself to Sullenches, to judge of the 
state of things, of which he must have heard a very false report if he 
thought the town was not altogether ruined. It seems, however, that 
he never came, but had sent persons to see the spot and to afi^ord relief 
and assistance. 

We crossed the bridge to St. Martin, and there took possession of the 
nme rooms we had occupied before, being very uderably accommo- 
dated and clamorously welcomed. 




** Gadsbill ties to-oight at Rochester. 


Time and space allow not of dilation u|)on the various localities and 
places of interest durinf^ a rumble over the scarped and countcrscarp- 
cd neighbourhood of Clmtham. The duck-yard would itself take some 
time to look over, and is well worthy of the trouble. Good Queen 
BesSs who had an eye to business, and was the friend and patroness of} 
all the strongholds, ramparted towns, and forts and castles in the 
kingdom, considered the dockyard at Chatham worthy of favourable 
consideration. She paid it a visit of inspection, and built Upnor 
Castle for its defence. Discipline and good regulation are so appa- 
rent in the various departments and spacious store-houses and maga- 
zines, that, immense as ib the quantify vi' stores deposited, they are 
arranged with such " man-of-war" precision, that whatever is needed 
can be procured with the greatest dispatch. 

The homr hand of the antitjuL'-looking clock (which seems gibbeted 
in the narrow street of llochester) pointed to eight as we neared it. 
The clock-house WLiB built by Sir Cloudesley Shovel in 1G86, who also 
presented both house and clock to the mayor and city of Rochester 
for ever; and to this day the inhabitants entertain a great feeling of 
affection and respect towards the great round-faced dial and its do- 
micile. When, however, one of the line regiments was marching 
through Rochester, after disembarking from Spain, this clock suffered 
some little damage and Indignity at the hands of the officers. It 
10 happened that a huge broad-wheeled wagon (one of those bygone 
wains of the Old Kent Road, which quicker travel has altogether su- 
perseded) was stopping for a short time during the night, cloi^e under 
the clock ; and as several ofiicers, rather flustered with flowing cups, 
were returning to their billets, they espied the wagoner asleep, and 
noted the gaudy face of the pendant clock above. Full of the delight 
consequent upon returning to their native land, they resolved to have 
a spree at the expense of the wagoner; and accordingly, procuring a 
coil of rope, they threw it over the cluck; attaching its end to the 
tail of the wagon, they then quietly ignited their cigars, and awaited i 
the event. By and by, the parcels for which the wagon )uid becD U 
delayed being brought by his mate, the man gave the word to his fl 
team. The strong-jointed beasts pulled at the huge wagon, the 
cable strained, the great clock groaned and creaked, but not a foot ^ 
did the concern budge, to the no small astonishment of the burly fl 
wagoner, who dang'd and gee'd, and lashcd^at his great rhinoceros- H 
shaped beasts in an awful state of surprise and anger. Me;jnwhile- 
thc noise, the clatter of hoofs, the creaking and straining of timber, 
and the slipping up of the poor beasts as they lugged under the lash, 
aroused the sleepers in the immediate vicinity, and a dozen night- 



capped heada were poked out of the windows on either side, in front 
and rear of thi& exhibition, just as tlie ill-used clock began to separate 
from the building. Crack, crack, went the great beam above, and 
crack crack went the heavy whip of the carter. The wagon began 
to move, and the clock, drawn all awry^ would next minute have come 
down smash into the middle of the road, when the whole turn-out 
I was arrested by a dire yell from the citizens at the windows. ** The 
1 clock f the clock !" resounded on all sides, " Stop the clock! here, 
watch ! watch I where 's the watch ? Stop this rascul I he 's carrying 
: off Sir Ctoudesley Shovers clocks house and all, with his wagon to 
* London 1" 

^ Tor the truth of this story I cannot take upon me to vouch. I tell 

, it as it was told to me by an oHicer of Highlanders, who, as is usual 
in such cases, aifirmed that he bad spoken with a man who knew an 
officer who had seen a wagoner who was first cousin to the identical 
driver of the very wagon fastened to the clock; and it only remain* 
to be told, that the parties who were guilty of this attempt upon the 
clock had to pay a heavy sum before the offt^nded dignity of the chief 
Diagibtrate was satisfied, or rather appeased.* 

The great point of interest at Rochester, althougli it remains almost 
neglected in its feudal strength and grandeur, we think is the castle. 
This stupendous record of chivalric pride and power seems to stand 
and frown with contempt upon the frivolity of the dwellers in its im- 
mediate vicinity. Tower, and wall, and battlement of enormous 
strength and great height, here have maintained their stand against 
the efibrts of time and the vi!e cupidity of man, who for a few 
paltry guilders would, again and again, have demotishcd the entire 
building, and levelled it with the ground. t The town of Rochester, 
which is inferior in point of antiquity to few cities in England, is 
situated so as to command the passage of the Medway, and was early 
a place of importance. Even the Britons, after their rude ideas of 
forti6cation, had some works here to secure the passage of the river. 
It was the Durobrovis of the Komuns, and their ancient Watling 
Street ran directly through it. Nay, so late as the Conquest, it was 
still governed by a chief magistrate called prmpo$Uui. 

As we generally look out for the most ancient hostel wherein to 
locate ourselves, we in this instance rode into the Inn-yard of the 
Crown. Here, as the shadows of evening descended, and we watched 
the ostler rubbing down our steed, we found sufficient subject of con- 
templation. Before us, and forming one side of the Crown yard, 
stood a long deserted building which had once been ttie principal hos- 
tel of the town — a rare specimen, we believe, and almost unique in 
the country, 

A single glance at the outward favour of this interesting building is 
sufficient to show its great antiquity, whilst a peep within Immedi- 
ately presents us with a perfect specimen of an interior in the days of 

As we stepped back from within the curious apartment, the feeling 
which had impressed itself upon us from the moment of entering the 

The Btory is the more likely to be correct, u the cicizeni of Rochester ara 
very fond of relating it over a pipe and lankard. 

t Rochester Cutle would bave been demolished long ago, but was found to 
•trong that the attezo^ft at pulling it down wa* alwndoned. 


very fond of relating it over a pipe and lankard. 

t Rochester Castle would bave been demolished long ago, but was found to 
strong that the attempt at pulling it down wa* alwDdoneid. ^^^^H 

I XXJII. "v ^^^1 



inn-yar^V. every part of wbicli, from its quiet and antique I 
seemed sobered down and removed, not only from llie bi 
world without, but altogether from the present timely i 
explained. A sort ol' shadowy recollection of the plac«i 
identification of the locality, on entering the gateway, I 
from the Br&t moment pervaded the mind, which the sigbi 
tcrior instantly increased, till on looking round, we at odg 
tlie inn-yard at Rochester where Gadshill tries to aift tl 
riere, and gather the hour at which they mean to start fb; 

We wish our readers fully to understand us in saying U 
by no means so inKiyom^'iv as to believe in the reality of a I 
never existed except in tlie inimitable fancy of the poc 
have a suspicion that Shakspearc himself hath been a gi 
hostel, that he hath mingled amongst the bustle of this ii 
beneath the gaping chimney of its peculiar kitchen, and p4 
in one of the low-roofed, lattice-windowed rooms above. N 
the scene itself — that inimitable scene in ** the inn-yard 
ter" — was written whilst he was a guest here. Every par 
cality is iilhakspearian. The massive iron-studded door, ih 
the pigeon-houses built in the thick walls, the huge archi 
to the yard, the yard itself, bounded by the massive flanki 
the castle, — all are Etizabeihan, and at the same time j 
pressive feeling somehow connected with travel and trai 
riers and gentlemen of the shade, and liouses of entertaini 
jovial, bustling, good old days. 

Whilst we continued to contemplate the locality, a sul 
quaintly dressed fellow, having a " discarded serving-mao' 
dered into the yard, and, entering the old deserted kitehei 
upon an overturned barrel, and commenced puffing aiv^ 
pipe he produced from his pocket. ^ 

So perfectly in keeping was the man with the building, 
solved to accost him, and try if we could gather anything h 
of information, and accordingly we entered the apartmenL 

" A curious old building this," we said. 

'• Ra-ther," said the fellow. 

•* Very old is it, think ye ?'' we enquired. 

" Very old," was the short answer we received. 

" How old do you suppose?" 

** What, this house? how old? why, as old as the castli 
1 should say. There's neither brick nor beam altered in 
was a boy, as I can see, — and I've been here sixty odd yea 
on." M 

*' Do many people come to look at it?'' I said. ^ 

•* Nobody ever comes to look at it, now," said the fello 
merly, when folks used to come through Rochester, there w 
of folk had a curiosity about the old inn here. Sir Walter! 
came whilst I was o postboy in this yard, years and years 
seemed greatly struck with the look of thfe house and all b€ 
it lie seemed to consider more of this inn than of the 
and he took a good look at that, too." 

** Did he make any remark about it ?" I enquired. 

<* Not as I heard," said the man ; ** but he thought 





pparently* He examined it very curious-likc> inaidc nnd out, 
I here under tlie great chimney, and leant his chin upon his 
id looked very 6xed-like. He seemed as if he saw a H-bole 
* in the room before him, and smiled to himself; and then lie 
od clambered up them old steps there, into the rooms above, 
le old beds is. and walked about, and looked out at the win- 
j9 sounded the flooring/' 

» do you know it was Sir Walter Scott?*' wc enquire<I. 
fei't know nothing about it, except from hearsay," said the 
^ was one of the down-boys that drove him, and I heard he 
fgrcat book-writer, that everybody was mad about. He 
&* tacked to his name at that time. He earnt tbot, I heard, 

K of steps at the extremity of the Crown yard, and which 
(tip amidst the massive ruins of the ancient outwarks, leads 
|t of pleasaunce of the castle, and we are immediately in the 

S^ and indeed within the '* roundure of its old faced walls." 
rander amidst fruit-trees and flowering shrubs, and frag- 
f outworks of immense strength, which arc reared on the 
(the rapid stream, in u perfect scene of the past. Every 
if the magnificent tower of Gundulph, as wc approach and 
pit of it amidst the foliage of the gardeu, speaks of the 6erce 
tos of the Norman period, when war was the business of life, 
t kings struggled amidst a bright host and with all the pomp 
i of chivalry. Helm and shield and blazoned banner, seem 
ft still pertaining to the locality. The very spirit of the 

rod the noble — a sort of Plantagenel spirit, if we may so 
seems to breathe in the neighbouring air. Yes, as we 
Hud we feel that ^ve arc standing upon the very ground 
le those thick-ribbed towers where the fierce contentions and 
I conflicts — those flery encounters in which mailed knights 
opposition hand to hand — Iiad taken place during the many 
is castle has sustained. Hero, in the immediate neighbour- 
fbich we stand, the barons of England, nay, even the kings. 

Eon of England embroidered upon their glittering surcoats, 
to seam, have smote with deadly hand, amidst the din, the 
Ind the shout of horrid war — the war of " pomp, pride, and 
luce" — in which the heraldic device upon the shitld, the gon- 
pennon, the bright armour, and the gilded trappings of tlie 
"jnt a lustre to the deadly nnd raging field, which our own 
ped and noisy system knows not* 

V 1 




Bul vhvre u he, the champion and the diild 

Of all thai *ft great nr little, wi»e or vitd ? 

Whou game was empirea, and whoee stakes were thrones? 

Whose table earth — whose dice was hnraan hones ? 

Behold the grand result in yoa lone tale. 

And. M thy njiture urges, weep or amile. — Btkox. 

The change from the calm to the tempest — from the deep and im- 
pressive Golitudes of the ocean, to the busiest haunts of men — froi^ 
savage to civilized life, are prominent examples o^ the mutations 
which seamen are liable. And these events sometimes follow in rt 
rapid succession, and are of such varied import, that even their trul 
ful narration appears as though decked in the borrowed hues of fictif 
To use an uneasy metaphor a sailor may be said to be a naval kntgl 
errant, with the ocean for his steed, upon which he rides in quest 
adventure* Thus mounted, he sometimes stumbles upon sights 
rare, and scenes as beautiful, as any that are to be found in the stor 
bookn of yore ; and perhaps there are but few who will deny that 
pages of Dampier and Captain Cook are as full of chivalry as 
Chronicles of Froissart, or that before the majestic daring of Columl 
all knighthood pales. 

These notions received additional strength, aa my eyes fell' 
the subjoined sentence inscribed in an old log-book, which 1 had ji 
then discovered^ somewhat mildewed and raoth-eaten, at the bott 
of a sea-chest. 

The Free Trader Homeward Bound, Matf 5M, 1821. 


Apparently, at the time these words were written, it was support 
that they would be sufficient to recall to the memory, at a fud 
period, the circumstance they so brie6y recorded, for my old joui 
said nothing more about it. True, it was further stated lower doi 
on the same page with genuine nautical brevity under the head 

"All useful sail set." 

" Beul the best bower." 

" Pumped ship." 

•' A itranger in sight," to which was added — 

"Lat. by observation 10' 30" south, Long. 5' 30" west. 

Assisted by the latitude and longitude, as well as by the dale, I mn( 
two or tlireu desperate dives into the stream of time, hoping to reMi 
fron» oblivion the " event," and, after a hard struggle, succeeded il 
bringing to the surface of my memory, the leading incident, and tb< 
the whole affair floated through my mind with all the freshness 
yesterday. And, perhaps, it will be as well to state, for the inforwl 
ation of the general reader, that on the day in question, tlie Fretj 
Trader was running before the southeast trade wind, over 
aqueous portion of our planet, which rolls between the Cape of Gi 
Hope and the island of St. Helena. 


