Full text of "Bentley's miscellany"

See other formats

This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project
to make the world's books discoverable online.

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject
to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books
are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.

Marks, notations and other marginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the
publisher to a library and finally to you.

Usage guidelines

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we have taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.

We also ask that you:

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for
personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Maintain attribution The Google "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe.

About Google Book Search

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web

at|http: //books .google . com/

BENTLEY'S

MISCELLANY.

VOL. xxin.

LONDON:

RICHARD BENTLEY,

NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1848.

XABSfi.

lonhon:

CONTENTS.

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

9Mtt

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

121

6^6

125

250

384

524

623

202

8^512

OOS

IV CONTENTS.

PAGE

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

ILLUSTRATIONS,

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 .....

1
31
115
167
219
303
317
323
425
431
532
537
615

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.

LORD HARDINGE, AND THE RECENT VICTORIES
IN INDIA.

BY W. C. TATLOn, LL. D.
PORTBAIT, FROM A PICTURE BY ROBS.

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-
lington.

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.

VOL, XXIII.

S LORD HARDIKQE.

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;

LORD HARDINGR.

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
iTHindastan.

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

LORD nARDINOE.

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

LORD HARDINGE.

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-
tude.

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

LORD HARDINGE.

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
battle.

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

LORD UARDINGB.

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

LORD HARDINQE.

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.

LORD HARDINOE.

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

portion

nx (Si

iheE

boiti

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

THE SEARCH AFTER TRUTH,

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"

THE COUNTRY TOWNS AND INNS OP PRANCE.

BY J, MABrSL.

OAJEKTTECBB. — tXVS AKO CAFCS OT LTOMS. — SBOWg OF LYONS, — THE
XESSAOCftlCS GEKEKALBS.— FRENCH KOADSIOE.— LIMOOKl.

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.

THE COUNTRY TOWNS

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
Ljrona.

** 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
Khone.

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

AND INNS OF FRANCE.

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

THE COUNTRY TOWNS

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
habits.

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

AKD INKS OF FRAXCS.

of the dar» sre oDfortaaatelj iiwiiiMiiit ; bat cf toq oc^er
will be sore of tbe cKHspMnoaate iwgiib «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 fwlBMIe 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 aaf 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 byfldiii^ 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 atrnugcr on n bn|>>bninrd
chase of half the steeples in the town ; nor will be be mndi '^^vwuiUid
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

THE COUNTRY TOWNS

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
Rhone.

PARA; OR, SCENES AND ADVENTURES ON THE
BANKS OF THE AMAZON.

BT J. B. WASKKN.

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

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

CHAPTER III.

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. 0

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

ADVETn^UBES ON THE AMAZON.

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-

ADVENTURKS ON THE AMAZON.

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.

CnAPTER IV.

'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-

▲DV£NTUft£S ON THE AMAZOK*

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

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON.

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

and*

im-
lich
eed
A
lelM

AN OLD MAN'S RECOLLECTIONS

or TBE

PASTORAL CAKTONS OF BWITZERLAND.

BOITKO BT MRS. PERCY BINNBTT.

dull

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
beautiful.

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
U

RECOLLECTiONS OF THE

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
risible.

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
spectacle.

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»*

PASTORAL CANTONS OF SWITZERLAND.

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,
chu.se the Cantons of Lucerne, Schwytz, and Unterwalden, fur arbitra-

EECOLLECTIONS OF THE

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

tea

PASTORAL CANTONS OF SWITZERLAND.

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

PAflTORAt CMfTinVS OP SVTTZEaLAKD,

^« 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
tothrirgdidayctoibca; 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.

THE LUCKY GROCER.

BY ABRAHAM EI.DXR.

WITn AN ILLCBTRATION BY LEBCB.

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
satisfaction.

" 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 muj^ying 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 muaSa tbey did
not tend ;ou a draft fisr the — wwiH 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

THE LUCKY GSOCCS.

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
sovereigns*"

"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
streeta."

"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.

THE LUCKY GROCER.

"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
rections.

" 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.

THE LUCKY GROCKR.

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
Brown?"

•• 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

THE LUCKY GROCER.

" 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

TUB LUCKY GROCEU.

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

THE LUCKY OROCBR.

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
cushion.'*

" 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,

THE LUCKY GROCER.

S[>

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
roa.st 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

THE LUCKY OROCEB.

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.

THE LUCKY GROCER.

'^ 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.

THE LUCKY GROCER.

** 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
invitation.

" 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

THE LUCKY GROCER.

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'
time.

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-
cumstances?"

" 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.

FETES AT MADRID.*

TH8 U0NTPBN81SR MARBIAOS.

We have been leadint; such a iife of

and

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.

FfiXES AT MADRID.

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-
tume.

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

rfeTES AT MADRID.

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;

pfeTKS AT MADRTP.

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

AT MADRID.

rean.

: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

"icri

buU J
anilA
iach T

F&TES AT MADRID.

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

rt'TES AT MADRID.

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

F^TES AT MADRID.

!SI

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

FfcTES AT MADRID,

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

en-

thai

FETES AT MADRID.

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
appearance.

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.

THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OP THE WORLD.

ntUUy ruial tk

BY PROFESSOR CREASY.

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

No. I.— MARATHON.

*' 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

THE BATTLE OP MARATHON.

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

THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

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
AJedes?

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.

T. — THE BATTLE OF MARATHOK.

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

'WK

I5S THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

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
dawn.

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

1. — THE BATTLe OF HAEATBOIL

lad.EcTrS

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 they
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

THE SIX DECISIVE BATfLES OF THE WOELD.

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.

I.— THE BATTLE OP MARATHON.

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

TOE SIX DECISIVE BATTI.EK OP THE WORLD.

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

T. — THE BATTLE OF MARATHON.

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.

THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OE THE WORLD.

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 theGranicus.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-
lization.

fi5

VISIT TO HIS HIGHNESS RAJAH BROOKE
I AT SARAWAK.

[ Osil
battle 8

BY PGTSR M*=QUaAX,
CAfTAIV OF HEM KAJCITT's IBTT DAOALVS.

^iTB AN BNOBAVIKO OF TUB BDNOALOW OF TBB RAJAH.

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.

TOIi. XXI II. V

VISIT TO SARAWAK,

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

VISIT TO SARAWAK.

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^^\^

VISIT TO SARAWAK.

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
world.

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.

SDO

VISIT TO SARAWAK,

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
steamer.

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-

TO SARAWAK.

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. Papg^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
Duddniden*

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.*'

VISIT TO SARAWAK.

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
Macassar.

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 heacb, ia u>e directioa of

tike

free, aad tlte

iteridenoe ibat

CRClcdbTtfae
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 ayycaiaiKe. Several large haboona 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"
taria."

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.

NEW YEARS EVE.

PaOlf TBS OERUAN OK FBEO£RlCH BICHTBB.

BY H

WHITLIM

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.

CAREER OF THE HERO OP ACRE.

WITH A PORTRAIT OF SIR 8IDNEV 8MITB.

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-

CAREER OF THE HERO OP ACRE.

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

CABEEB OF THE HERO OF ACRE.

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.

CAPTAIN SPIKE;

OR, TBB ISI^ETS OF THE GULF.

BY THE AUTHOR OF " THB PILOT," "RED ROVBR," ETC,

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.

OHAPTBB XV.

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

CAPTAIN SPIKE;

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.

'ery

OR, THE ISLETS OF THiS GULF.

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

CAPTAIN SPnCE;

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
her.

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*^

OR, THE ISLETS OF TOE GULP.

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

CAPTAIN SPIKE ;

"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.

OH, THE ISLETS OF THK GULP.

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

CAPTAIN SPIKE ;

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,

OB, THE ISLETS OF THE GULF.

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-
sheets.

** 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

OR, THE ISLETS OF THE GULP.

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,

^^^ 8S KT BIRTn-DAY DREAK.

^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 MV BIRTH-DAY DREAM. H

^^^^ BT SDVABJ} KCVEALY. ■

^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-

^^^H

^^B fure me.

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

^H Two maidens, beauteous as tlie rising

j^^^l

^^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

^^^^H

FoUy mar." ^^H

^^^^V Lnurula mud roses bright as brightest

^^f

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

^^^^K

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

embraces

^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,

immortal^

^H And ntyn) wealth and grandeur are

To thee, and not to Power 1 yieU

^^B

my soul •

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

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

^^H

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

^^B

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

Hme.

^^^^- 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.

GOVERNMENT PLAN FOR THE DEFENCE OF THE
[ COUNTRY.

[ BY .fAIUKS AUOUSTUa BT. JOHN,

AUTHOR OP "THE MANNKHS, KTC., OF ANCIBNT GREECE.''

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
children.

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

GOVERNMENT PLAN FOR THE

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 0 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

DEFENCE OF THE COUNTRY.

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

GOVERNMENT PLAN FOR THE

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-

DEFENCE OF THE COUNTRY.

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

GOVERNMENT PLAN FOR THK

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

DEFENCE OP THE COUNTUY.

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*

OOVEUNMENT PLAN FOB THE

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

DEFENCE OF THE COUNTRY.

1*7

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

VOL. XXIIT. a

GOVERNMENT PLAN FOR THE

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
pense.

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

DEFENCE OF THE COUNTRY,

fB»

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
treasures.

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

100

GOVERNMENT PLAN FOR THE

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.

POSTSCRIPT.

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.

were
the
js to J
udet^
;theV

DEFENCE OF THE COUNTRY.

101

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.

A VISIT TO THE '• HAUNT" OF A POETESS.

BY TBS AUTHOR OP *' FASDIANA/* BTC

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
day.)

How should we ever establish our little casual acquaintances with
out an atmosphere? and how on earth^-or rather on moon — do they

A VISIT TO THE HAUNT OP A POETESS.

103

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

lOi

A VISIT TO THE

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
up.

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."

HAUNT OF A POETESS.

105

*• A' got Ihc fish, did aV*

« Well."
•'Hum."

"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 ?"

A VISIT TO THE

"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
please."

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-
mount.

"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."

HAUNT OF A POETESS.

107

of yourself. Him *11

down.

^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
it."
(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
beauty.

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

108

A VISIT TO THE

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
obliged.*'

*' 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

nAUNTS OF A POETESS.

109

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-
thing!"

" 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
•un.'*

'* 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
liked"

'•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

THE REVERIE OF LOVE.

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.

THE REVERIE OF LOVE.

" Like n dream
or what our soul has Inretl, aiid KhI for ercr.
Thy vision dwells with me.*'

Mas. BCTLER.

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.

A RAMBLE ALONG THE OLD KENTISH ROAD FROM
CANTERBURY TO LONDON:

ITS CUBI081TIB8 AND ANTIQUITIKS.

Br HBNRY CURLING.

*' 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

112

CANTCRBintr TO LOXDOX.

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 ijfCMHiabW 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
observed.

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
urns.

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.

CANTERDURY TO LOtTDON,

113

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
me.

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

fe"P.

|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

XXIII. I

114

THE WATER-ULY.

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.

THE WATER LILY.

** She that purifips die light,
The virgin Lily« rsithful tu her u-hite.
Whereon Eve wept in Eden for her Blinroe.*'

Boon.

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.

CUTHBCRT BE2>C.

* Njfmjthma (9¥f^ ** ■ bride") aWa is iia boioolcal name.

115

MEMOIR OF BEETHOVEN.

BY MIS8 THOMASINA BOSS.

WITH A PORTKAIT.'

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
Oiympus.

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
cvttpQMr.

f Thr prepMitinn ran attoolied to De«dioveti's iiAme denolM hit Kleminb

VOL. XXIII. K

116 MEMOIK OE

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.

BEETHOVEN.

117

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

118

MEMOIR OF

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. .

BEETHOVEN.

tts

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

some

ISO

MEMOIR OF BEETHOVEN,

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.

721

A PETE CHAMPfeTRE IN CONSTANTINOPLE.

BY MRS. PERCV 8INKET.

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

122

A FirrE CHAKPETRE

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

fnagni5cence.

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-

IN CONSTANTINOPLE,

1S^

]ettes that at lust preseuted themselves where the Turkish grandezza
awaited them in solemn trunijuiUity may be better imugined than de-
scribed.

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
vanished.

* 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.

LOVE*8 DESERTION.

A MELANCUOLY TACT.

BT ALFAKO CKOWQUILL.

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>'!

THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

BY PB0FK860R CAEJi£Y.

^•^ Thoae few btttlM of which a contrary evcut would have estwntittUy varied liic
drama of the world in all its luhftcqueni aceuM.'* — Ujillam.

No. II.— DEFEAT OF THE ATHENIANS AT SYRACUSE.

** 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

VOSLO.

«f Uk kaob U* boJ reecsK^ ifitf of wm twdt oT«r» and fortified
ffmm fasy ta b^, ^id ■■— Maliil the brgcr pwt of Syracase.

TWkilMMii «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*!
iiitpiuT of Sic3t,) riaca lyillj ftr a «Qe or tvv^ bvt diminishes in
width, MMtd AhIU It I ■»■■>■ ■■ a \aa% ■■■«■ ridge, between which
Mid Moant Hybb a ■accuwinn of chjana aad anercn low ground ex-
tflids. On each iank of tfaU ridge the dcocmt 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

n — DEFEAT OF THE ATHENIANS AT SYRACUSE.

127

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-

128

THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF TUB WORLD.

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, th.sn 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*

T. — DEFEAT OF THE ATHENTANS AT SYRACUSE. 129

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: :.tm ^-.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":.ir. pfr.eril e:irr.es:!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

■ II. — DEFEAT OF TFIE ATHENIANS AT SVnACUSE. 131

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«

VOL. XXIII. V.

132

THE 8IX DECrSIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

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.

SONO.

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.

IBS

CHARACTERISTICS OF THE POET GRAY,

BY B. JE8SB.

" 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&

134

THE POET GRAY.

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
pursuits.

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

THE POET GRAY.

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
tranquillity.

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
caiiceUed."

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,

OWGIX OF THS STtWT OP BLUE BEARD.

■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 clriiMi «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
eyes.

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
romances

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

STORY OF BLUE BEARD.

IS^

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
distunt.

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
Angers.

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

ORIGIN OF THE

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*

8T0HY OF BLUE BEAItD.

139

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^

upco
ium|

140

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
Brittany.

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
light.

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

hel

ofS

t m

stn

jou

md
econ

ainii
It

STORY OF BLUE DEARD.

141

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
piety.

** 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

142

ORIQIN OF THK STOftT OF BLUE BEARD.

»nc^

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
troi

romai
>m d|
db^
icaM

IE COUNTRY TOWNS AND INNS OF FRANCE.

BV J. UARVBL.

f ADXEKRE. — LtUAOES.

^ 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-
koves.

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.

144 THE COUNTRY TOWNS

" 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-
pears.

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

e«l

AKD 1NN8 OP FRANCE.

145

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
Babel.

" 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-

146

THE COUNTRY TOWNS

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.

AND IN*N8 OF FRANCE.

147

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-

148

THE COUNTRY TOWNS

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 INKS OF PRAl

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.

ISO

^""«^« «.rc„., „ ,,

'^^oxv not

'mmortai dun--

« »uch ^ " W'A.t bu„ '*" f^^nb. *' °f the

e**

SUMMER 8KETCHE8.

151

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
regard.

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
ileeds.

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
changes,—

'■^ 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
ife-pUc*;.

* It is 10 Iw seen at iXm MuMium of the ludia House.

152 SCMMEB SKJETCBES

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
Blanc.

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

IN SWITZCRLAXD.

153

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

154

ftUXXER SKETCHES

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

IN SWITZERLAND.

156

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-
tact.

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
sentimentality.

156

SUMMKU SKETCHES

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
t>eA^^^
nyaM

IN SWITZERLAND.

157

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.

158 SUMMER SKETCHES IN SWITZERLAKD.

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.

BEATRIX DE SAVOY TO HER HUSBAND.

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 !

PARA; OR, SCENES AND ADVENTURES ON THE
BANKS OF THE AMAZON.