21 \ 

Prom what has been stated, it was evident that the " memorable 

fjiat" had been dismissed in too summary a manner, and, indeed. 

Circumstances, after the lapse of a quarter of a century, have induced 

ne to take up tlie scanty detail at that moment, when the morning 
M/n 6rst broke upon the white caps of the waves, with the Indiaman 
in their crests tipped and gilded with his light. 
i was my morning watch, and I recollect leaning over the capstan, 

id lapsing into one of those paradoxical states, when, although at- 
iding to nothing in particular, yet ulmust every object within the 
range of our senses undergoes a sort of dreamy observation. I could 
see the man at the helm, and note how firm he kept the plunging 
ship in hand, his sinewy grasp seemed by a secret intelligence to 
impress his will upon the vast mass of the vessel. Without disturbing 
the process of observation, a shoal of porpoises would occasionally 
rush along, pursuing their earnest and busy passage at a velocity, com- 
pared with which the progress o( the swift ship was tardiness itself, 
i'or I could hear the hissing of the crisp sea as it curled into a crescent 
of foam beneath her bows. Then came the busy hum of the " morn- 
iog watch," mingling with the welcome sound of "eight bells," and the 
merry whistle of the boatswain piping to breakfast. The motion of the 
rolling vessel — the freshness of the delicious south-east trade — the 
thoughts of home — the dancing waters, and the sparkling sunshine, 
each of these, in their turn, would for a moment slightly arrest the 
attention, but vigilance is a cardinal virtue in old Neptune's duniaia^ 
and bustling times were close at hand. A ship in the middle of the 
Atlantic, with a rattling south-easter, whistling through the rigging, 
is not the bed where da3'-dreaming can be indulged in with im- 
punity, and so it soon appeared, for a hoarse voice from the main top- 
tnast cross-trees, as if by magic, dispelled the illusion^ and brought 
my senses to their duty. 

"Sail, hoi" 

" Where away?" was the prompt demand. 

** Right ahead," returned the seaman. *' I make her out a full 
rigged ship lying to," 

The officer of the watch had barely time to apply his ** Dollond/' 
in the direction indicated, when the man alofl was ogain heard 

" l^nd on the larboard bow." 

Ai the Free Trader had been traversing the ocean for weeks, 
with nothing to relieve the eye, but "The blue above, and the blue 
below/' the excitement which was caused by the discovery of the 
stranger, coupled with the sudden cry of " Land," is not surprising. 
Kor it is in the deep solitudes of the ocean, that man most keenly 
feels how dependent he is upon his kind for happiness. In such 
situations the most trifling incident arrests the attention — a floating 
•par, or even an old tar-barrel, become objects of speculative curiosity. 

Accordingly, as we ncared the strange ship, the cut of her canvas, 
snd the mould of her hull, were critically examined by the more ex- 
perienced seamen, who can generally guess from the appearance they 
Iprcsent, not only the nation to which a ship belongs, but her occupa- 
lioo also. But, on the present occasion, they were puzzled to give a 
reason why a large vessel like the stranger, should be lying to, 
ju»t where she was, (that seemed ilie mystery) and appaTenv\>( ww\\i\^ 
our approiub. 


This quiet bearing lasted until the Free Trader 
of passing the strange vessel, and then, as if suddenly ro 
her lethargy, a thin volume of white smoke wtts seen curli 
one of her forward porta. The explosion was followed b 
pearance of a flag, which, after fluttering for an instant, blei 
out, and much to our satisfaction, displayed the blue field 
cross of the English ensign. 

** What ship 's that ?" bellowed a loud voice from our f 
looking neighbour, who had ranged alongside the la 
enough to be within hailing distance, 
'• '["he Free Trader." 
"Where from ?" was ilemanded. 

-* Calcutta, and bound to London," replied our captain*. 
**Do you intend calling at the island?" 
"Yes I" 

" Then send a boat on board his majesty's frigate, Utc 
instructions/' was demanded in tones that left no dou 
be the result of a non-compliance. 

An interchange of visits speedily followed between the 
the Indianian, and boon after they were sailing side by jj 
direction of the land, keeping company until llie Free 
received such sailing directions as enabled her to sta 
island alone. The frigate then took up her cruising grou 

It would require but a slight stretch of the imagination, 
the per]>endicular cliffs of St. Helena into the enormous 
sea-girt castle. There is an air of stern and solemn gloon 
by nature upon each rocky lineament, that reminds one o 
racteristics of a stronghold. Not a sign of vegetation is 
visible. Headland after headland appears, each in its tui 
more repulsive than those left behintl. The sea-birds, ami 
their discordant screams, seem afraid to alight, but whafl 
lofty summits of tlie bald rocks in a labyrinth of gyrations; 
everlasting surf, as it advances in incessant charges at L 
rumbles upon the car in a hollow ceaseless roar. 

It was during the operations of working the Free 
one of the points of the island, that the heavy boomin 
large gun was heard, slowly borne up against the w 
surface of the sea. As the sun was just then dipping in 1 
of the Atlantic, it was generally thought on board to be Ui< 
gun. Rut again the same solemn heavy sound floated by on 
.\gain and again it came in measured time, when ac len^ 
cleared the lust projecting headland, the roadstead and the I 
suddenly into view. At the same time the colours at tb 
Ladder Jlill, and on board the admiral's ship the Vtgo, of 
were seen fluttering at half-mast, denoting the death 
son of distinction. 

While sailing into our berth, and after the anchor had 
the land, the reports of the cannon came U|K>n us at interval 
sounds seemed bodeful of some great event. We all U 
cjuiringly for some explanation, but before any positive in 
had reached the ship from the shore, surmise alter surmise 
n'ay to a settlcti conviction ; for by one of those inscruta 
of the mind, every man in the Free Trader felt assured 
guns announced the death of Nnpolcon 

At L 





p.. ..^.J.-,, , w.^ -w, (, w. --.— ^,-w ., -« 

[ividual in the ship had speculated during the voyage upon 
:e of seeing Napoleon alive. However, by an easy transition. 

Our Bus[>ensc was brief, for soon af\er the anchor was down, ashore 
Lt came alongside, containing an official |>erson, to demand the 
OBture of our wants, and he confirmed our suspicions. This intelli- 
^ence^ although anticipated, created a feeling of disappointment, as 
tfery indi 
the chance 

now that he was dead, we wondered whether we should be permitted 
to witness bis funeral ; but as no communication was allowed from 
the ships in the roads to the shore between the hours of sundown and 
sunrise, we were obUged to pass the night in conjecture. Under 
these circumstances, we were scarcely prepared for the news that 
reached us early in the morning. It was a general notice to all 
■tnogers and residents, informing them that they were permitted to 
mit the island and witness the ceremony of tlic body of General 
waparte as it lay in state. 

After tlie lapse of six-and-twenty years, and now, when the 
^tosions of that mighty conftict which Blled Europe in the early 
part of the century are extinct, it would be difficult to make the 
present generation comprehend the profound emotions which thi^ 
news had upon those who, like ourselves, happened to be at St. 
Helena at tnis eventful period. Consequently, on the second day 
after Napoleon's death, nearly every individual on the island, as well 
as tltose in the different vessels at anchor io the roads, repaired to 
Longwood, the place where he died. 

Of course the house was thronged with people, but as the greatest 
order prevailed, I was soon in the room with ail ttuit was Icf^ of the 
most wondrous man of modern times. Suddenly coming out of the 
glare of a tropical sun into a |)artially darkened room, a ^vw moments 
elapsed before the objects were properly deBned. Gradually, as the 
contents of the apartment tumbled into shape, the person of Napo- 
leon, dressed in a plain green uniform, grew out of the comparative 
gloom, and became the loadstar of attraction. 

He was lying on a small brass tent bedstead, which had been with 
him in most of his campaigns. I found it imposgible to withdraw my 
eyes for an instant from his countenance : it caused tn me a sensation 
difficult to define, but the impression can never be forgotten. There 
«ms acrucifiTcon his breast, and by its side glittered a large diamond 
star, the brilliancy of which strangely contrasted with the pallid face 
of the dead. The skin was of a most intense whiteness, and looked 
like wax. 

What struck me as most strange was the mean appearance of the 
surrounding furniture, and of the "getting up" of the ceremony. 
Few people in England, or indeed in France, would credit the dilapi- 
dated slate of the apartment. It was literally swarming with rats and 
other vermin. There appeared, however, to be no want of respect to 
the memory of the dead hero, whatever might have been his treat- 
ment when living. But the knowledge of this tardy justice did not 
prevent a comparison between his fallen state in that rat-pestered 
chamber* and the magnificence and power with which imagination 
invested him when living. And although it may be idle to compare 

* It is a well. known Tact, lliut after N.-ipoleon*!i itody witR nponod. his Uvntl 
wu |>liiced in a vcaacl in ihia rooni» sud that duriiig ibc nigbc a rut devauivtl « 
Ui^« portion of ic. 

my, wm Ae nolii 

■pecf c fe teen mm dMt ^, 
I fame BSB dnwn 
Sc Helcss oo Uie aap nay at fint mpftm to be 
ID remliKj it is not ml A glance <ir tm9 m svficicoK la 
it U pUced a the ceatre of ihe great hi^vay of th 
the occcMitics of coiBicrct, aod tke vantt aod haaai 
frooi a sca&riag life, are the means of briagiag uigeche 
of the booas race. And if tbe denae oiaaKS d 
thronged to hU aecood foacral at a laore recent peri 
dear Fraoce» vere vanting, their deficiency in minbei 
sort cotnpeoaated by tbe Tariety of men : or if tliere m 
tude, there vat, at least, a meiUey of curious gazers. 

Foremost in intelligence were tbe French and Engl 
from these stood the wondering African negro, — the uc 
tot from the Cape— the yellow Brazilian from South 
fierce-looking Lascar from Bengal — and the quiet, inoff 
from remotest Asia. Some of these knew but little 
renown, but, being inoculated with the prevailing ei 
like the more intellectual European, to gaze upon 
dazzling meteor, the blaze of which had so recently 

The same tincture of corruption dyes all mortality, 
as well as common clay soon becomes offensive in a ti 
Even on the second day after his death, it was al 
should have been soldered up. With a knowledge c 
Governor-General had ordered the funeral to take pb 
(hus allowing only four days to elapse between 1^ 
burial. ^ 

In ihe meantime, the spot where the pioneers wei 
grave, became an object of mingled curiosity and vi 
only in importance to the illuitrious hero who 





it bis abiding place. It was close to a eniDll spring, of which 
Nspoleon always drank, and occasionally he breakfasted beneath the 
iliade of two willows that bend over the bubbling waters. The grave 

8 »ingularly made. It was formed very wide at the top, but 
oped gradually inwardst having the appearance of an inverted 
pyramid. The lowest part was chambered to receive the coffin, and 
one large stone covered the whole of the chamber. It was said that 
ttiis covering was taken from the floor of the kitchen at Longwood, 
where it had been used as a hearthstone in front of the fire-place; 
though why it should have been removed for such a purpose it is dif- 
ficult to comprehend, for the island is not deficient of the requisite 
material. Ttie remaining space was to be 61led up with solid 
masonry, clamped together with bands of iron. These precautions, 
it appeared, were intended to prevent the removal of the body, as 
much at the request uf the French as of the governor of the island. 

Divested of the associations connected with his fame. Napoleon's 
funeral at St, Helena was a simple, though heartfelt alTair. His long 
Sffony on that sunburnt rock commanded the reverence of every be- 
holder. Consequently, on the 0th, all the inhabitants and visitors on 
the island flocked to the line of march. Like many others, I selected 
a prominent position on the shoulders of a hill, from whence the 
tolemn procession could be traced, as it threaded its way through 
the gorges and ravines of this picturesque place> on its way to the 
grave. The coflin was borne upon the shoulders of English grena- 
diers, and followed by the soldiers who had contributed more towards 
bis downfall than those of any other nation. Their solemn tread and 
grave deportment contrasted strongly with the heartfelt sorrow of 
Count Montholon and General Bertrand, who bore the hero's pall. 
Madame Bertrand followed next, in tears, and then came Lady Lowe 
and ber daughters, in mourning ; the oflicers of the English men- 
of-war next, and then the officers of the army ; the Governor- General 
and Admiral Lambert closing the rear. The 66th and :20th Uegi- 
ments of Infantry, the Artillery, and the Morincs, were stationed on 
the crests of the surrounding hills ; and when the body was lowered 
into the tomb, three rounds of eleven guns were fired. And thus 
t]>e great soldier of France received tlie last tribute of respect in 
honour of his achievements from the hands of his most constant, but, 
&s he described them, the most generous of his enemies. 

The last years of Napoleon's life, except so far as they derived a 
gloomy and awful importance from the remembrance of his terriBc 
career of blood and power, were as insignificant as his first. He could 
neither act upon, or be acted upon by the transactions of the world 
He seemed to be buried alive. Kept as he was in close custody by a 
power, with whose strength it was useless to cope, and whose vigilance 

ere was little chance of eluding. 

Ou the following morning the sounds of labour were heard from 
every quarter oC the Free Trader, and the long drawn songs of the 
mariners were rising in the cool quiet of the early dawn. Then com- 
menced the heavy toil which lifts the anchor from its bed ; the ship 
once more released from her hold upon the land, stood across the 
Atlantic for England, and long ere noon the sun-blicitcred rock of 
St. Helena was shut out from our view, by the rising waters in whicli 
it seemed to submerge. And thus ended (he "memorable event" 



which fomied tucth a wngular epUode to the olfaer«i«e moaolonou* 
voyage of the Free Trader. 

Oa an ioteoady cold morning, aome twenty vean after the occar* 
feaees abore narrated, 1 was proceeding to Pans aa fast as a Freadi 
diligenee eoold carry me. After paasio^ through a long winter't 
Di^t« cramped and stiffened for want of ezerciite^ it was with fe«lin^ 
delight that I beheld the French capitaL But as tii« 
■d ue gay metropolis, it waa impouible to aroid beiag 
sorpriwd at the appearance of the populace. Every body ivas going 
towards Paris, no one appeared to be going in anv other direction. 

The moltitade iacreaaed as we progressed, am) when the dUigfnce 
entered the Boolerard, it was with great difficulty the lumbering 
veUcte was orsed throo^ the living moss. On either aide of ns wu 
a tene crowd of beads, eagerness pictured on ever)- conntenaoor. 
the jobber arising from so large an assemblage, was heard tbe 
sound uf artillery^ min{;ling strangely, nay wildly, with the 
solemn tolling of the great bell of Notre Dame, which every now and 
then fell upoa the ear, without mingling with the great tide of sound, 
bat each vibration seemed distinct in its isolation. It was impossible, 
from the vexed and confused nature nf the turmoil, arising from bells, 
gnna, and drums, to form an idea whether the people were celebrating 
a holiday, a spectacle, or a revolution. 

Most human feelings are cooto^uus, and I was soon inoculated 
with a desire to mix with the crowd, and see what was going oa. 
Accordingly, as soon as the diligence arrived at the Mes^agerie, I left 
my carpet-bag in the custody of an official, and set forth to satisfy 015 
curiosity. Once fisirly in the throng, I was soon urged along the 
place de la Bourse, and from thence op the Rue Vivienne to the 
Boulevard des llalieunes, happy in having availed myself of anr 
change, whether of sentiment or situation, which would rouse my half* 
froxen blood into action, and enable me to compete with a temperatuio 
ten degrees below freezing. 

Forward, forward, along the interminable Boulevard, I was forced 
by the dense mass, and extrication became hopeless. That hnmi 
thoroughfare seemed to be the main channel through which flowed tbe 
living tide, and, as it was continually being fed by the streets on cither 
side, it ultimately was crowded to a dangerous degree. 

At the magniricent church of the Madeleine, a divided opinion 
upon the people, and gave me scope for action. I followed that 
tion whose destinies led them to the Place de la Concorde, where 1 
had scarcely arrived, when preparations of on uncommon descriptioD 
came at once into view. 

Salvos of artillery were still heard, or ruther they had never ceased; 
the bclU also tolled incessantly, and that intolerable beat of the French 
drum, mixed with the noise arising from a crowd of thousands of 
Frviicbmen, was most bewildering. But as well as the confusion 
would permit observation of the surrounding objects, it seemed tIiat«0Q 
euch sioe of the broad avenue of tlie Champa Elysees, large statues hod J 
been raised, each symbolical of some mental attribute, such as justice^l 
valour, fortitude, and the like, and between their ci^lossal figures niag- 
uificent tripods of a great height were erectedj supporting vases 
"*iid with flumes. 



m^ The spectacle had approacTied its crisis when I hud arrived at the ^^^| 

Place de la Concorde, and my position utforded me a good view up the ^^^| 

avenue. In the distance, dense columns uf hurse und font soldiery ^^H 

were slowly marching, preceded by bands of military music, playing ^^H 

solemn airs. Column after column paraded by. The whole chivalry ^^^| 

uf France had a^cmbled to do homage to some dearly-loved object, for ^^^| 

every class of French soldiers had sent its representative^ and every ^^^| 

department of the kingdom its deputy. The procession appeared in- ^^H 

terminable. On cume, in every variety of uniform^ the soldiers of ^^H 

II(»che, of IMureau, Juurdan, iVIassena, and Aiigerean, of Davoust, Ney, ^^^| 

Muiat, Kleber, and Kellerman. Fragments of all "arms" of the ^^H 

Imperial Guard were there represented, strangely mingled with the ^^H 

picturesque dresses of Mamelukes and guides. ^^^| 

At length a moving tower of sable plumen, rolled by upon golden ^^^| 

wheels, drawn by sixteen horses. Immediately following came the ^^^| 

R<»yal Family of France and the great ministers of Gtate, decorated ^^^| 

with glittering Ktnrsund orders. ^^^| 

Twenty years back I had witnessed the funeral obsequies of this ^^^| 

remarkable man, fur of course, by this time, I knew that it was the ^^H 

secuiid burial of Napoleon at which I was a chance spectator. Since ^^^| 

then a great alteration had taken place in the affairji of Europe. A ^^^| 

cuarter of a century of profound peace had rendered the entente cor" ^^^M 

a'taU apparently perfect- British ships of war no longer muzzled the ^^^B 

mouth of every French port from Dunkerque to Toulon. The cnrrec- I 
tion was done, and the rod was burnt, and in the fulness of time came 
the crowning act of grace, when, as M. de Ilemusat stated in the 
Chamhre de Deputes, Kngbnd had magnaiiinKmsly consented to the 
proposal of the French nation, to return the remains of Napoleon, 
thus surrendering the trophy of the moftt unparalleled struggle in mo- 
dern history.* And yet, incredible as it may eeeni, when France 
was receiving from British generosity a boon which she cuuld not ob- 
tain by any physical appliance, the law and medical students of Paris 
diitplayed a base and infamous hostility against the country which was 
in the very act of returning, with a noble and chivalrous sentiment, 

" An amusing act of gasconade, the performanco of which rumour airarderj to 
the Priuco de Jotnrille, was freely commented upon in naval circles about tills 
period. It will be remembered, tfiat txis Uoyol IJi^bness was diitpat^'heil by the 
French gitvemment in the Belle I'nute^ ilic liiiest frigate in their service, to con- 
vey lk« remaiDS of Nap^fleon from St. IJelena to France. After the exluimation 
of the body, which was perfiirmed in the presence of ninny Engliisb and Fn^nch 
officers, the features of Napuleun were recognised, contrary as ft wbs stated, to 
French expectation. The cofBn, after being placed in a sumptuiius one brought 
from Furnpe, waa conveyed^ after many compliments upon the honniir and good 
faitb of Kngland, on boanl the Belle I'nule, which, with its sacred freight soon 
after put to sen. Tlie faith of peT^de Altion was not so bad as expected. A few 
weeks after the Freiidi frigate had ukcn her departure from St. Helena, and was 
neoring tlie coast of Europe, an English frigate hove in sight, and perceiving a 
French ship-of-war, she bore down upon her, to spenk her. Frtim sume unexplain- 
ed reason, the Prince imagined she might be sent to capture the prciiouH relic he 
had onboard tlie UcHe PouTe, and ru&hiogon the quarter deck, be ordered hiscrew to 
quarters, :uid prepared for nction. A word, however, from thecnjttain of tbf Kiig;hNh 
frigate was enough Co dispel Uie gullunt prince's vain alarms, and tlie ex])lauati(iuii 
which soon fDllowed, alfurded the British lars a hearty lau^h at the distorted view 
the Frenchmen had of KngUsh fiu't]]. This rumoured bravado of the prince, ts 
neverthdesB in perfect keeping with hiu But>adii |>ainphlet. published sixm after 
his return with NapidcoDs remains, in which he attempts to dhow how easily ho 
could invade Eughuid, if hu had only ships viuiugli, with men uf the rii^bt sort u% ^^^^ 

man them. ^^^| 



the nndjing token of her own sHpremacif, and the bumiliation of ber 
enemies, such expressions as A hat Pahierston, A has Us Anglais, 
sounded oddly enough in an Knglishman's ears, with these recollec- 
tions still throbbing in his memory. 

It was to do honour to those precious remains that France, nay Eu- 
rope, had assembled her thousands in the Champs Klysees on that 
day. His fuultit, as well us the unbounded sacrifices made to bis dar- 
ing ambition, seemed to be forgotten. Men appeared to point only to 
the bright and burning spots in Napoleon's career, without rccollecl- 
iug whut they cost to France and the world. It was a spectacle of t 
nation paving homage in the names of freedom and honour to the re- 
presentative of military power. 

It bos been said that French enthusiasm is easily excited, and that 
it as easily cools, seldom lasting long enough to ripen into the more 
dignififd sentiment of traditional veneration. Certainly it incon- 
sistently decreed the honour of national obsequies on Napoleon, whose 
full was hailed by the great bulk of the nation, after the battle of 
Waterloo, as the term of their unbounded t^acrificew, and as the seconcl 
dawn of their public liberties. But little penetration was required to 
discover that curiosity was the strongest feeling exhibited, or at the 
most, it was a galvanised excitement — it wanted the reality of natural 
emotion. To those fiew, whose lot it was to witness both the burialt 
of Napoleon, this mast have been apparent. They could not fail to 
note the contrast between the gorgeous display of the second ceremony, 
and the simple, but deeply heartfelt, funeral at St- Helena. In Psrii 
every thing seemed unreal. For a burial, the secoud ceremony wai 
too far removed from the death; people, if they had not forgotten, bad 
ceased to lament for him. The charger led before the hero's hearse 
had never borne the hero. And for a commemoration it was much too 
soon. True, the remembrance of his reverses and his sufferings at Si. 
Helena commanded the sympathy and reverence of every Frenchmm 
present: doubtless they felt, and felt keenly, the return uf their for- 
mer hero, though dead ; but the reflections were bitter to their sensi- 
tive natures : they felt that though the bones of their idol was amongst 
them, yet the sentence which indignant Europe had written on the 
rocks of St. Helena was not erased, but n-as treasured in the depths 
of men's minds, and registered in the history of the world. 

As the cataf'aifjvc slowly passed by, over the bridge, along the 
Quay d'Orsay, until it was iinally bidden from the view by the trees 
of the Esplanade of the luvalides, it was evident, that let his country- 
men do what they would, let them fire their cannon, sound their 
trumpets, unfold the dusty banners of past wars, they failed to impart 
to the memory of the vanquished of Waterloo a becoming character: 
their funeral ceremony wanted moral grandeur ; they converted into 
a theatrical show, what was intended for a national solemnitjr, for 
mourners ihure wore none ; his own uniforms were not even seen 
around him, and the only eagles there, were those which were cut in 
yellow pasteboard. But the light had burned out which projected the 
gigantic shadow ou the canvas, and what was left behind ? nothing 
but a name, 

" The »pori of fortune and the jest of fame." 





Tbv dorousmania of these latter days outruns the hibliomanmofthe 
mlie«t biblioranniac on record, whom Scott says, •* We take to liave 
been none other than the renowned Don Quixote de la Mancha, as 
SBong other slight indications of an infirm understanding, he Is 
ItMed by his veracious historian, Cid Hamet Benengeli. to have ex- 
changed fields and farms for folios and quartos of chivalry." If the 
Don was deemed of "infirm understanding" for exchanging farms 
for folios, who can shield from the charge of raging madness, the list 
uf royal, noble, and learned enthusiasts who have given tliree thou- 
Mttd pounds for an old cottage at Stratford not worth as many hun- 
dreds. There has been a struggle too to get possession of" relics" 
of the poet of all times, and for a certain jug and cane, a particularly 
fierce one — a word or two about them, in the first place. 