BY J. B. WABBBN.

R^ons immense, uns«archabl«, unknown.

Bask iu the Bpleodour of the wlnr lone. Mohtoouebt.

CUAI»TKR V.

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
Nazere!

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

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON.

161

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
them.

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 ! *'

162

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

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON,

165

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

T1.

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. ^

166

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON.

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

WHAT TOM PRINGLE DID WITH A jCIOO NOTE,

WITB AN ILLUSTRATION BT J. LBXGB.

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

168

WHAT TOM PRTNGLE DID.

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

WflAT TOM PRIXOLE DID.

16»

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

170

WHAT TOM PRINOLE DID.

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

he
)m ^

WUAT TOBI PRINGLE DID.

171

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

WHAT TOM rniNGLE HID.

173

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-
sure.

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
Wonderful.

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.

174

THK HEIRESS OP BUDOWA.

A TALE OP THB TBIBTT YKARfl* WAA.

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 inAianffld 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

THE HEIRESS OF BUDOWA,

176

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,<

17fi

THE HEIRKSS OP BUDOWA.

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

THE HEIRESS OF BUDOWA.

•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.

178

HEIRESS OF BCDOWA.

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
aligh^
stive ^
oouldH

'jurefl

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
recess.

The sudden necessity for her quick dectsion had obliged him i

THE HEIRESS OF BUDOWA.

1T9

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
emotion.

180

THE HEniESS OF BUDOWA.

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

THE HEIRESS OF BVDOWA

17D

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

aout.

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

lV> THE HEUtESS OF BCPOWA.

. h

tx'.r sTKoe i*: *icalins ibe fortrm vas br a ladder of
r-<T^e«. Efr/i rr.ax. seriLru^lT, is & suenw on vUdi life depended, iW
:Vw :rs.re $^;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 l.in . 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'
piiioss.

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-

THE nEIHRSS OF BUPOWA.

181

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-
ilves.

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

m4'

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

THE HEIRESS OF BUDOWA.

iss

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

1»4

THE HQSE88 OF BUDOWA.

A* TmM|ttisbe<d» inclosed togetlier in a

oC powder still coatinaed so trcmendons

and rtna the practised ears of the warlike

->y^

witk tkeTictar

as t* ikttke the alovl

her.
a lu^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 ^BM 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

OAivCTMl

the pepohneof ^aguek
eoMader the deed el h<
bieaUT «£ the hM oad
oScdfimeirfcrtho
bila»tolam.ml
to the 01—^1 Cottnt of
the raral puaee uaHJl he

amic

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 tuhim.be
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.

185

DIFFICULTIES IN A TOUR TO WIESBADEN.

BY THB ADTBOB OP " FAIIDIANA/' KTC.

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-
way.

"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
found?"

" 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.

1S6

DIFFICULTIES IN A

Bet

yoD

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 «
eces
Lhat
nd,
sAilea
ut ll

TOUft TO WIESBADEN.

187

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
desk.

" 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-
bacb.

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-

)8S

DIFFICULTIES IN A

r tin

ebell

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.**

TOUR TO WIESBADEN.

189

"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.

TO WIESBADSar.

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 beeii dreBCBSOf
the vindcnrol dii
m Raaie with a wretched
her arm that sbe n
kftbtiiac 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 mutidyg.
" HiUa ! ai« x«« X"""! ** P^^ away the dress ?**
"Yai*.-

" Or, to «t it ■■Ardy
-YaiiL-

** Yam arc qeiibe asre it is not this way ?" pmnting to the tube
«0Df«TS the ws«er ham. the raoC

deU«be

'Yab.-

"*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 » hopeleai 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

WHAT CAN SORROW DO ?

191

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
hotel.

" 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 barrcl.fi^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 SORROW DO ?

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.

CAPTAIN SPIKE;
OK, TUB ISLETS OP THK O U L F«

BY TH* AUTUOR OP "THE PILOTi" " RBD ROVER, " KTC.

'* 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.**

SOCTBET.

CIIAPTKB XVI.

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

CAPTAIN SPIKE. 19S

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

194

CAPTAIN spike;

ind

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." ^|

OK, THE ISLETS OF THE GULF.

195

** 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
that."

" 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
Spike."

"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-
cumstances.

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-
panion.

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-
XXIII. p

196

CAPTAIN SPIKE;

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-
piul."

" 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-
ments."

*' 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
here."

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.

OR, THE ISLETS OF THE GULF.

itfr

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
silence,

" 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
asked,

•• 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-

CAPrAm SFfKE;

may ofiCD
excileiL

of emo-

m voBMo myself,** she

if iktwmined to bria^

'*lt't» Balnal &r u aU to take sdes with

* Too a vaHH% Jaek? — Iktt ii ref^ if iaii«M> Since vhen htte
fan UM for « woamn ? Yoo kave iliip|>ed vilh me twice, and each
tbae as a man, — ihoagh I never tiMiagkt yoo able to do tcananV

4ltT."

^ Kerttthckji, 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."

OK, THE ISLETS OP THE GULP.

199

*^ And how could you leave her aabore — she, your true and lawful
wife?"

** 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

CAPTAIN SriKE.

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
point.

'* 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*
crease.

** 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

THE POSTMAN,

201

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 seemed 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.

THE POSTMAN.

BT H. R. ADDISOM.

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
health.

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
there.

And minds, though far apart,
Shall lell far more than lanpiage c/otv.

Or utierauce cau impart.

Then speed, &c.

THE OLD MAX AND HIS GUESTS.

BY n. J. WBITLINO.

« 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.

IDLESSE; OR, THB NOON-DAY HALT.

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.

THE OLD MAN AND UIS GUESTS.

SOS

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

THE OLD MaH

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
Ieaa6«riy-

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
coafbaed aad broken enough under the circumstances of their di»>
closure, were of sulfccienit 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 th.it 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
listeners,

" 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.

THE SPELL.

" 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

TQE OLD MAK

the worid in ray own vay^ rather th&n submit to it My parents re-
mmmttntbtd oAn aid rtiwigly, 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.
cottid ewal raci

** One eveaia^ as I was retaming home, laden with the spoils of
the day» old Rjidiih 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

AND HI8 GUESTS.

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.

206

THE OLD UAS

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
catc."

TUE UNLOCKED rOR INTERRUPTION.

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

AND HIS QUESTS.

209

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
skin."

'* 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
yourselves."

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

■LlTi">aCI>T

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-

AND HIS GUESTS.

211

. 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

212 THE OLD MAS

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 aingeit 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 0
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."

r.RAV-COAT'S STORV.

" 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

AND HIS GUESTS.

213

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
gone,

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-

214

THE OLD BtAN

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.

TBB AWAKING.

'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.

AND HIS GUESTS.

SIS

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

THE TWO PIGS.^A SWINISH COLLOQUY.

BT W. K. BVKTOK.

•* 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

THE TWO PIGS-

SIY

«»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
^ore-quarter
*haped.

Irish Pig.

Cttrltf'taiL

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^lluptuous?

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 w.is, and the jynt was hardly

THE TWO PIGS.

•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
i.::.ir:r' -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
;eA.ir"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
ih.it 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. £i:.td. but he r»oves his trotters in double quick time.
Run, ye divil. the hi.:h r.tiT^er h.is 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''

219

THE LATE ISAAC D'ISRAELI. ESQ.. AND TKE
GENIUS OF JUDAISM.

BV W. C. T A V L O n, LL. D.

WITB A PORTRAIT.

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. "«.

Si».' THE Late ISAAC D'ISRAELT, ESQ.

^^"-•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..rs ::' «..-j^i.il »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 r.ss. 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 -.ie =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
su»pici*>n.

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 LATE ISAAC D rSRAELf, ESQ.

221

' 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

THE LATC ISAAC D ISBAELI, ESQ.

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 awba, dal we hare examined the resulti
Bbe^ I* be padacaA by Us ibiacrMit <md and hU Venetian desceoL
SXlamA, «c at* iaiicBed, wcaiTOd tba greaUr part of his educaiioi
at LcjdesL He aeeas Wiwam an baybood to bare read a pretty exlensin
of Uabito tad Rabbiakal Kteratiire ; judging merely from thi
of bia later ofUioga, 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 cuBliuued 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
shell."