These articles which, it is pretended, belonged to Shakapeare, are 
in the possession of the grand-children of Thomas Hart, who was 
tbe fifth descendant of Joan Shakspeare, the eldest sister of William 
Shakspeare. Thomas Hart died at Stratford on Avon, about fifty- 
three years ago, at a very advanced age. Mr. Robert Welch, formerly 
of Stratford on Avon, one of the receiving officers of taxes, whose 
high character, well known scrupulous accuracy, and strong memory 
place his statements beyond a doubt, said, in a letter to the Brighton 
UeralH, in 1844, and has repeated the same to me lately, "1 knew 
Thomas Hart, and his house intimately, and can speak to every 
tnicle in his house. I was constantly in the habit of calling upon 
him for many years, and I am confident, if these articles were in his 
possession, I should have seen them or heard of them. They never 
were in his possession. I have certainly heard him sa}', that the 
UTDchair in which he sat belonged to Shakspeare, but we all treated 
the assertion as a joke. The make of it wa.s of the period of James 
n,, but not prior, from my knowledge of furniture design. Our 
impression was that tbe old man, being in indigent circumstances, 
would have had no objection to any one bidding him a handsome 
turn on the credit of his assertion, but no one in the town believed 
that he had any relic of Shakspeare in his possession. I never heard 
of his being able to sell this chair as a relic of Shakspeare; but I 
know we were both surprised and annoyed at his selling four other 
chairs, a few years before his death, as having belonged to Shakspeare, 
and that his neighbours were tender in their raillery at the fraud, 
from compassion on his circumstances and infirmities. The maker of 
these chairs was more than once pointed out to me; in fact, it was 
well known. " It may be asked if the jug and cane were the property 
of Shakspeare, how came they to be in the possession of the Hart 
family ? It will be seen, on reference to the poet's will that he left 
his sister Joan Hart, twenty pounds and his wearing apparel, and to 


her three sons five pounds each. The benuepts of the 
set forth ; for instance, to his daughter Judith, his sil 
a legacy in money ; to his wife his best bed; to a gentlen 
town his dress sword ; and all his other property of ever] 
lion to his daughter Susannah. If these articles (the jug- 
of which engravings have appeared in the illustrated nei 
belonged to Shak&peare, how came they into the hands ol 
Hart's children? It is certain the old gentleman never hat 
his possession, or ever knew of their existence. Had the 
the pu&se&sion of Thomas Hart or Sarah Hart, hi:» sister^ 
would have known it; and so should we atl who were jcalo 
identity of any article belonging to our illustrious townsma 

Shakspeare died iu 1616, leaving two daughters, £ 
married to Dr. John Hall, and Judith, married to Mr. 
Quiney. Lady Barnard, the poet's grand-daughter ^and i 
viving offspring of Shakspeare's daughter) died in 1670, 
brother left no issue ; so that in JO7O, there was no lineal de 
of the poet ; the next of kin being clearly the dcscendu 
sister Joan. Joan Shakspeare married William Hart, of $ 
and from this marriage the Harts of Tewksbury, the Ila^ 
tingham. and the Harts of London, are descended. H 

I\lrs. Fletcher, of Gloucester, its possessor, is a descendai 
Harts of Tewksbury, a grand-ilaughter of Thomas Hart, ant 
she bought the jug from Miss Turbeville, of CheltenI 
nineteen guineas on the faith of its being a relic of Shi 
the strength of her faith adds nothing to its history, nor wi 
identity. Aliss Turbeville, bought it from ^Ir. James 
printer of Tewksbury, for thirty pounds. Air. Bennett h 
twenty guineas for it in May^ 1841, at a sale of Mr. Edwin 
Korlhampton Cottage. It was there stated that the jug I 
purchased by Mr. Lee from the daughter of Mr. James Kii 
whose wife (formerly Miss Richardson) inherited it from hi 
Henry Richardson, of Tewksbury. To account for Henry I 
son's possession of the jug, it was said to have been taken in 
his father, John Richardson, cousin of Sarah Hart (who n 
in 17^) in lieu of twelve guineas owing to him by the sail 
who was then married to Mr. John Mann. 

The mcdaUion on the jug was added by this Mr. 
though described, in some of the magniloquent accoui 
engravings, as a coteraporary portrait _ 

Thomas Hart is now declared to have been the fortunate pi 
of the cane as an heirloom ; but had this been the case. Hart 
the mtin to keep his treasure a secret, whilst it was no jteci 
ready he was to attach a rcliquiurv reputation to any art 
which a penny could be turned. There are several alive wh 
him and the contents of his house well ; but of cither the 
cane they never heard. It appears that Mr. Fletcher, of W 
Street, Gloucester, was induced to give five pounds for this 
Mr. Bennett, who. it will have been seen, made ten poundi 
by hi"* speculation in the jug. In his cane investment he waa 
lucky, having bought it from Thomas Shakspeare Hart I 
guineas. Thomas Shakspeare Hart was the son of Willian: 
ipeare Hart, grandson of Thomas Hart, who died in i7i^3. 
At each sale or transfer of these articles, entire reliance 




have been placed on tlieir *Uraditionary reputation." As any repu- 
tation is better than no reputation at all, the house Jit Stratford, sold 
by the Courts the other day, was described by Mr. Kobina as resting 
its character on "traditionary reputation." It happens, too, that nil 
the buyers and sellers of the iug and cane in direct or indirect suc- 
cession date from their modest era of 17ti7* Why did not they 
venture a little further back ? 

The minute history of the cane and jug, from Sarah Hart, who 
was born 17^^ and who is said to have sold the latter as Shak- 
Bpeare's in ]7^7f ^^^ nothing at all to do with its identity. Sarah 
Hart was, in all probability, its very first owner. Shakespeare died 
in 1010. What is iti» previous history between these periods? 
Where was its traditional reputation — at Gloucester or Tewksbury ? 
It was certainly not at Stratford. "I have conversed," says Mr. 
Welch, " with old Thomas Hart and his son, well known as Jack 
Hart, many times. His daughters, Jane and Martha, were domestic 
servants in my father's family, J knew many other descendants of 
Joan Shakspcare ; but I never heard a whisper about the * tradi- 
tional repiitition' of the jug." Everyone connected with Stratford- 
on-Avon knows that the manufacture of relics of Shakspeare is and 
has been a profitable business, and the persons engaged in it are 
well known. 

The chairsj the chest, the table, which form the furniture of the 
room shown as the one in which Shakspeare was born, have been 
placed there within the memory of several the writer could name. 
Of one of the alleged possessors of the cane Mr. Welch says:— 
" William Shaksj)eare Hart was I suppose the son of Jack Hart, the 
old gentleman's only son ; at least, I never heard of another, and I 
have a perfect recollection of this son ami his family leaving Strat- 
ford for Tewksbury. Had a cane of Shakspeare's been in existence 
I should have heard of it, and would gladly have given fifty pounds 
for it, and I believe there are wealthy antiquarians who would give 
five times that gum for it; yet it was sold, we are told, two or three 
years ago, for two guineas. If proof were wanting of its spurious 
origin, this transaction would supply it." 

The supporters of the genuineness of the " jug and cane" say they 
were omitted in Shakspeare's will because they had no intrinsic 
value; but Shakspeare specified his bequest to the Hart family so 
miuutely, that no mistake can arise about it. 

Mr. Welch tells me " there is no doubt that the jug was the pro- 
perty of Sarah Hart, who first propagated the fiction 178 years after 
her great-great-great^great-great-uncle's death. Not the slightest 
trace of it can be found before her time. It was never heard of in 
8tratford-on-Avon until the publication of Sir Richard Philips's 
book. The proof that this cane was the wa|king.-stick of VVil- 
liam Shakspeare — proof Uo satisfy a jury of the most scrupulous 
antiquarians/ — is this: — The widow of William Shakspeare Hart 
is the * existing evidence,' and she can prove that she heard her 
husband's mother say * this was Shakspeare's walking-stick.' So 
this is the 'existing evidence,' to 'satisfy a jury of the most scru- 
pulous antiquaries.' One old woman heard another old woman 
say so ! — I again assert that old Hart never possessed the cane. I 
was constantly in the habit of going to his house in my early youth, 
and was acquainted with every article in it. He has told me tliat 




tb» olU duir in which he usually ut belangcd to SlukspetK. 
bvt aeirer Mid « word about sny other article m tke hease. That 
mm a manuftcript which he said wa» SbakR>eare\ and whkh wtf 
aL rikati time in the hands of a near and dear r^ladve of miiie 
ty for a ftum of money borrowe<I by the old gcatieman. 

t^ was afVerwards sold, and I was present when it was 
TW purchaser waa a stranger to me. I saw him lay down 
a number of guineas — I believe thirty. I saw my r 
I a bundle of papers, and then my relative took up 
Old Hart took the remainder, and put them 
ihu beasonable relief kept the poor old raan &om 
dning few months of bis life. The chair coul 
purchaser. Three chairs had been previously sold, 
iBfriduals, each warranted as the identical chair tl 
in ; but this fourth chair required time to girt 
■■MftsBM itawit alion.' A few years sufficed for the purpose, I 
k «■■ fliU m 17B6 for twenty guineas." 

*'CndBtiona1 reputation" will maintain the value of then 

•ext sale, remains to be seen. It is a matter of won 

It did not make a search among the old clotbiJ 

m§Km pmnof antiquated garments, and exhibit tbemai 

of the immortal poet. Here, at all ereotSg 

aoiae countenance from Hhakspcare's will, for 

their ancestor inheriting the whole of fait 

This hint should not be thrown away upoa^fl 

-•"the faittt oate proprietors of this invaluable prop||^H 

ta collect doublet and hose, in fine motb-olH 

Holywell* street, and arrange them under glM 

^""■^ — I'a coal and waistcoat at Greenwich HospitiL 

and the harsh punishment inflicted by Hir 

r^cy, wm • 6rv«urite theme for half a century with Sbak* 

i% katflMBkcra. There never was any truth in it. It is ool 

tdogy would have inflicted the indi^Tiity fdf 

exasperation of some of these gri«rvanc«- 

postcrity to visit upon the inheritors 

intimate terms with the young 
flf Stitttford, and was with him. about ibk 
CSBOeraiDg their mutual friend j^Ir. Uaziract 
vae of the witnesses to the poet's will 
v«tiia] aifair in those days. The date 
Un aHosft about Stratford is free from the rout 
ifSL Ctttil dhr tiaw «f Ganrick there was little interest attached 
the laUlBri a hm Hktk wf aw spent the last days of his life ; no« 
CBB a^ %hua he spcsit thefuaisr number. The room in which 1 
wralc " Bankt** is worth a visit ten times over, or even the sp 
cryphal oaciac« where dwelt demure Ann Hathaway, the maM« 
IMid of twcn^<-arvco, cec^nSulating herself on the " good cattk, 
whm about to maffrr the cldaai scm of the most thriving tradeaasd 
in Stiadiord. who had baan chief asagistrate or bailiff' of h too. 
The shrewd c«nA^ saw the uaprcssion she had made o<i the »a»- 
|tkb)e bof . and improvhw h^ opportunity before it could c«al 
le bfrsnf Mrs. H mkai Shakapcare, consort to the heii^apoarffi 
. thriving wool-ati^br* What Mr. Sbakspeare, the Mm, 
{ht when he hoard af hia son w«ddii|f htmsalfj at thriyi 4^ 



nineteen, to a woman of twenty-seven, wc art' not lold. Some 
venturesome novelist has written what was called '• The Courtship 
of ^nn Hathaway, a Komance, in three volumes." J never heard 
of anyihinp^ more niattcr-of-fact than the poet's marriaj^e. 

A lively and all-believing writer in "The Atlas." a dramatic 
author of no mean merit, tells us, in a pleasing recital of his visit 
to Stratford on the eve of the pseiido sale, — ** Up the Stour und the 
Avon, away over the green fields and through the bosky paths to 
Shottery and Charlecote, to Drayton Bushes and Wcllesbourn Wood, 
the name of Shakspearc is held in reverence by the rural population, 
and the town itself subsists solely upon the glory of having given 
hira birth — you find some remembrance of hira at every turn." 
Garrick could find none ninety years ago ; Betterton could find 
none, though he went to Stratford on purpose a hundred years ago. 
Our dramatic author goes on, — " Rude effigies and busts of Shaks- 
peare, prints of his house/' — very modern ones, — "of Ihe grammar- 
school where he was educated^ of the gate of Charlecote, where he 
is said to have pinned up the lampoon on Sir Thomas Lucy, of Ann 
Hathaway's cottage, where he so ofken made love in the chimney- 
nook," — where love was made to him, folks said at the time, — ** and 
of every spot known or supposed to be associated with his life, even 
to the mulberry tree he planted, and the crab tree, under which, 
a loose tradition says, he once slept after a night's carousal, ur€ 
scattered about in shops and stalls. Wherever you move you are 
reminded of the fact tnai he belongs lo Stratford, and Stratford 
to hira. The town, from suburb to suburb, is literuUy Shaks- 
pearean ground." Our author, however, adds syniptora.itic mis- 
givings, that alt is not absolutely true in ''floating tradition." 

" To be sure, the inhabitants," continues the author, " know- 
scarcely anything about the actual incidents of his life; but they 
have caught up the floating traditions and hallowed them. The 
stir made by the committee has drawn crowds of people to the 
town. From the moment the committee was formed, visitors have 
increased in a ni})id ratio, to the especial satisfaction of the ancient 
hostelries. And, speaking of hostelries, let me say a word for the 
White Lion, which stands in Ilenly Street, within a few doors of 
Shakspeare's house, and is certainly the most conunodious house in 
the town. Independently of its other claims on the good will of 
visitors, it has some special attractitnis in relation to the divinitv nf 
the place. It is said to have been built from the materials of New« 
Place, the house in wliich Shakspeare died." 

The committee have given the same impulse to the ** floating tra- 
ditions" we read of, that James Watt gave lo the steam-engine. Both 
may take cre<lit for superadding the eccentric movement. 

The Visit to Stratford is very pretty, — bert irotmlOt and that is 
all. t know Wellebboume and Drayton, also the Stour, which 
does not approach within two miles of Stratford, but its bank« 
are innocent of anything Shakspearean. I question, too, if any 
of the "rural population" of VVellesbourne, which is five miles 
from Stratford, ever heard his name mentioned until lately ; and 
HOW certiiinly. Court's house, passed ofl' on Lunnun flats for Mu-iter 
Shak.speare's. is a topic of talk at the public-houses in the neigh- 
bo urhoorl. 

Jt happens unfortunately for the cl«mB for veneration of thft 




materials of the White Lion, that it was built thirty years befon^ 
New PUce was pulled down. 

In July last the Archaeological Association viaited Stratford, 

** Who tare at the flAggon, 
And prog io the waggon, 
Did notbing ch« muse ever heard of to hrag on." 

Belief or disbelief for fifty years of our lives may possibly be i&j 
the while prejudice, and the evidence of our senses but a delu8)oc| 
and a snare. Venison pasties, veal pies, cold turkey, and iced chj 
pa^ne, are as requisite now-a-days to supple the stiff necks of 
believers in Archjeological identities, as ine breviary-shaped boCtlttj 
of the Portuguese friars were for stimulating the conversion of tbcj 
people of Melinda in Brazil, 

** Thus did Bacchus oinquer India ; 
Thus philcMophy Meltnda ;** 

as Rabelais tells us. 