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:—

THE LATE ISAAC D ISRAKLI, ESQ.

Zt3

** 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

224

THE LATE ISAAC DISRAELI, ESQ.

hare been far more deeply indebted than tbey bave ever yet aokoov-
ledged.

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..

225

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.

A TOT ^ITH THE DUTCHMEN.

-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
■mmr7. 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 progreafc 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 trapner.tf 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
loarthu

^rjpgritt to the Saxon capital.

A PIPE WITH THE DUTCHMEN.

8S7

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.

228

h PIPE WITH THE DUTCHMEN.

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.

A PIPE WITH THE DUTCHMEN.

S2J)

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

230 A PIPE WITH THE DUTCHMEN.

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
gered.

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
Dutchmen.

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

A PIPE WITH THE DUTCHMEN.

231

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

232 A PrPE WITH THE DCTCtlMEN.

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

IIIU

anin
hi«|

233

ANNE BOLEVN AND SIR THOMAS WYATT.

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«

TSOKAS WTaTT.

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-^

lOL

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^

ANNE BOLEYN AND SIR THOMAS WYATT.

235

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
mistress.

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
could.

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
exhaustion.

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. %

ANHB BOLEVN AKD Sift THOHA8 WYATT.

>Ugfa

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

ANNE BOLEYN AND SIR THOMAS WYATT.

237

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

238 AVNE BOLEVM AND SIR THOMAS WYATT.

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.

Glrncrlik.

23d

PARA; OR, SCENES AND ADVENTURES ON THE
BANKS OF THE AMAZON.

BV J. B. WARBBN.

Regioni iiniuenft;, Titi»earohali!e, unknown,

Ilatik in thf nplenclmir of the stilur zone. Mowtoomeby,

CHAPTER VI.

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 ioimurt.il 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^

24<>

PABA ; OR,

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
>ui)d

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZOK. 241

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-
firmation.

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
mention.

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

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON.

243

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-
minations.

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-

ftM

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

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON.

245

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.

Si6
before

SI^

'«(in

Pij

gin

"sj,

^"^^^Oa

«n

^?^-'"

"od

^'nij?

•4ivz>

a'lti

Oft

a/;

e'>;/

Pise

''P^ift

!^'»'6A

pee

^"« 6u«,- "^ «/ie

'«/

■ «e /r,

her

''^ '^al'J'^'*^^.

f'^^ ^'^^^'i^^ ^^/^ ^;:r{!-^

*''J'«or/

!?"g/|

f>Us

thu

^-^Kj-

«Jftri

'c/j

"/«

Pit

"o«/i

»nti

'^'Jts

'^''0'u;:5*.?''t«aft

*^Stiy^f '} to /t^ *>

''Pon

tbi

truL. « Our „ .* .*et

^'fr//

o«

S/A

^Ui

J/^OJ

^'Xv

*/««.„
^"^ ^i

«i*

®e(o

4"d,;i"'^-»-o./'"'«^ia

Woo

'»'«/b;

tJie

"'nj

•re

*f'»e-

'^ryjt^i

^-'^t;^^-

A/,

WT,

M^'/'^^/i

«^«o,;^_'' M.„^^

rou

?!'* t/,,

'?!'"'«rrf

'WU

arjci

u-,7/.

itc-

'O/Jd

*f>rrf

y'tt2H ^e 6.

'^-^'^'^

(/.,

•A*;/

'• Or

tarf

'^(//e

^'^'•^/T^^'^a,

**»</

t/c

?i^t.-e,,

^*^i*7;> 'i„u

'^A/.

'i/j

^'''^^•

4jid

Il7^'«/i<

I, - ^o.

•^^•'tf L'^ii

'-^

247

CHRISTMAS FESTIVITIES AT ROME.

DV Mns. PBROY eiNNBTT.

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»

S48

CITRTSTMAS FESTIVITIES AT ROME.

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

THE CHIhD OF 6£NIU8.

BT ALPBED CROWQUILL.

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

250

THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

BY PR0PB880B CKSAfilT.

TWm Cinr bMlla» «f whitk a eoUfwy ctant would have cMeatiallT vmned
MM «r tfM ««rU £■ aD iUMikMqiwn HcnM«— Uallak.

No. III.— THE METAL RUS.

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,

THE SIX DECISIVE BATiXES OF THE WORLD.

251

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.

VOL. XXIIK

2ff2 THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

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

III. — TTIE METAURirS.

25d

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

254 THE SIX DECISIVE BATTI-ES OF THE WO]

■1

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 M.ngo. 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.

256 THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORl

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

III. — THE HETAURUS. 257

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.

SS8

SKETCHES IN SWITZERLAND.

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

aapfjy Citra «kh its esteemid merchandise.

ficv tiha ■MMttaias, dtepM and deeper still tba

rf wight aiutoaJL 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 highett 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

deJ

BUMMER SKETCHES.

SSd

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

Kith

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

my
Lei^

Del

IN SWITZERLAND.

261

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 pttiittj 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 Baogea — 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.**

IN SWITZERtAND.

263

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 inbabkaat «f tbe vaUej bad
glhniiM of ibt IHAtl laaaarcb wba M«r ^akaed to
■MTtal aras fai all bk tadfaat gUir.

Mafawowt as tba Pjimm «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

IN SWITZERLAND.

S65

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
distressing.

^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.

366

A RAMBLE ALOXG THE OLD KENTISH ROAD FROM
CANTERBURY TO LONDON:

ITS CDBI081T1S8 AKO ANTIQUXTIKS.
BY nBNBY CUBLINO.

** Gadsbill ties to-oight at Rochester.

SUAKSrEABE.

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-

CANTERBUnV TO LONDON. 267

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
Shakspeare,

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

£68

CANTERBURY TO LONDON.

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

CANTEUBTTRY TO LONDON,

S69

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,
lb.-

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

270

THE TWO FUNERALS OF NAPOLEON.

BY ROBEBT POSTANS.

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.

A MEMORABLE EVENT OCCURRED THIS DAY.

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
Hemurk8>

"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.

TWO FUNERALS OF NAPOLEON.

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
shouting.

" 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.

272

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

OF NAPOLEON.

S78

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
lhbtacnao0a^

■pecfcfe 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

iv3

OF NAPOLEON.

275

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"

276

THE TWO FUNERALS

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.

I OF NAPOLEOK. 277 ^^M

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. ^^^|

278

TWO FUNERALS OP NArOLEON.

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."

HOAX OP THE SHAKSPEARE BIRTH-HOUSE;

AND

RELIC TRADE AT 8TRATFORD^N.AVON.

BY A WARWICKeHIRB MAN.

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

280

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

■J

unfl

BTRTH-HOUSE HOAX. 281

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

S8i

THE SHAKSPEABE

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

-•"thefaitttoate 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 ahm 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^

■ BIRTII-HOUSC nOAX. 283

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

VOL. XXIII. ^

284 THE SHARSPEARK

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«
speculation.

ii. ,

U,
3 him
relic»fl
r«>aw

tober"

•Km

THE SHAKSFEARE

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
light.

" 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

BIRTH-HOUSE HOAX.

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

%oa

BUra-BODSE HOAX.

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

pabt
of

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 IwgiiMig of the present cfl
I Ayiited, 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.

1CB& ALFSED AFGrSTCS FOTT5
A TALs or Tms isri.rzsijL

«Bov 6m

id* IwMtt

The doctor
Mn. A]ix«d
tcnthniiMol'
lotlw
VM reaigned — qaile ao^
So was Mr. Alfred A
carl J period of Ina
ind on the iiceAcm
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
complimentary/*

290

MRS. ALFRED AUGUSTUS POTTS.

•• 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-
makers."

"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
replenished.

*' 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
impressiveness.

" 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

MRS. ALFRED AUGUSTUS POTTS.

291

^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
poorly.

"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.

Sd2

MRS. ALFRED AUGUSTUS POTTS.

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
shall."

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
must."