So, after an early dinner, rising from the table of that jgenoioi 
relic of old Sir Thomas at Chanecote, his descendant, Mr. O. P. 
Lucy, the archa^ologisu placed Sir William Beethum. M.RT.A, 
" Member of the Right Thinking Association" (a capital name, ai it 
puts all other societies and associations in the wrong,) at their bead. 

The newspapers described at length their aspirations of veneratioi) 
at the sight of Homsby's relic shop, and their pious ^enuBeuom 
beneath the ancient little portal of Thomas Hart's pork-shop— for 
Thomas confined his knife to pig-slaying: his slaughter was not 
indiscriminate. We are now told that Thomas Hart's trembling 
venture of vending a chair at a time, and at intervals suitable to obli- 
viousness, has swelled into "a rare and valuable collection of the 
relics (• selection,* I beg pardon, was the word, in deference to 
those in process of manufacture), of the immortal poet. Many i/ 
them were shown at the residence of Mrs. Reason, having been re- 
moved from the house in which Shakspearc was born. Amon^ 
them wa& the book containing the signatures of Oeorge IV., Wil- 
liam IV., Lord Byron, Sir Walter Scott, the King of the Frenc 
and some thousand celebrities. Besides thefe objects of venerattaS 
are the chairs which were presented to iShakspeare by the Earl of 
Southampton, a walking-stick, the lock of the room in which the 
poet drew his first breath, the iron box in which he kept his will 
his smoking-chair, and the dresiing-case that was presented to him 
by the Prince of Castile. The room in which these cherished 
ot departed genius arc kept was numerously attended by per? 
who viewed them with feelings of deep interest. 

These are the same articles which were offered for sale in October 
last, M-hen the house was sold, as genuine relics. The following 
articles were sold at the same lime: — five carved wnlnut-tree chairs, 
for 5/. 6*., to Mr. N. B. Fletcher; an old chair, with cane bac 
7L Is., to Mr. Lilly; a carved cabinet, 10/. I0j.,to Mr. A. L. Butler 
carved oak cabinet, 10/. IOj., to Mr. Weed on ; a small wooden bu 
of Shakspeare, carved from the veritable mulberry-tree, 18/. 18#. 
to Mr. Wilkinson ; and the book containing the autographs of vi*i 
tors, for nearly 100/.. from the year 1794. when Hornsby started lb« 

ii. , 

3 him 





ShakftpMT* (in 1564) and his ai»ter Joan, and 
were bom. Eleven \earft af^er the birth of lii« 
Shakspcare purchased two more houses (freeholil 
some numlrcd v^rds further off. Oae came inu 
quently of hi* daughter Joan, married to William 
great-^rand-father of the Thomas Hart of whom 
Ui'iJ, and who was well known to many now Uv 
tpeare was a wool-ftt^pler, and aa there is reason^ 
carried on considerable bu$ine5s, must have requirfl 
to its nature and extent. It i^ altogether absurd tc 
house lately sold to the '* National Shakspearc 
have been adequate for a business of the soi 
abode of a wool-stApler in the humblest way. Ji 
bailiff (chief magistrate) of Stratford; his nai 
and fifty times in the town records, and curioi 
fourteen different ways- Four times Shakspere 
Shakespeare, eighteen times Shaxpere, sixty-right 
once Hhackupcre. and so on. Tlie situation for tra^ 
the house now said to have been John Shakspeare'i 
ehlest son's birth, whilst that which he did inbab 
known to have been one of the best in the town^ 
smaller, with the adjoining one was purchased 9 
investment, and bequeathed to his children, whiw 
occupy the larjfcr house near the centre of the tO' 

Mr. Robert Welch, to whom 1 have before aJludi 
better able to pronounce a decisive opinion on the va 
the pretended relics and pretended bouse of his renc 
states, *• Af r. Rowe's life of Shak&pearc was publishec 
the materials of his life were collected by Betterton 
veneration for the poet inducetl him to go to Strati 
pose; but no mention is made of the house in wl 
was bom, though his enquiries after everything 
the poet were diligent and unremitting. He was 
of articles said to have belonged to 8haks{>eare, but 
all as unworthy of credence. When Garrick heli 
Stratford, sixty years later, there was no mention 
which Shakspearc was born, and the only relic he 
bore the stamp of authenticity was the mulbei 
planted, no one knows, but it was found in tl 
longed to Shakspeare. At the some time thei 
supply of other relics exhibited to the great actcM 
declined to purchase any. Had Thomas Hart's hi 
had the slightest traditional reputation, honourable 
have been made in some at least of the numerous ao 
at the lime of the details of that famous jubilee, wl 
that had any connection with the idol of the day 

" Mr.Skottowe, in his life of Shakspeare published 
of much research) is entirely silent on the subject. ] 
when this house was first said to have been the birtt 
^peare, and the feme entertained of the fabrication c 
by his neighbours. 

"After Thomas Hart's death in I7i>-1, the housej 
session of a man named Hornsby. in the spring 




Burried Hart's eldest tlflughter. Thiv man was a butcher in a small 
t«Y, and in needy circumstances, and was not lung in posae^siun 
More he put up a board in front of this house with the following 
iofcription : 

*• ' VViUiam Shakspeare waa born in this house, XJrd April, Anno 
Dorniiii I6(>4.* 

** I have a perfect recollection when this board was first exhibited, 
and the remarks it called forth from many old people of the town. 
One und all condemned it as a trick to extort money from strangers 
risiiing the town, and openly reproved Hornsby for setting up such 
an infamous falsehood. 

" I have frequently conversed on tliis subject with the udmirtM-^ 
of Shakspeare, and from some liave fallen expressions of regret at 
being deprived of a plea<iing illusion." 

The Reverend George Wilkins, of Wix, near Ipswich, who was a 
ichoolfellow of Air. Welch at the Guild School at Stratford, where 
they were both born, says, in a letter to the Brighlon Herald, De- 
cember 14, 1844, — "If people will talk about Shakspearian relics, I 
will observe, that there was an old carved uak desk in the Guild 
School, which was called Shakspeare's desk, and at which I myself, 
beinf; the senior boy of the school, always sat ; but, afler all, what 
i4 there in a name? The desk had never been Shakspeare's, though 
it might have been in existence when he received his education 
there. A9 to the house palmed upon the public as that in which 
William Shakspeare was born, it has, I know, no prelennions of the 
•ort. When I was at Stratford, it had one of the best conducted 
beat frequented inns in this kingdom, and many persons re- 
ed to it for the mere pur]>ose of making inquiries in the neigh- 

arhood respecting Shakspeare; but little or no information could 
be obtained, and as for relics, search might have as succesiifully been 
made for some belonging to Homer. Among the guests who fre- 
quented that inn. was the father of a very intimate friend of mine, a 
man full of anecdote, facetious, and fond of company. That gentle- 
fflMi told me frequently, and his son never ceased to lament it to the 
day of his death, that he himself was a party to the deception con- 
cerning the house. The account he gave was this : — In consequence 
of the numerous inquiries made at the inn and elsewhere fur the 
birth-place of the bard, and no information being to be obtained, 
because none was known, it was agreed by himself and others, his 
eoinpfinioiis, to suggest to the occupant (Hornsby) of an Elizabethan 
bouse in the same street, and almost next door to the inn, the While 
liion, and which was a building exactly suited for the purpose, to 
bang Dp the board above mentioned* and to exhibit the house in 
future to all inquirers as the identical one of which they were in 
search. The deception took inuantly ; customers flocked to the 
inn, and visitors to the house ; no inquiries were made, for we know 
it is the easiest thing in the world to deceive people who themselves 
riah to be deceived ; and thus, from that time to the present, has 
the deception continued, and, as it is a source of gain to the de- 
ceivers, and gratification to the deceived, probably will be continued 
IS long as dupes are to be found to believe and pay for it. I knew 
8iratford-on-Avon well, and continued to visit it for many years 
after I left school, but I never knew a gentleman who could give 
Ally information as to the house in which his immortal townsman 



the inimitable, is knoi 

dvOtscd world will bout, ai 

•^g «• tkcre shall be a head to 

§m to tike Imb for all in all, his like 

» k will never be again. Ai 

sag a moment's thought. 

I aijacir, and my friend 

, and for a particular 

A oat that coald be 

ihoald have been ipaidj 

wa» bequeathed b^- John 

hi* ^faiit aoiw WSaBk^ who bequeathed them to ha 
r« Sai^HBi^ kflk RtHed §m hM atiter Joan a tifl 


Shahaprre ever occupied is 
■cated to be his bi 

into a small 
Mrt. Hall, Shak 
flf the property on the death 
Mn. Hal it petwd to' her doaghter. La 
of Abiuciluo, Xorthampton^i 
it tolwr OMuioi^ Thomas 
t. Ib the iMMetaion of 
the I w gi i M i g of the present cfl 
I Ay ii t ed, and the 
pot of one beiog converted 
bnd was a^. Mid in 1806 thel 
Coait* whose widow proved 
to the da/ of its sole. So Utile 
ti» m31 in the eorij dajs of iu assumed c 

the sdMBT, oold it, twelve ^-eors^^B 

iacmsngly by the re vl 
ooie people get from ti 
do thcj encourage falsehooi 
penoDS visited the spot; 
bf OS BkSBy OS seven thousand persons 
year* a v«a propaetion of whom were Americans 
Had the spccaktivc Vankee carried olT the frame-work of Courll 
hovar to be exhibited in the Xew Wurld, the ground could bal 
Ctfcti« the area boogbt for 6fty pounds^ and a monurod 
hf thnar who clia|^ to traditions, with a truthful inscripCiol 
soch as <*On^s spot stood a house belonging to WiUaaro Snaki 
■Hro." Whr not erect on the site of New Place, which he boa^ 
nooi the Ciopton family, where he really lived and died, a nionl 
latM, or obdiak* aauUr to the Scott memoriAl at Edinburgh, or tk 
Burn* monument at Dumfries? The proceeds of the ball on tb 
LMi May would be well applied to this purpose. 

A TALs or Tms isri.rzsijL 

«Bov 6m 

id* IwMtt 

The doctor 
Mn. A]ix«d 
VM reaigned — qaile ao^ 
So was Mr. Alfred A 
carl J period of Ina 
ind on the ii c eAcm 
He totk oat hb 
it waaa 

Iw bad becft from a rcry 
fife; H vas Ida ordiMry im» oT be^ 
be saw DC I pawn to dnart &oai it. 

bowever, aod remarked, that 
s influctiza.*' 

^By Jore, it u, ur," and the little doctor, with the utmost gW. 
of a pretty many of us, in no time, voung» old. and 

"Middle-aged," lug^^ested Mr. Potta. 

it waa a prudent dauae, and liad reference to the invalid lady 
above staira. 

"* And is onr dear friend really so very poorly?" «ighe<l MissLavinia 
SimcDX — a fair, faded, sentimental, elderly, younr lady, presiding 
II the tea-table, who bad been attentively engagea in perusing th« 
doctor's countenance, from the moment he had entered the room. 

" Poorly I I consider Mrs. Potts is in a precarious state — her 
iptoma fterious, Misa Lavinia, excessively so, and in ca5es of this 

tnd," continued the doctor, turning his jovial face on Mr. Potts. 
*' I conceive it my duty to be candid — perfectly' explicit — your goml 
lady, sir — " 

"God bless my soul !" cried Air. Potts, starting up from his chair. 

** My dear friend, my strong-minded, exemplary Mr. Polls, be 
composed, don't give way," entreated Miss Lavinia. 

•* What 's to be done? what's to become of n»y infant fumily ? — 
my poor orphans," exclaimed the prospective widower. 

" That 's an after consideration," said Doctor Dobbs, with (aa 
Lavinia thought) a peculiarly expressive twinkle of the eyes. She 
cast down hers. *' Our present business," he continued, '* is to de. 
vote all our energies, sir, to bring the patient round." 

And thereupon, the doctor drawing a chair to the table, devoUnI alt 
bis energies, to the discussion of the fragrant souchong, and uicety 
buttered muffins, which Miss Simcox was dispensing. 

*' Capital tea this," he exclaimed, "admirable flavour! where do 
you get it, Air. Potts ?" 

" From Twinings, in three pound packages. // ia good tea — but 
I assure you, doctor." continued Mr. Potts, " half the secret ia in 
the making." 

"Oh. ilr. Potts!" Lavinia exclaimed, "you are too good— too 



•• By no means," he replietl, " I never knew what real good lea 
was, I may say, till— uU— my poor dear Airs. Potts unlbrtunatdy 
got the hifluenzH, and Miss Simcox was so kind— «o very kind. « 
to — to — " 

•• Supply her place." observed the doctor. 

'* Exactly bo," answered the afllicled husband. "I protest I'm 
to overcome by my feelings," he added, " feelings quite natural and 
spiuble to the occasion, as you will acknowledge, doctor, Uul I 
hardly know how to express myself/* 

"Take another cup of tea. Dr. Dobbs/' said Miss Siincox- "Do 
you know/' she continued with charming vivacity, *' I quite pique 
myself upon my second cup." 

** Ah." 8uid the doctor, " in general that's a weak point with tw- 

"Now, doctor," simpered Lavinia, "you are a ^eal deal too 
bad. I can't forgive you— I really can't. My de«r Air PotU, I 
uppetil to you — is not your second as good as your first?" 