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.

MRS. ALFRED AUGUSTUS POrrs.

S9S

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
approach.

" 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."

294

3IR3. ALFRED AUGUSTUS POTTS.

" 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.

MRS. ALFRKD AUGUSTUS POlTS.

»5

" 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,"

297

VISITS, DINNERS, AND EVENINGS AT THE
QUAI DORSAY, AND AT NEUILLY.*

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-
minals.

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.

298

VISITS, DINNERS, AND EVENINGS

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 ,

AT QUAI d'OBSAY AND NEUTLtY.

S99

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
VOL. XXIII. V

VISITS, DINNERS, AND EVENINGS,

may

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

AT QUAI DOR8AY AKD NEUFLLY.

301

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
law."

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
block?"

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
stroke?"

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

302

EVENINGS AT QUAI D'ORSAY AND NECTLLY,

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
powder."

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
amusing.

303

THE YANKEE AMONGST THE MERMAIDS.

A YARN, BY ▲ OAPB COO0BR.

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

THE TANK£E

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 rfiypcd ftoa the afings as it was t>eing canted round, and
diupycJ right iytaah rate the aea, linkin' right away. Upon 'zamina-
tiooiag the aaaiifeBt, it proved to be the best cask o' brandy in the
•d froaa Boerdo direct for the capting him&elC lie

a gretty ■■■> I g*c»» ngbt off the reeL ** You d etamal

leay ■ackera," said he* *" look hm I tAke all the boat«* anchors, lash
*CB loHBlfctf ia lew* ea aa to fona grapnels o' four pints each, and
dfBg Ml about bere fcr that ar^ brandy — and mind you find it, or 1 11
pttt erety mother's aoa of you oo abort allowance o' rye for the next

WacH, the boats was ordered out, and a gropin* we wenL I wai
pfaned ia the jolly, with Sy Davis and Pete Slinks, and a middy to
direct. The middy was a pretty considerable smart fellow, and jest as
we was paUiD^oC be oodded up to the chaplin as was leanin* over the
nde, and says, " What ay yoo loan boarsj float upun this here gUsty
aea?** The paraoa waa down by the man ropes in a minoit, and off
we sol a fishin* fbr the brandy tub.

The current ran pretty slick by the side o* the little island, and tliM
second luff, who was in the cutler, ordered us to go ahead and wat^^|
along the shore jest to see if the tub wam't rolled up there by the
tide. Wc pretended to look right hard for the tub. till wc made the
lee o' the island, and then if we ^dn*t resolre to take it easy and ruD
the noobc o' the jolly into the yallcr sand o' the shore, there aio^t no
snakes. I held on in the sum bv the grapnel, and the parson pulled
out of his pocket a good-sized satrnple bottle o* the new stuff as he'd
jest bought, and wanted the middy to tasle — and arter passin' their
Ideas on the licker, the chaplain gave us men a pretty stiff horn a
piece, now J tell you — and first rate stuff it was, I swow. It iled the
parson's tongue like all out doors — it look him to talk — all abeout the
old original anteek names o' the islands that laid in spots all about
thar' — classic ground, as he called it, and a pretty yarn he did spin
lew. He talked about the island of Candy nhar' the sweetest gals
was in oil creation or any whar* else — and of a great chief called Beau
Lasses or Molusses, who killed a one-eyed giant of a blacksmith
named Polly Famous, by spitting in his eye — and about a fireman
named Hencarus, who carried out nn old man, one Ann Kysis, on
his shoulders when his house was a fire; tor you see many o* them
old Grecian men had wimraing's names, and wisey warsey tew. But
what took my cheese u-as the parson's tellin* us abeout tew fellows
as got up the biggest chunk of a fight, and kept right at it for ten
vears stret out, and ail abeout a gall named Kllen what skeetcd from
her moorings, and run off to Paris. Then the parson tried to pint
out tile iejand of Lip-Kalve, where a she-conjuror, called Sarcy. from
1LT boldness, used to keep a hull skeul of singin' girls called syringes,
OS they sucked the sailors ashore and then chawed them right up
ke a piece o' sweet cavendish. Then the middy, who'd been keepiu'
yin' low all this time, show'd his broughtens-up, and let
tadsidc at the parson about them ar' byringcs and ut

AMONGST THE MERMAIDS.

395

ulll

blus wimming, such as King Nepching'e wUe Ann Thracite, und
she Try-ic-oDS, and Necr-a-heads, and river golla, right down to
arm aids.*

Waell, you see, all this ht;re talk made us dry as thunder — so the
]in said he guessed the sun was over the fore-yard, and baled us

t another horn o' licker all round. Then be took a ** spetl ho I" at
the jawin' tuckle, and allowed there was a river in Jarniiity whtre all
our Dutch inu-gronts hails from, and that a gall used to locate
herself in a whirljtool, and come up on moonshiney nights and sing
a hull bookful o' songs as turned the heads o' all the young fellers in
them parts. VVaell, reports ruz up as she 'd a hull cargo o* gold
stowed away at the bottom o' the whirlpool, and many a wild young
Jarman, seduced by the gall's singin' and hopes o' goldj lept into the
river, and wurn't heered on never arier. These matters hurt the
youiig gairs kariter, and the old folks, who'd always allowed that she
was a kind of goddess, began to think that she warn't the clear grit,
Bod the young fellers said her singin' was no great shakes, and that
her beauty warn't the thing it was cracked up to be.

When the chaplin had expended his yarn, he sarved out another
allowance o' licker. I recking that he was the raal grit for a parson,
— always doin' as he'd be done by, and practisin' a durned sight more
than he preached. '* 'Tuint Christian-like," says he, "to drink by
one's self, and a raal tar never objects to share his grog with a sblp-
maie." Them's the gin-a-wine Bunker Hill sentiments of spiritual

vashing, and kinder touch the bottom of a sailor's heart \

The middy then uncoiled another length o' cable abeout the fab-

us wimming o' the sea, and said it were a tarnation pretty idea^
that ihem angels from hewing as ruled the airth should keep wutch
over the treasures o' the water. Then he telled a yam consarnin*
the capiing of a marchantman as was tradin' in the South Seas, layin
at anchor, becalmed, one Sunday mornin* abeout 6ve bells, when a
strange hail was heerd from under the bows o' the craft, and the
bands on deck as answered the hail seed somebody in the water with
jest his head and arms stickin' out, and holdin' on to the dolphin
striker. Waell, I guess they pretty soon tbrow'd him a rope^ and

uled him at)oard, and tlicn tliey seed he was a regular built mar-
1, one half kinder nigger, and tother half kinder Hsh, but altoge*
ther more kinder fish than kinder nigger. So, as I was lellin' you,
they got Iiim aboardi and he made an enquerry artcr the capting,
who come out o* his cabing, and the marman made liim a first-rate
dancin'-skeul bow, and says in ginncwine English,

"Capting, I sorter recking it ain't entered into your kalkilation as
this here is Sabber-duy, for you've dropped your tarnul big anchor

ht in front o' our meetin'-house door, and I'm d— d if eeny of our

ks can go to prayers."