** Better— a thousand limes better," was the prompt reply. " B«l 
I have not got it yet/* and Mr. PotU btretched out hi^ cup lo be 

*' You liear what Mr. Pott» says ! Hey, Miss Lavinia ! " cried the 
doctor, and he chuckled. 

Miss Simcox was agiuted — she blushed— she sighed. Mr. PoUi 
might have heard her heart beat — he did hear the sugar tongs fall- 
he stooped to pick them up — he handed them to her — their eje* 
met — providentially Mr. Potta squinted. 

" What can he mean ?" she thought " ' Better a thousand timet 
than his first;' it was a strong expression, and had perhaps, uiuiir 
the circumstances, a deep meaning." 

While she thus pondered, Mr. Potts was sent for by the sick 
lady. Left tCie-d-ictc with the doctor. Miss Simcox turned to him. 
'* And you tell me there is no hope?" she said, with mournful 

" Lord bless you, ma'am. I told you no such thing — no hope, in- 
deed !" 

" I — I — understood you to say as much/' observed the crert- 
fallen Lavinia. 

"No hope!" repeated the doctor — "no hope!— while there's life 
tlicrc *s hope, and though I say it, that shouldn't say it, while there 'i 
Thomas Dobbs there 's hope." 

This lafit assertion was made with so much energy, that Mi>i 
Simcox immediately acknowledged her mistake. *' There was hopt 
— she was confident there was — every hotje/' 

Yes — every hope but the right one. Poor Lavinia! she fell intfr' 
a reverie, that lasted for tlie next five minutes, then starting sud- 
denly from it, tried to brighten up her face, twitched her cap, 
twirled her ringlets, and looking up sweetly at Dr. Dobbs, aai( 
"she was (»Ud — very glad/' 

"OUd ot* what, ma'am ?" said the doctor. 

Miss Simcox might have found some difficulty in explaining hefj 
foflings, to so literal an auditor, but she was spared the task. bein| 
hiutily summoned, in her turn, to the bedside of *Mrs. Pott». 

Hhc stole softly up the stnirs, and entered the sick clianiber onj 



^H** I hear a rustle — ihe rustle of her best striped Bilk," said a voice 

^Rnn behind the curtains — a voice *' made faiut vith too much 

tweets/' black currant jelly, pulmonic paste^ and pectoral wafers. 

" 1« it my friend ?" it saiil. 

Lavinia declared that it was, and approaching the bedside ex- 
prened her overwhelming sorrow, at fintling her dear Mrs. Potts so 

"My Simcox !" said the sufferer, plaintively. 

It was one of her charming little peculiarities, to deei^ate her 
friends and acquaintances bv their surnames. Her husband was 
•imply "Potts" — iri(h mt\ Lavinia was wont to think, he would 
hare been Alfred Augustus, and what a pity 'tis, the name should 
Im thus thro-nn away. 

"My sweet, my sympathixing Simcox!" pursued Mrs. Potts— 
" Draw near to me — do you know why I have sent for you ?" 

"No, my dear friend," said Lttvinia ;" but never mind it now — 
don't worry yourself, I entreat. I — I — assure you everything goes 
on down stairs, just as if you were about again, as I trust in heaven, 
you will be soon, — next week perhaps." 

"I shall never be about again," said Mrs. Potts, solemnly — '* but 
jJ^'fBi resigned, quite so,— we have made up our minds to it, Potts 

'^Mr, Potts made no observation as to his mind — he muttered 
something from the other side of the bed, re&pecting his heart, 
which, according to his statement, was torn to pieces, picrce<l, 
cut through and through. 

Lavinia said nothing, but she wept sufficiently. 

"And you can't tell what I want to conHde to you^you don't 
know why I sent for you?" 

"No," sobbed *Miss Simcox. 

" You don't know the anxiety that is upon me^the weight." 

Mr. Potts adjusted the quilt — a heavy Marseilles. 

"It isn't //m/, Potts — Oh no J It's a very different kind of weight 
•—you little know what it is to lie here hour ai\er hour and think 
ancl fret." 

** My dear dear Mrs. Potts," entreatc^d Lavinia, " don't agitate — 
don't excite yourself,^! protest to you solemnly, everything is 
going on below like clock-work, and I shall see to those pre- 
serves Diytelf, I promise you, on Monday — I shall make a point of 
doing so." 

'• A lb. an<l half of pale Seville oranges to one lb. and half of 
sugar, double refined," murmured Mrs, Potts, " Boil together gently 
for twenty minutes ; if not &ufficiently clear, simmer for five or six 
minutes longer, stirring gently all the time — page 132, leaf doubled 
down — and the book is on the second shelf, right-hand corner of the 
little closet next to the ' Holy Living and Dying,' and you will be 
sure to follow the receipt exactly, Simcox.— But after all," pursued 
Mrs. Potts, *' what's in a receipt? there is an art in marmalade, 
and to be sure there never was any like mine." 

" Never, never," said the disconsolate husband. 

"Oh, Polls!" the wife replied, ** how you did enjoy it! and the 
children — I think i see them now, poor dears, with their pinafores 
on, and their sweet sticky little lips and fingers." 
^tf he picture was io viviil, that when Airs. Potts paused to cough. 



Miss Simcox cast a tVightened glance upon the beat striped silk, and 
drew its folds more closely around her in alarm. 

" Little ungels ! " said Mrs. Potts, still apostrophizing her young 
family, '* And that cherub Tommy !" 

" Don't — don't be uncomfortable about him/' said Miss Simcox, 
" How well he got over the influenza — and his new tunic is come 
home — he looks so sweetly in it, little darling!" 

" He'll look sweetly in his mourning," replied Mrs. Potts, with 
infinite pathos. '* Six of them, like steps of stairs, and all in black 
for their poor dear mamma ! " J 

" Oh ! it 's too much !" cried Potts. ^ 

Perhaps he metuit /oo many ; he spoke vaguely, but the feelings 
of a man who stands, as he did, on the brink of widower-hood, are 
too sacred for investigation — a deep myatery they ore, even t/^M 
himself. ^ 

"And you'll take them all to church the first Sunday, if their 
mourning can be got ready ?" said Mrs, Potts. 

" Ail^" enquired Potts^ whose grief now assumed the semblance ■ 
of terror. 1 

"All," replied Mrs. Potts, with eublime composure, •' All except- 
ing baby; and fifteen months is too young — he might take com ; 
but, Simcox," she added, turning towards her friend, "His feather 
must be dyed, and I depend on you about his sash." 

" Blackj or French grey ?" enquired L»vinia, in a muffled tone. 

" I — I shall go distracted/' exclaimed Potts^ " Upon my word I 

As a preliminary, he drew his fingers through liis hair, and 
rushed to the door. 

'* Come back. Potts," cried his wife. 

His hand was on the lock, but obedient to tlie conjugal com- 
mand, he turned. 

" Come, and stand beside my dying bed." 

He did as he was bid, but at the same time took occasion to in- 
form Mrs. Potts he " wasn 't fiiut or marble, or the nether mill- 
stone, and that this sort of thing tried him." 

" You must endeavour, my dear Mr. Potts," said Miss Simcox. 
who was industriously employed in drving her eyes. ''You must 
endeavour to overcome these emotions, laudable as they are." 

"They are an honour to your head and heart, but they mutt bA^ 
overcome/' said Mrs. Potts, somewhat peremptorily. f 

" I am not a btoic philosopher, nor a Brutus, no, nor a brute. 
Mrs. P.," he replied, "and 1 must be allowed to feel, I really 

Lavinia, with uplifted Imnds and eyes, protested she had " never 
seen such a husband — no, never — sucli devoted love!" 

Mrs. Potts raised her head from the pillow, nodded approbatioa— 
to this sentiment, and then sank back exhausted. fl 

There was silence in the sick chamber — Mr. Potts was dying t(>" 
be out of it, and to go distracted in the parlour, where he had left 
the doctor, and the tea. Mi^s Simcox began to feel her situation 
embarrassing. Mr. Potts might now be considered a single man — a 
widower, with black crape upon his liat — her poor dear friend was 
evidently all but gone. Mrs. PotU, herself, broke not the stillness; 
she uttered no murmur, no complaint; she did not even cough. 



but she covered up her face with the bed-cluthes, and lay in medita'- 
lion — she was collecting strength for a great effort. 
At last she spoke — 
" Simcox/' she said. 

*' My sweet sufferer!' Lavinia responded. 

** When 1 'm gone — when I 'm laid in my cold cold grave," (here 
Potla was observed to shiver convulsively,) " will you be a mother 
to my orphan six ?" 

*' J 'U try," said Lavinia ; and Lavinia said the truth. 
"Compose yourself, Simcox — It's all very natural, and creditable 
to your affectionate dispoMtlon, to cry and give way 80, but you 
inuttt hear me — come nearer both of you." 

Lavinia came close — very close indeed. Potts was more slow of 

" Remember it is my last wish, that you should be poor Potts'* 
consolation — his second choice." 

*' Mrs. P.!" exclaimed that gentleman, who appeared to consider 
himself aggrieved. 

"Potts/* said the lady, emphatically, "it must be/' 
" It's — It's premature/' stammered out the unhappy Mr. Potts. 
" Don'l^-don'l talk so — dear Mrs. Potts/' said the agitated Lavinia. 
*' It looks as if I hadn't been a good husband — it looks as if 1 wasn't 
' sorrv> Upon my word> Airs. P — , any stranger would think that 
we did not regret you." 

"Oh, dear Mr. Potts/' screamed Lavinia, "how can you give 
utterance to such horrid thoughts I" 

" I am sure you do regret me, Simcox/' said Mrs. Potts. " I see 
how you feel — I see it perfectly well/' Lavinia winced — *' but 
there are plenty of artful Misses/' continued the sick lady, with re- 
markable energy — " whom I know to be on the look out, and I 'm 
determined to disappoint them all — those Fusbys here three times a 
' day to enquire !'* 

I ■* Only twice," mildly observed Mr. Potts. 

I "Twice — three times — don't I lie here and count the double 

' knocks?" said the lady with much asperity — "but I see how it is. 
Potts. — I see through it all — Oh, that Fanny Fusby I" 

Mr. Potts protested his innocence with regard to Fanny, or any 
other Fusby. 

Lavinia was alarmed — she recalled the Fusby eyes, as black as 
I sloes — the Fusby skins, as while as cream — the Fusby cheeks, as 
ted as roses — the Fusby faces, mude alYer the pattern of a princess 
in a fairy tale — no wonder that she trembled and turned pale. 

** Promise me oji your word of honour, Potts," said his wife, 
^^.*'that you '11 never marry Fanny Fusby." He gave the promise. 
^^k '* Give me your hand." He gave that too. 
^» "Simcox, where is yours .^" said Mra. Potts, and she sat up in 

the bed bolt upright. 
i Lavinia produced her hand, with a good deal of alacrity^t wu 

«hrouded in a worsted mitten. 

"Take off that glove/' said Mrs. Potts. " It 's more impressive 
without it." Lavinia obeyed. 
L "There/' sai<l Airs. Potts, as she seized her friend's hand, and 

I placed it in that of Mr. Potts — " there it's done now — they 're joined 
^^^— let them not be put asunder." 



" The very word* of the Prarer book/' murmured Lavinio. 

" Premature/' muttered Mr. i^otts again, and bis fingers struggl 
faintly for release — Lavinia held them tight. 

*' By no means. Potts/' said his wife — " I don't wish it to lake 
place for a year — one twelvemonth you shall wear your crape. I 
ask no more — but promise me again, that Fanny Fusby never 
darkens these doors." 

'* I wish to heaven/' cried Potts, now evidently on the very eve 
of distraction. *' I wish to heaven, I had never seen Fanny Fusby. 
She has brought all this upon me." 

" Dless my stars!" Doctor Dobbs exclaimed, as he bustled into 
the room — *• there's ^Irs. Potts sittinff up in bed! — talking, I do 
believe! — lucky, I 'm sure, that I lookeid in before I left the house — 
lie down, lie down, my good lady — I can't answer for the conse«d 
quences of such doings." V 

'* Oh. doctor !" said Lavinia, " we have been begging and praying 
her not to exert herself." 

"It's cruel, downright cruel/' protested Potts. "She dues not 
consider me, Dobbs — not in the least — one would think I waa a _ 
block to hear her talk /' ■ 

Mrs. Potts informed the doctor, that she had merely been com- ^ 
municating her last wishes to her dear husband, and her dearest 
friend, and then went on to chant her nunc dimittit, in a voice more 
sick and low than ever — (she was always more piano in the medical 
presence than at any other time). — " Now she could depart in peace 
— now all was settled — now Fanny Fusby could not dance upon her 
grave, nor snub poor little Tommy — Simcox would watch over binij 
and be poor Potts's comforter." 

The doctor listened in mute amaxement— Mr Potts was evidently 
growing more and more bewildered, between conflicting duties ;— 
the present and the future Mrs. P. were both before him ; he knew 
not where to turn or look, and stood gazing into vacancy, with his 
hands now freed from Lavinias grasp, and firmly planted in his 
pockets — Miss Simcox, herself, was nearly overcome by the novelty 
and complexity of her emotions. Sensitive and shrinking by nature, 
her modesty on the present occasion was excessive, and manifested 
itaclf by a determination of blushes to the nose — it was a moment 
fraught with intense feeling— with high interests— one of those 
moments of such rare occurrence in this work-a-day world — that 
come upon us like fountains in the desert — like dew-drops to the 
thirsting fiowers; tiiere was something of sublime, in fact, in the 
])aui>e which followed Mrs. Potts's address, but it was broken by 
the doctor's whistling. 