Waell, the capting was raytbcr taken aback, and the calm, you see,
ovcrlayin him in that thar' hot latitude, bad sot his back up above a

• If the reader litis noi rcfrefthetl his Bcudemical lore by a recent dip into Homer

and Virgil, or Lempriere, the (oggy nature uf the fuutor'a dnicnpLioQ may render

ao explaattiioa iMcetsary ; but the cbssicisl will eaitily mxignice tlie isle of Cnndio,

Ulytscs and (he Cyclops, Pol)'pbemuft, Eneas, ^' whu from the Aames of Troy

UiA shoulders tlie old Aiichites bore i" Ut-leu of Troy, the i»Ie of Cttlyi»o,

re Circo dwelt witli her Syrvns, and Neptuuu't wife, AmpbiiriU}, and the

it«>oi iuhI Nereids.

llu

OV£

and
K

chefidkcsoTtheaoi? But Uwre'i lie
*s ia« « leede bom »-pt«ce in tW

|L IWlMfffclorbraBdjhMiaal

if the rating <fid Docfly

1 ever did tefi. H^

tf tlie boftU* crevi.

r tSI the tub «m found if it

•ee. tbehaadi was piped todfa^

m the boats* mm! take keare the;

t g^ aaa wbai with tbe panoa'i
' sjringet, and vater-gatK
mtziDg
tbeatarn:
vitb my bead a leette o«nr the boat's qoartcr, I tbooght it
vna^ thai tbe far»dy tab kada*! bees fetched a|s and that tbe^
Mia' the giap^ks mast ^ve ihirh«d as «e did. coft, if they
m they oi«fa«er, they brmI have seed the barrel, for the water
petickler dear that joa cookl diasara the crabs craalin' otct tbe
rd ffodka at the bottooa o* tveaty ftthoai

WaelU while I was lookin* into the ocean to Bee if I oould
Hpoa the barret* a leetJe o' the largest fiah I erer did see, come
awum right dose to the bottom of the sea, jest under the '
l^en it kefvt rttin* and ri^in', till I seed iia long 6ns were sha|
•m^i's arms; oxmI when it conie near tbe sarfis, it turned on

id then 1 ftcrd a huaian face! I koow'd at once that it WMt,

AMONGST THE MERMAIDS.

S07

lammid, or a marmoii— -or one o' them amfibberus criuers called
ibbetus springes, as the chaplain had been spinnin* his yarns abeout.
Oy the critter popt its head up jest above the water, which was
nooth as glass, and a little snnoother tew by a darned sight, and jest
I clear and jest as shiny ; and says he to me,

•* Look here, slrannger, you and your shipmates ain't doin' the gen-
rel thing to me no how yuu can fix it, for they're play in' old hub
ith my garding grounds and oyster beds by scratchin' and rakin'
m all over with them ar' darned anchors and grapnel fixins, in a
anner that's harrowin' to my feelins. If the capting wants his
lundernation lickcr tub, lot him jest send eeny decent Christian
>wn with me, and Til gin it him.*'

Waell, I'm not goin' to say that I didn't feel kinder skecred, but
le chaplain's yarns had rubbed the rough edge off*, and the notion o*
idin' the capting's cask pleased me mightily, cos I knowed it would
c;kJe the old man like all creation, and sartinglygct me three or four
>erty days for shore goin' when we returned to Port Mahon. So,
I I hadn't on nothin' petickler as would spile, only a blue cotting
kirt and sail-cloth pantys, and the weather bcin' most uncomntoD
arm, I jest told the marman I was ready, and tortled quietly over
le boat's side into the blue transparent sea.

The marman grappled nic by tlic fist, and wc soon touched bottom
>w I tell ye. I found as 1 could walk easy enough, only the water
rayed me abeout jest us if I war a leutle tight, but 1 didn't seem to
iffcr noihin' for want of breath, nythcr.

We soon reached whar' the brandy cask was lyin' right under the
lip's keel, which accounts for it's not bein' seen nor nothin' by the
>ats' crews. I felt so everlastingly comical abeout findin' the tub,
lat 1 told the half-bred dolphing feller, as pinted it out, that if 1
nowed how to tap it* I wish I might die if I wouldn't give him a
ftllon o' the stuff as a salvage fee.

•* What's in it?" says the marman.

** Why, licker," says I.

" Waell," says the marman, "so I heerd them scrapin* fellers in
le boats say ; but I guess I've licker enough to last my time, tho' I
^king your licker is something stronger than salt water, seein* it's
»oped up in that almighty way."

** Why, you lubber," says I, "it's brandy — the raal ginnewine
>neyh8ck.**

" And what's that ?'' says the marman.

" Why, dew tell — want to know ?** says L " Have you lived to
[>ur time o* life without tastin' spirretus lickcr? Waell, I swow, you
Lighter be the commodore of all them cold water clubs, and pcrpe-
lal president of all tcmp'rance teetotallers. Go ahcad^ matey, pilot
le way to your shanty, ond I'll roll the barrel arter you, I'll sune
ve you a drink o' licker that will jest take the shirt tail off eeny
ling you ever did taste, now 1 tell you."

Waell, the critter flopped ahead, for you see it's the natur* o' the
armen, secin' as they've no legs, only a fish's tail what's bent under
lein* jest like the lower part of the letter J, to make way by flop*
n' their starns up and down, and paddlin' with their hands — some-
liri' between a swim and a swagger^but the way they get through
tB water is a caution. I rolled the tub along over the smooth white
liny sand, and the crabs and lobsters skcelcd off right und left sides

COI

309

uut o' my way regular skecred, and big fishes of all sbnp
with brUUin' fiLOft, swum close alougstde me, aiid looked
awful with their Miiall gooseberry eyes, as much aa lo
iiatioD are you at ?"

Bymeby* the niarman brought up in front of ray ther-^
or groito of rock and shell work, kivered with korril
So, you see, the tub was put right on eeud in one coi
an cnquirry o the mannan if he bad a gimblet, and he
there was sitch a thing in tlie hold or cellar ; he'd foui
tool-cbest in a wreck a few miles to the easCerd, and h^
six or seving o' tlie leeUc fixins, thinkin' they might be l
i>u be opened the back door^ond huUed a young uiann^M
the gitnblet. U

Seeing as there was no benches nor notbin' to sit d<m
BUOTBau and marmaids don't desire, cos they've no ait
their bodies, whicUi is all fish from their waistbands, 1 Jl
top o* the brandy tub. and took an observation of tlie^
me. His face was reglar human, only it looked rayther
flabby» like a biled nigger, with fietiy eyes, and a mouth
torn cod. His hair hung stret down his shoulders, aoc
and thick, like untwisted ratUia' ; his hands were aomi
gooae'a paw, only the fingers were longer and thicker; i
was not exactly like an Injin's, nor a nigger'ji, nor a white
was it yaller, dot blue, nor green — but a sorter ultogc
mixed up colour, lookin' as if it were warranted to stan^
Jest obeout midships, his body was tucked into a fij
huge green scales right down lo the tail.

Whilst I was surveyin' the niarman fore and aft,
opened and a she critter flopped in, with a young man
breast. The Icetle sucker was not bi^'ger thau u pickerel^
of a delicate saaimun colour, and a head and body jest li~
small tan monkeys, with a face as large as a dollar. Tl
troduced the shecriiteras his wife, and we soon got Lnt
right slick, all abeout the weather, and the kcare
young family — and 1 wished i may be Bwanij>ed if
warn'l a dreadful nice critter to chatter. Like all wimmii
was plaguey kewrous us to tvliur' 1 was raised and rigged-
1 saiil 1 guess 1 hailed from Cape Cod, and all along slion
looked at the marman, and said to me, " Waell, 1 never —
why, strunnger, 1 guess there must be some finuity in our

Waell, you see, I grew rayther kewroua tew, acid wanc«(
petiklers o* the ualerol history o' the race o' mumien — so I
enquerrics respccun* their ways o lite. ** 1 guess," says
a tarnal good 6sh-market in these here parts, and keep you
supplied with hallibut and sea-bass, and black-lish, eh?"

" Why, straiu>gcr/' says die marman, raytlicr wrathy^f^
you I won't be offended, or, by hewing, if that speech U
to make a marman feel scaly, why then it ain't no mutter,
to be half tisli in our natur*, and I reckon you don't kalkila
bles our relations? there 's sea varmint enough in all consc
as oysters, and clams, and (fuahogs, and mussels, and crab
slcrs. Wc go the hull slioat uith ihem ; and then we ctd<
and other sea truck in our gardings, and sometimes wc

tog*

AMONGST THE MERMAIDS.

301)

the wild fowl as the> 're floatiD*, and Jerks down a fine duck or a gull,
or gathers their eggs ofT the rocks, or the barnacles off t\nlX wood."

Jest then, tlie marraan's eldest son-fish ibtched in the gintblet, and
brought up the marman's jawm* tacks with a round turn. Hie young
un u as about the size of an lojin boy jest afore he runs alone — luUf
[xtpoose, half porpus. He got a Icetle skecred when he clapicyeson
tnc, but I guv' him a stale quid o' backer to amuse himself, and the
sugar-plum made the marmaster roll his eyes above a bit, now I tell
you.

Waell, I bored a hole in the brandy-tub, and pickin' up an empty
c]an)-shell, handed a drink to the lady^ and told her to tote it down.
She swallor'd it pretty slick, and the way she gulped afterwards, and
•tared, and twisted her 6:ihy mouth, was a sin to Davy Crockett, llie
marman looked rayther wolfy at me, as if I 'd gin her pisin ; bo I
drawcd a shell-full and swalJered it myself. This kinder cooled him
down, and when the marmaid got her tongue-tackle in runnin' order
agin, she said she guessed the Itcker was the juice of hewing, and
she'd be darned if she wouldn't have another drink right off the reel.

Seein' this, the marman swallered his dose, und no sooner got it
down than he squealed right out, and clapped his webby hands toge-
ther, and wagged his tail like all creation. He swore it was elegant
stuii', and he felt it tickle powerful from the top of his head to the
eend of his starn-fin. Arter takin' two or three horns together, the
sonny cried for a drink, and I gin him one that sent him wriggUn' on
the sand like an eel in uneasiness. Ho, the marman said as the lickcr
was raal first-rate, and first-rater than that lew, he guessed he'd ask
to his next door neighbour and his lady, jest to taste the godsend.
Waeil, in a nilnnit, in comes a huge marman ol the most almighty
Hxc, looking jest like Black Hawk when he was bilious; he fotched up
bis lady with him, and Iiis eldest son, a scraggy hubbadeboy marman,
■nd his darters, two young mormaids or marmisses, jest goin' out o*
their teens.

The news o' the brandy-tub spred pretty slick, for in half an hour,
I 'tl the hull grist o' the marmen belongin' to that settlement cooped
up in the cavern.

The way the drunk affected the different critters was right kewrous,
now I tell you. One great scaly feller stiffened his tail all up, and
stood poppindickler erect on the peaked pints of the eend fin, like a
jury-mast, and jawed away raal dignified at all the rest, wantin' ihem
to appoint him a sort o' admiral over the hull crew. Another yeller
feller with a green tail^ was so dreadful blue, that he doubled himself
into B figgcry S, and sung scraps and bits o' ail sorts o' sou songs, till
be got tew drunk to speak at all. Some o* the marmen wanted to
kiss all tlie mormuids, and tew o' the ladies begun scratchin' and
6ghtin' like two pusseys, cos one trod on t'other's tail. Some went
floppin' and dancin' on the sand like mad, raisin' sitch a dust that 1
could not see to draw the licker — but the party round the tub soon
druv' tlkcm to the right abeout, as incerferin' with the interest o' the
settlement. Every minnit some fresh marman dropped on the ground
with the biggest kind of load on ; I never seed a set o' critters so al-
mighty tight, ycUin*, swcarin', huggin', and fightin'^ till they gruwed
so darned savugcrou!^ that 1 kinder feared fur my own safety amongst
them drunken uioffradiic sta aborigines. So, you sec, I up and told

a hull raft o'
Toccd thmt I
evct^ MB-tfTHKea — fiu— saddeolj be-
ts ha^ me L|vche4 and tft vcrc Mtttcd at Kut cfatf
•B a niU aaid dwa toned aad fieatbered. But.
artcr tbe lai and the tar, tbe rcM •'
la aaaaasneoat the Udker; aad ai
ta fcase the keare o* tbe preeiooi
C they aaaa iMad a fitjnj —, aad heptaBteana' at each other
a pach • walvci. Seeia' thii» 1 )e« liailff icatrd ^oictlj vny
I the caae pmuaj tifl I caai' ia alght o* the shlp^ wbea 1 ftrack
MifatheflB^Mdv^frr^vGfe.^ 1 m«i leed that die

■w Bcs 1 jot laid bold a'
hi ptectj ^oicUjr, and iaid njadf
dam a dbe iM»«hccti. w ir 1 'd ae«cr becB oat o* the baat.

1 ^^'^ Ud Ihv h^Ta III iii, whcB I lead a bow jea lor dl

•«v ai heaA. 1 raa a^ aiad thar" vera the capti^ vid the bill
Cffw laahaa' aver the Mps ode at aw — the aSccfs ia a tamal rtfc.

* Baaae ^^ 50a iHi^^dad Ib^ saafa^ aod briag the boats ia ftno

the heaA. Am yea goM* to ifeep all ^jr ?*

•^Av, ». ST.* ^ 1, iM^'^p ia the boat, vhea aU the

aT w lie fc^ tl I mm my— I'd beea ai

withdwaiMLB. I feh kinder sheered feet the

il» but aheo I stood op be kaghcd rigbt out, sfld

» did the haN crev tew.

** Wbjr* he « aot aw^sfce y^ said the capda^ * Bosen, give hio
-■ t^ - -■■ -^ •

MOKT IMCSet.

Tea aaa they wasted to prriaadc me thai I 'd fell asleep io the |pgt
6at aa a veatia'-hooMw wmA skpt thar* the hull while ihe crew were

couldn't waken me up — m
the boeai aad jest ^ve aie a couple o* burkeu 0*
Whea I told 'em mj ydru abeout the
iavitia* lae down, and all abeout
r the feaadjr-tab and the rest, they aware that 1 'd got drunk
i*a ficher, aad dreaat it ^ ia the boat. But I guoH I
I did seek jot aheeat as stick as anybody ; and the chsp
iMa htievad the buO staiy ; sad said that as I 'd learnt the mariMSi
the vaDey o' licker, tbey 'd |>et boatin* up all the tubs and barrels out
oit the didfemit wrecks in all the rarious seas ; and thflt intemperance
WhHikI Mpiit the race, and thin 'em off till they became one o' the
thii^ that WAS — jest like the Injins wbat*s wastin' away by the pover
o* rum and whiakey given *eni by the white man.

1 rcv'kmg the t>arM>a wam't fmr out in his kalkilashiog. The love 0*
lickrr has had its effect upon the marmen and the marmaids; tliejr
miut liave tliittned oif surprisin'ly, for 1 ain't seed none since, nor 1
dun't know nobody that has, nyiiter.

Sll

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

THE TRUR TALK, DIVESTED OP ITS TRADITIONAL FIBS;

f A good vfay ) from the German,

ITTBN AND ILLUSTBATED BY PRBOY CRUIK8HANK,

A LONG time ago, I cannot aay wlien.

But somewhere, I thinks near the c«nt«ry ten.

When Kritnns couUi sin^ " BritunH ne'er would be slaves,"

And nriCannia was really just ruling the waves,

A pest was diarovered, — a horrible thief, —

A great deal more hitin^ than parish relief;

Fathers and mothorfl,

Sisters and tjn»thera.
Very joiiall babie>a, and ladies* pet pages.
Poor commoners all, no matter their ages.

Umbrellas and boots.

Long Chancery suits.

Were treated as smoke ;

In fact, to he plain,

An up or down train,

Luggage, people, and coke,
le *d have swallowed, and laughed at the thing as a joke.

Well then, to begin :— There stood.
Close by a dark and lonesome wood,
The house, or rather, DeviPs lair*
No morning calls were made out there.

* The above engraving is an accnrate copy of the coin struck on the accession
' George (who at his dpHth wan hnnaured with the dtpiity of uiint), nnd suppoMHl
I be tlw only one exunt, now in the possession of that celebrated antiquary Vr,
lummydust.

312

ST. GEOROR AND THE DRAGON.

For they hud pot n wholesome dread,

Tliat they jwrforce miKht leave a head-
It wa« not biult of ru^^ged stone*
Nor plas-tt^r. hut of English bones,
Cemeulod fast with blood.

Inffteud of tiles, the roof waa spread

With huta of victims lonf^ fiince deiid ;

The srmper, too, wan nicelv made

From some young' gent's white shoulder blade
And very well it Ktood :

The knocker large was rtronpe to view, —

Not Brummagem, — a thin^ quite new.
A skeleton fist was suspended before.
And a skull, vcn' snubbed, was fixed on the door :
If any one calleif, it was meant that the blows.
By lifting the fist, should fall whndc on the nntte;
But no one disturbed the dread Dragon's repose

He prorgcd on all things

^Vhich a pampered taste brings.
So bis bruin became )>othered with so many dishcfl
One after another, none answered hia wishes

He became discontented.