•• Tol e ro) lol, my good lady," he said, " we must put a slop to 
this work — time enough for my friend Mr. Potts here to advertise 
for a wife twenty years to come, and I 'd lay my life Miss I^vinia 
would rather not wait so long/' 

'* Then you don't quite give me up, doctor?" said the patient. 
•* To be sure I don't — who «iid I did, I 'd like to know ?" en- 
quire^l the doctor. 

*• / didn't, I 'm sure," Mid Lavinia, and (to use one of her own 
Civuuritc figures of speech.) she " trembled all over." 

** I never dreiimed of such a thing," Potts «aid. in as still and 
>»all a voice, as if his conscience had found a tongue to tell the fib. 





" Don't Ulk, don't excite youraelf, my good laily," said the doc- 
tor, *' it 's high time that you should take your draught, and settle for 
the night." 

The enraptured Pott* caught at the iiuf^j^estion, and immediately 
convinced that any further converiiation (not strictly medicfll) might 
interfere with Mrs. IVs prospects of repose, proposed leaving her 
with Doctor Dobb^. Miss Simcox was of the same opinion, and, 
taking an affcctionntc, perhaps even pathetic farewell of the sick lady, 
they left the apartment. 

'Together they quitted it, together they groped their way down 
the dimly lighted stair case, Lnvinia starting at every noise, (for she 
w«s nervous,) and pressing nearer to the side of him, whom she now 
loake<l on as her natural protector — together they sat by the cheer- 
ful parlour fire — their feet upon the fender in sweet proximity— 
iheir hands — but Potts still kept his in his pockets, ao Luvinia was 
fain to cross hers on her bosom — together, as the evening advanced, 
they discussed their little supper, and the Fusby family — the clum- 
siness of their ancles — (\\ere Miss Simcox was unimpeachable, and 
glanced with pardonable triumph towards the fender)— the flaunt- 
ingnesa of* their attire — their numerous small imperfections, and the 
unaccountable delusion under which poor dear Mrs. Potts laboured ; 
with respect to Miss Kanny— the second eldest Fusby — "the most 
unlikely young woman in the world/' (as JMiss Lavinia more than 
once observed,) "to attract the attention of the mort refined, and 
most truly elegant minded, of his sex " 

In converse such aa this, the evening sped swiftly away, — the 
doctor popped in his head for a moment, to bid them keep up their 
spiritSj and to promise to look in early in the morning. 

Doctor DobbB had spoken truly; the influenza tirox "a treacher- 
ous complaint." The next morning, Mrs. Potts, (who could have 
believed it ?) was a great deal better ; " She had taken a turn," her 
own maid said, the fact was, she had taken a beef-steak. 

"I do believe they arc keeping me too low, Jones," she had said 
to the maid in question, when Doctor Dobbs had taken his leave 
the preceding night. 

" Ves, ma'am, and they has their reasons/' said the maid; a 
woman of sense and few words. 

•* I smell somethiTig/' said the invalid ; " something savory." 

" Yes, ma'am." 

" What is it, Jones ?" 

'•Master and Miss Simcox is having toasted cheese for supper, 
ma'am." Jones spoke with considerable emphasis. 

"^ Umph," muttered Mrs. Potts; "I tliought she told me every- 
thing went on like clock-work — pretty clock-work ! toasted cheese !" 

*'They has a tray every night, quite comfortable/' observed the 
maid, with admirable innocence. 

To confess the truth, Jliss Simcox was not a popular member in 
the lower house^ — as to Jones, she entertained a strong objection, as 
any reasonable servant might to two Alissuses, and "didn't see, for 
her part, what business they had of interlopers." 

Presently, the odour emanating from the parlour and the toasted 
cikeese became so potent, that Mrs. Polls declared "she could not 
sleep for it/" — presently, she thought "it gave her quite an ap- 
petite/' — presently, she fancied "she could pick a bit/' and 6nally, 
she enquired with much interest, "what they had in tlie lurder ?** 

ht I 

W Mn. FiMZs'f naMvr 
Fbi^ Aniny-room, awl 

i* tike hftU <ftoor, ihe ffttftrtl Eke & g«Hy tlaig^| 
DtMTc forth em aaA m motmam? m coU. S^ 

wIm wottU vcBt«re Corth 

9lw lw>mffrt alif hesrd a voiee funifitf to 
I dbUma were its totne^^—thewe iu wotds. 
tHc«e oanla and Mr*. Po(t» 

on, kmd, dear, 

t» the Mk$t$ 
Sey I 

Has PnuBT in p«rticulcr, and «• Jtfiv 
^otu,^ caJlrd f« ^jm, mind, to rrtnrn thanks for tlicir 
quinn and obliginip attentions during the Isflvksza," 



SovBREiaNB and princes are not the only persons who have their 
courtiers and flatterers ; the circumstance of being received at the 
palace, and going thither frequently, is alone sufficient to bring 
about you a troop of sycophants. Since the Revolution of July, 
more especially, it has been my fortune to come in contact with 
many very extraordinary people. My position about the royal 
family naturally led mc a great deal into society, and obliged me to 
receive all sorts of persons, some of whom were useful in one point 
of view, but despicable in many other respects. 

The meetings of the Phrenological Society were held in my 
drawing-room twice a month, and I often presided at them my- 
self. All our principal medical men were present on these occasions, 
Monsieur Broussais and his son, Houilland^ Andral, Fossatti, Gau- 
bert, Lacorbiere^ Dcmontier, Harel, Dcbout, Voisin, Salandiere, and 
others, and any foreigners who, during their stay in Paris, were desi- 
rous of iitfurmiiig themselves of tlie system of Gall and Spurzheim. 
Sometimes these meetings were particularly interesting. One even- 
ing two head^, covered with flesh, were brought mc in a basket. At 
first I thought they were modelled in wax, for they were placed 
with much caution upon the table, which served as a desk for the 
president and Ins secretaries. The eyes were open, and the features 
in a slate of perfect repose. I drew near to the table, and recog- 
nized the faces of Lacenaire ami Avril, two murderers whom I had 
visited in their cells. The boy who brought the two heads to the 
Phrenological Society, said to me, "You consider them very good 
likenesses, don't you. Monsieur Appert? " Upon my answering in 
the affirmative, he smiled, and observed, "^ that that was not very 
astonishing, for they had only quitted their ahoidders four hours 
ago." In short, they were actually the heads of those two cri- 

A curious circumstance happened to me in connexion with Lace- 
naire, which is worth relating. A short time before he committed 
the horrible murder for whicli he was sentenced to the scaH'old, he 
paid me a visit, on pretence of having an important secret to confide 
to me. I knew him immediately, for I had seen him in prison, but 
1 had nothing to fear from him as reganled myself, so I desired that 
he might be shewn into my study, in order that we might not be 
overheard by my secretaries. As soon as he entered the room, he 
closed the inside blinds, and, placing his back against the door, he 
said, — '* Do you know, my worthy Monsieur Appert, that you are 
very incautious to place yourself so completely in my power, and in 
an apartment too, where all your money is kept. I was aware of 
this when you brou;;ht me here. Your cries for assistance would 
not be easily heard, we are so far removed from any of your house- 
hold. I hnvc arm» secreted about my person, and am already guilty 
of several crimes: what should prevent me from killing you ? But 
you have nothing to fear," added he immediately afterwards. 
■* What man would be such a monster as to harm you, you who are 
• From the French of M. B. Appert. 



the iViern) uuJ coinlbrtcr of prisoners ? No." said lie with ener^; 
"rather would I die this instant than cause you a monieiit's pain.' 
I answered him with a smile, " Am I nc»t perfectly acquainted with 
you all, with all your characters? Vou have very fearful, d»r" 
thoughts at times, undoubletlly ; but still there is no reason whi 
should prevent me from trusting myself alone with you ; in fact, i 
any danger menaced me, it would be in a prison or bagnio that I 
should seek refuge." 

Lacenairc was much affected at this reply; for a few minutes hi* 
feelings quite overcame him ; tears rolled down his cheeks, and he 
addressed me in the following remarkable manner,— ■' Ah, Alonsieur 
Appert, if 1 could remain with you, under your iinmediale autho- 
rity, I swear to you that I would renounce the evil course of life 1 
have hitherto led. Vou cannot conceive what a guilty wretch I am. 
I have committed murder several times, but only when ray brain 
has been in a state of frenzy. At these moments I lose all sense of 
what I am doing. Often I think how different I might be : I forget 
the horror of my past life, and, in your presence, on beholding your 
perfect confidence in me, murderer as I am, and you too quite in 
my power. I feel an unaccountable emotion. It is you who make 
me tremble j you are completely my master ; speak only., tud I 
throw myself at your feet." 

This scene had powerfully affected me. I raised Lacenaire, and 
took him by the hand, and, in order to prove to him how entirely I 
trusted in his right intentions, I opened my cash-box, which was 
filled with gold and bank notes, and, going towards the door, said 
to him, " I have some directions to give, Lacenaire ; wait here a few 
minutes, and take care of my money." He appeared stupified it 
these words. 1 went into my secretaries' apartment, signed soib« 
letters, and then returnetl to Lacenaire, and closed the door. *' This 
is the Brst time that a cash-box has been so well guarded by you ; 
eh, Lacenaire?" This strong man, this great criminal, was coio- 
ptetely subdued, controlled as a wild beast by its keeper. He 
seemed to be in want, so I offered him a loan of thirty francs. It 
was only af\cr I had written him an order to receive this money, 
that he would accept it. We buth of us forgot the secret which he 
was to confide to me. Only a short time af^er, this unfortunate man 
was condemned to death, with his accomplice, Avril ; Francois was 
sentenced to hard Inbour for life. A man visited me one day, who 
could not be induced to give his name. It was impossible, bow- 
ever, to be deceived as to his being an inhabitant of a bagnio. The 
character of his physiognomy and his manner proved it. He said 
to me in a low tone, — for he came to me during one of my morning 
audiences,— '^'iMonsieur Appert, my friend, Lacenaire. who is shortly 
to be executed, wished me to see you. He did not ask you to go 
him, for he thought it might give you pain, but he has desired 
to thank you, and to return the thirty francs which he owes you 
The stranger clipped the moni-y into my hand, and disappear 
without giving me tinte to utter "a word. 

After these two anecdotes, you will easily imagine it was with 
considerable emotion that I gazed upon poor Lncenairc's hea(h for 
he had made a great impression upon mc. To complete the account 
of this strange iiffair, the executioner sent me the great-coat whi " 
'his wretched man wore at the time of his execution. During eacl 


lly , 



day I received persons of almost every de^ee in the social scale, and 

Cerhaps a few anecdotes of these interviews, dinners, and asseni- 
lies, may not be uninteresting to the reader^ especiaUy as I shall 
relate only the simple facts. 

One morning a little man came to see me, in a blue blouse, with 
a sort of helmet on his head. He had re<l pantaloons, great clumsy 
sho«8, and a white cotton cravat. His complexion was very tawny, his 
eyes were black and piercing, and his hair resembled a Spaniard's ; he 
looked exactly like a waggoner. "Why, Monsieur Appert, don't 
you remember your little Bonaparte of the Rochefort bagnio? I 
promised to come and see you. and here I am at lost. You recollect 
that I was sentenced to be imprisoned for life. 1 have managed to 
escape, but let me tell you, there is no slight risk of being seized in 
travelling from Rochefort to Paris." 1 soon recognised him, for I 
bad talked to him a great deal when 1 visited tlie prison of that 
town. He was considered a desperate character, an<f the name of 
Bonaparte, given to him by his companions, shews at any rate that 
he was enterprising and courageous in carrying out his plans. I 
asked him if he had firmly resolved to lead a better course of life. 
He gave me the word of a galley slave^ and I have never been de- 
ceived in trusting them, though I have sometimes been disappointed 
when I wished to reform them, by their refusal to make me any 
promise. People who have a more honest reputation are not always 
so scrupulous in keeping their word. " I shall want twenty or 
five and twenty francs," added he ; ** another pair of pantaloons, for 
these will surelv betray me, and a hat in place of this prisoner's cap, 
A shrewd genaarme would discover it immediately, even at some 
distance." I made one condition with him, that if I granted him all 
these things, he must leave off stealing, and try to gain an honest 
living in another country. When he had agreed to all I re- 
quired, I desired my valet to give him a pair of trousers, a hat, and 
some of my old waistcoats, and as soon as he had received thirty 
francs, he took his departure. A short time aflerwards he wrote to 
me from Strasburg, teUiiig me of his safe arrival there, af\er several 
adventures with the gendarmes. He declared that his promise should 
be religiously kept, and that he had fixed upon the Duchy of Baden 
for his new country. 

This visit brings to my mind a curious circumstance about another 
prisoner, who made his escape from a bagnio at Brest. He did not 
dare to enter Paris, so he very quietly proceeded to my country 
house in Lorraine* and when he found that I was absent, he begged 
my steward to give him a room next to mine, "fori am engaged 
by Monsieur Appcrt as his head-cook," said he, "and he has sent 
me forward in order that I may make preparations with you to 
receive him. You see, my good fellow, our master possesses a great 
deal of forethought." I arrived at night, and perceiving a stranger 
atlvance to offer me assistance in alighting from the carriage, I was 
about to ask who he was, when he whispered in my ear, *' I am your 
head- cook ; 1 will explain everything to you by and by." This 

t rogue took nothing from me during his unceremonious stay in my 
house. The next (lay I gave him ten francs, in order that he might 
return to Vosges, where he was born. 
Among the people who frequently dined with me on Saturdays in 
Paris or at Neuilly, were the Archbishop of iVIalines, tlie Viscount 






cle Lascazea, Count LaniiiinRts^ Generals Sclir&ma^ FeistharmeU 
Guillahcrt, Gemeau, tie Wielbans, Deputies Etienne, Marchol, Caijjh 
not, Gosse de Gorre. Gaiijtnier ; Messieurs Arnault, De Jouy, Ai^| 
miral Laplace, KiijLcene tie Pradele, De Crusy, Dulrone, De Gerenl^^ 
Outlard Laroy, Guillaumc, of the house of Orleans, Proiessors Va- 
letie, Cftsimir Broussais. Messieurs Fourrier, Considerant, Doctors 
Hutin, Cliapelain, Maltligny, Destouche, Lord Durham, Dr. Bow* 
ring, peer and member of the English parliament ; Alexander Dumas, 
Balzac ; the painters Allaux, Roqueplan, Schnelz, Picot, Klandiii. 
Lppaule, Bor^et, Dumoulin ; Gamier, the engraver, the friend of 
my boyhood; Huet. Camille Jube, Gourjales Gcntilhomme ; youn^ 
authors, Captains Peney» De Cartousiere, Mona. Jullien of Pari 
my excellent friend and notary, M. Ancelle; M. Labie, the 
of Paris ; the much esteemed and regretted Monsieur Amet 

These reunions of remarkable people were extremely interesting. 
Sometimes I invited Vidocq and Samson, the chief executioner of Paris, 
the son of the man who executed the king and Marie >\ntoinctte and 
other illustrious victims in 1793. All my friends begged to join 
my party when these two last persons were to be my guests. As I 
never received more than twelve at dinner, it will be readily ima- 
gined, after the long list of people I have mentioned as being in the 
habit of dining with me, that I was obliged to give a succession of 
entertainments, in order to pay attention to everybody, like the 
ministers, when they wish to bring over t!)e House of Peers to their 
side of the question. The Archbishop of Malines, and Monsieur 
Arnault, were the only two of my friends who refused to meet Sam- 
son, and I honestly confess that I shared in their prejudice. The 
following is a description of one of my dinners, it was the first to 
which Samson, the executioner, was invited, and look place on Good 
Friday. The manner in which I secured him for my party was rather 
singular. Vidocq, whom I had known some time before, was dining 
with me, and we were unanimously expressing our desire to get up 
another merry meeting as stwn as possible. We determined that 
Samson should be of the party, at least if he would accept the invi- 
tation, and wc were not quite certain that we could induce him to 
join us, for, from the nature of his character and employment, he 
visited very few people. " It shall be ray business to invite him," 
said Vidocq ; " leave it to me, I 'II take care that he comes." About 
the middle of the following day, a tall, gaunt man, dressed in black, 
and wearing the old tasliioncd frill, and u huge gold watch and chain, 
inquired if he could see me, but refused to give his name. When 
my secretary mentioned that somebody wished to speak to me, he 
added, that he thought my visitor was a person of condition, he ap- 
peared very much like the mayor of some district, who was going to 
{)reside at a marriage at the mayoralty, or who was ul>out to place 
limself at the heed of a municipal deputation to the king. 1 de- 
sired that he might be introduced, and after I had offered him a 
chair, I asked whom 1 had the honour of receiving. " Monsieur 
Appert," saitl he, " I have long entertained great respect for you, 
but if 1 had not been assured of your kind invitation for next Friday, 
I should never have taken the liberty of calling u|>on you, for I am 
the chief executioner." I could not help feeling a slight repugnance 
when I goxed upon this man. Since I first visited the prisons he luid 



executed the chief part of the unfortunate criminals whom 1 had at- 
tended in their Inst moments. *' I have invited you for next Friduv* Mr. 
Samson, and I liope I may depend upon the pleasure of seeing you," 
" As your invitation was brought me by Vidocq* with whose tricks 
I am well acquainted, I thought I would come and ascertain the truth of 
it from you. I lire generally so quietly, and am only in the habit of 
mixing with my colleagues, the chief number of whom are my rcla- 
tionss that I did not exactly know how to trust Vidocq's story, but 
I shall be most happy to accept your invitation, Monsieur Appcrt, 
for, as I said before, I have been long anxious to make your acquaint- 
ance.'* This piece of politeness on the part of an executioner, ap- 
peared to me rather original. I permitted him to take his leave* for 
I knew I should have plenty of time to talk to him on Friday. 

When Friday arrived, all ray guests were punctual to a minute. 
My party consisted of Lord Durham, Messrs. Bowring, De Jouy, Ad- 
miral Laplace, Etienne, Gaugnier, Muel, Doublat. Hector Davclouis, 
Vldocq, and Samson. I placed the last on my right hand, and Vidocq 
on my left; my other friends disposed themselves as they pleased. 
Samson looked very grave, and did not seem quite at his ease with 
all these great people, as he called them, for he whispered his opi- 
nion in my ear. Vidocq, on the contrary, was full of life and wit, 
making all torts of epigrams, and joining with spirit in the conversa- 
tion. He said jestingly to the executioner, " You are not aware, 
perhaps, Mr. Samson, tliat I often gave you employment when I was 
commander of the safety brigade," *' I know that too well, Mr, 
Vidocq/' replied the executioner ; and then' putting his head down 
to my ear, he observed, " I would not have met that fellow any where 
but at your bouse : he is a good-for-nothing rogue*" Vidocq whis- 
pered to me almost at the same time, " That Samson is a good fellow, 
but it seems very odd to me to dine at the same table with him." 
My guests soon entered into conversation with the executioner. 

M. de Jouy. — ** Yours ia a very terrible office, Mons. Samson, yet, 
in shedding blood, you only carry out the extreme penalty of tho 

Samson — "You are right, sir; I am only the instrument. It is the 
law which condemns." 

Lord Durham. — " How many persons have you already beheaded, 
Mr. Samson ?'* 

Samson, — " About three hundred and sixty, my lord." 

Dr. Bowring. — "Do not your feelings frequently overcome you 
when you are on the point of securing the poor creatures to the 

Samson. — "That is the business of my assistants, as well as to cut 
the hair and place the baskets ready to receive the body and head ; 
I have only to sec that everything goes forward as quickly as pos- 
sible, and to slip the cord which suspends the axe.'* 

M, de Jouy. — " Do you think that they suffer at all after the 

Samson. — "Undoubtedly; the face is distorted with convulsions, 
the eyes roll, and the head appears violently agitated. I was near 
my father when he was compelled to execute poor Louis the Six- 
teenth, to whom our family was much attached. He was obliged, 
according to the directions he hadreceived» to take up the head by 

V 2 



its hair, and show it to the people; but when he beheld thecnlm and 
benevolent expression which the features Mill retained, he was com- 
pletely overwhehnetl by his feelings. Fortunately I was close at 
hand, and being rather tall and large, I succeeded in sheltering him 
from the gaze of the mullitutlc; for if his emotion hod been perceived, 
we should have been certainly guillotined in our turn. Soon after 
these sad events, I became captain in the artillery ; but my father 
said to me very sensibly one day, ' Samson, my office will fall to your 
lot ; it has brought us more than twelve thousand pounds — an enor- 
mous sum at that time. You will do well to take it* my boy, for 
there will always be certain prejudices which will prove obstacles to 
your rising beyond a certain jmint; iind they may even prevent you 
from remaining captain. Our ancestors have exercised the office of 
executioner for more than a century : you will be able to live quietly 
and comfortably, and, at all events, nobody will liave any right to 
interfere with your affiiirs.' " 

Vidocq. — '* Your father ought to have added, ' Except those people 
whose throata you cut.*" 

Samson.—" No jesting, Mr. Vidocq ; I am relating facta." 

Vidocq. — ** Yes, alas T'* 

These words wounded the executioner to the quick, " That man 
is very coarse," whispered he : " you may see that he is not accus- 
tomed to good society ; he has not my department." 

M. do Jouy. — "Before the invention of ihe guillotine, M- Samson. 
your ancestors made use of a sword which struck off the head at a 
single blow, did they not?" 

Samson.-—" I have the terrible weapon still in my possession, 
M. de Jouy ; it is a Damascus blade, and was worth twelve hundred 
pounds at the time it was bought at Constantinople. My father 
marked the side with which he cut off the Marquis de Lally's head 
with a piece of thread, us well as that which beheaded the Chevalier 
de la Rarre. When 1 was much younger than I am now, and rather 
more fond of adventure, I remember going out one night with this 
Jong weapon concealed under my great-coat- Some men attacked 
roe for the purpose of emptj'ing ray pockets, and indeed I might 
have been murdered. They were at least eight in number, and 
I knew it would be impossible for me to struggle with so many rogues; 
80 I had recourse to a little daring. I darted upon them witH 
my huge sword, shouting out in a croaking voice, * Don't you kno« 
that I am the executioner of Paris ?* They all took to their hecUll 
these terrible words, as if I had been a thunderbolt to grind them to 

Lord Durham. — " I should like very much to see the guillotine in 
operation, Mr. Samson." 

Samson. — " You have only to fix a day with M- Appert, my lord, 
and I will have it put together by my assistants in the coach-house, 
where it is kept ; for it is always taken to pieces after every execi^- 
tion. The coach-builder, in whose house it is at present, lives not fiU" 
from my house, in the Rue des Marais du Temple." 

The conversation, which had been more particularly addressed 1^ 
Samson, now became general, and for the rest of the evening VidocQ. 
shared our attention, and, as is his wont, he was very agreeable V>d 





Do I b'leve in the sea-sarpint? You might as well ax me if I 
b'leved in the compaiis, or thought the log could lie. Tve never seed 
the critter myself, cos I hain't cruised iti them waters as he locates 
himself in, not since I started on my first voyage in the CanRdence 
\rhaler, Cabling Cotfiiig ; but 1 recking I 've got a brother as hails from 
Nahont. that sees him handsome every year, and knows the latitude 
and longitude oi' the' beast just as welt as 1 knows the length o* the 
f'ultock shrouds o' the foretops. 

Brother Zac's pretty 'cute, and kalkilates from actil observation how 
much tlic surpint grows every year; and then he gets sifTerin*, and fig- 
gerin'^and reckonin\ till he makes out how tarnal long it took the sarpint 
to extensity himself to that almighty size — offerin' to prove ihat the 
critter was one o* them ar' creeping things what Commodore Noah took 
into his boat at that ar* big rain as the Bible tells on ; and perhaps, as 
Zac says, he is the real, original^ etarnal sarpint, as got the weather* 
gage of Mrs. Eve, and gammoned her to lay piratical hands on her 
husband's stock of apples jest as he was gettin' bis cider fixins ready 
iu the fall. And, by gauly, old fellers, there aint nothin* agin natur* 
in that yarn, nyther — Tor brother Zac says, he can prove that that ar' 
sarpint must have partaking o* the tree o' life as growed in the gard- 
ing of Eding, afore them first squatters what had located themselves 
thar' was druv* off by the angel Gabriel for mukiu' free with the go- 
vernor's trees. Welt, there was a nigger as 1 knowed once down south, 
'niongst themcotting plantashings — and this here darkey used to get 
his rum aboard ratlier stiff— so, one night, havin' stowed away a 
soakin* cargo, he found the navigation pretty considerable severe, and 
after tackin' larbord and starbord, mukin* short legs to winderd, and 
long uns to lewerd, he missed stays, and brought up in a ditch. 
While the darkey wus lettin' off the steam and snorin' himself sober, 
a mud tortle, about the size of our capting's epdlitts, crawls right 
slick into his open mouth, and wriggles stret down into his innerds. 
Waell, the nigger felt the effects o* loo much tortle to his dying day 
— and that's the case, 1 guess, with the sarpint — for havin' fed in his 
infancy on the fruit o' the tree o' life, he was obligated to keep on 
livin' ever arter, and can't die no how he can fix it. And so he keej>s 
on a gettin' longer every week, like a purser's account, and nobody 
can't guess what for, nyther. 

Did j/oit ever see a marmaid ? Waell, then, I reckon you'd best 
shut up, COB I have — and many on 'em ; and marnien too, and mar- 
raisacs and marmastcrs, of all sizes from babbies not bi<;ger nor mac* 
krcls to regular six-feeters, with starns like a full grow'd porpus. I've 
been at a marmaids' tea-party, and after larnin' the poor ignorant 
sculy critters how to splice the main brace, I leil the hull hilin' on 'em 
blazin* drunk. 

You see when our crafi was cruisin' up the Arches, we cast anclior 
one moruin' in pretty dc*ep water just abrcst of a small green island 

,wasnH down in the chart, and hadn't got no name^ nyther. 15ut 


kaoved what he vac arter, abeout as right as nioepeoce, 
I iiewuci caaic aloog-ckle pretty sune, freighted with 
wme fbr the oCocn* what they 'd ordered for their o«ra 
Waefli At afioga vaa run up to the eud o' the miiu-^ 
jani, and the wsisicn were hasj houtin* up the barrils, when a caik] 
o* braody rf i ypcd ftoa the afings as it was t>eing canted round, and 
diupy c J right iytaah rate the aea, lin