What could be invented?
At last he resolveil on an uncAmmon thing.
Ho couldn't do better, he 'd jtmt try a kinp[ '

Sit resoIve<l became he

That his next dish should be
Hex Britanniffi !

He M be better for -aage !

AV'hen he thought of his age.

Threescore ! old enough.

He feared he'd be tough,

That was like enough.

He turned to the oueen, —
She once nad Keen
Sweet seventeen, —

Now fifty, — (good l<M)kiDg)
But not good for much (as far as bis taste went) for cooking- 1

At last he swore,
With a hideous roar 1
Which was heard at Dieppe, on the opposite shore.

That by every drop of blood he had shed.

Unless something nicer came into his head,
ffe *d twuUov? lite yUJji ! — (not nt all a bad notion)
For revenge, — then he 'd wash it well down with the ocean.

But when he came to cool reflection.

He saw a very great objection ;

He thouf;ht perhaps this draught and pill

Mif:ht tond sumehow to make him ill.

At Inst his eye, with gourmand leer,

Shewed that'he'd got a bright idea.

So he took iHit a sheet of post.

To write about a younger roast.
Ah I well may we our own limes bless.
That they arc better !
For, in hia letter.

He wrote lo onler a princess ! !

When he *d finish *d this sad job.

He drew his wnti'irfn»ni out hib fob.

8T. GEORGE AXT) THE DRAGON*.

3!3

Sealed it with a grim death *9 he«d,
Then took his dip, and vent to bed.

It was just at that time of the year

M'hen Sol sleept rather lon^r.
And VValUcnd coals grow rather dear,
And Jock Frost waxes stronger ;
A letter was Been
To be thnist between
Tlie ban* of a gMe,
lich shut out the vuk^r from royalty's state.
And tlie bearer observed he *d no orders to wait.
The chief hlirk in waiting, who saw the note fall,
HTio liked not the bearer's bold bearinjf at all,
Picked it up. like a man who ex|>li>sion expects.
And therci on the envelope, saw written^ Rex I
He ran without state

»To the king in debate,
WhoM 1>een sitting up Ute
To decide ftome one's late.
The king, who was bold b» a king onght to be.
Without hesitation or timidity,

red. " Znunds ! who the devil can this fellow be? **
But in that letter which w.-ls sent.
There was n most unplea<uint scent.
It smelt like stuff in which they dip
Matches, only at the tip.
The king cried ** Brimstone ! " he was right,
Hitt royal hairs stooil 1)olt upright :
Oh : oh ! oh !
Here's a gn !
lie has sent for the princes I»y way of a treat,
^^Vm I the brute's butc/uT, to nnd him in meat ?
^E He — no one asked wh» —

^F They very well knew,

And that made them all look uncommonly blue.
A terrible frown
^L Raised Rex's crown,

Hnle was circumsliigdojhtgised past all relief;

He wi§hed that his mibjects had chopped olT his heBd,
In fart, he repeatedly wished himsetrdead^
Or that, when a hahy, he 'd never been fed.
He stormed and he capered bt.*yond all beliefj

I And said, " I *1I bestow

On him who will f^o
And baste this liold monster until he is hrown»
My daughter as wife.
If he'll save her life,
And after 1 'm dead he shall have half-a-crown."
Though clever at bruising,
They all fell a musing,
Didn't like to accept, and afraid uf reftising.
The king w:is annoyed, so his temper broke Imme,
Ami nith it came out most unkingly abuse.

It was all of no use,
Nat one of the lot had the pluck of a goose.
As his ire almtod.
A gentlemnn stated,
At the sign of the Crown,
A little way down,

Lived a wittier,

good one Ut fight, and an out and out skittler.

314

BT. OBOROE AND THE DRAOON

So if they 'A but mention
The royal intention.
He *d wa^er & crown
That the dra^^n was down.
The kinfc bit bis thumb, and then railed for a li^bt.
Saying, *' S«j what I *ve sawl," and turned in for the nigbC
But s^eas* if you au, the sad. awful distress.
The Ule of tlie Dragon had caused the princess,
Mlien she thought of his jaws, which often had been
Described to her, just tike a Rausafe machioe ;
How he 'd mumble and munch
That sweet form for his lunch.
Oh, horrible thought ! if the monster should win.
What a stew, or a pickle, she soon would be in.
But Geonre was renowned, and his very least thump
\)'ould floor a mad bullock as flat as a dump ;
Besidea. at Stone-benge, he had lifted with ease,
Thoae ponderous rocks, as though they 'd been fleas ;
'Tiui't f^enerally known
Hiat this singular stone
Was none of the L>ruids\ but solely his own-
Gtttrge lowered his pipe when he heard of the job.
Looked serious rather, and then scratched his nob.
Then he pulled at the measure that warmed on the hob.
Called the Dragon a rough uDj
Said the job was a tough un,
But thought he 'd much better.
In form, write a letter.
And state to the Dragiin on what day he *d meet him^
And put aj«idt> bragging, just promise to eat him ;
And further tu say.
That on next boxing<-day.
In the morning at eight, what he owed him he 'd pay.
«••••■«
'Twas a wintry ni^ht,
Quite froety, not bright.
For the sun had long cribbed every atom of light ;
The wind whistled ^rill, and it rattled the trees.
Like a murderer's bones, as they swing in tlie breeze.
And the chains make a noise like a big bunch of keys.
A good rousing fire was blazing away
In the L>ragon'» front parlour, 'twas light as the day ;
^»nie juvenile bones remained on tlie tray.
With a t>ottle and s}nsn, some tobacco and clay;
He had finiiihcd his booze,
And was taking his snooze,
When a knock at the door
Put an end to his snore.
A knoc^ at the door ! 'twas a singular fact.
The perwn who gave it was certainly cracked.
For he very well knew no sensible brain
M'uuld think about venturing near his domain.
The knock was so bang,
Tor his titrer he rang.
And told him to go
And answer below.
He was n't a tiger with buttons and hat,
But stripes on his coat, and a Kkin like a cat,
A very long tail, and he walked pit-a-pat.
He oi»ened the door, and looked cautiouitly round.
Looked up to the aky, then looked down to the ground.

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 315

^^?^ m ha would, there wae nobody foand,
yScJ^ ««ora 'twM A nmewsy knock, he'd be L _
*Zr^ on ttvenly tnrnuur, a thiof met his lights

^ -IVl** I t_-_ Tj J III I i.:_*_r l:«.^ .

f^ "Htht was uncoDunon, end nude him soppoee
^^^ akall hftd a co)d, and wes blowing his nose,
^^S 00 doser inspection, he saw that it meant
^'ctter was left, like a circular sent,
Q ^eo. through alterations, a draper is bent
V^^ selling his goods, minus so much per cent.
j}*^*^e a cook, when her dinner's done brown,
^*>d on it a bushel of soot tumbles down !
~V Cabman who *s taken a pewter half-crown !
Y^ liandsome pet parson stripped of his gown !
imagine, — but words have never been spelt,
^O give an idea of the rage Dragon felt, —
He cried with a sneer,
What ! feel any fear
Of a vendor of beer !
He is sick of his life, ao that 's perfectly clear.

The day it arrived, and the sun he got up,

And took of the morning dew just a small sup ;

He heard of the fight, so he hurried his race.

And looked, with exertion, quite red in the face ;

'Twas early, but still there a figure was seen

Directing its course towards Salisbury Green.

And ver^ ill tempered, to judge bv its mien.

For it kicked every stone with a devilish spleen.

The Dragon was coming ! to settle the doubt

Of which of the two was the b^t at a bout.

Now I beg to observe, that this battle of mine

Will in no way resemble the penuy design,

^Vhere the Dntgon is dying, with blood like port wine

Or the five shilling piece, where the saint, on a steed.

Is poking the monster, and making it bleed.

But the true English art, with plenty of knocks.

In the style, a-la-Cribb, in the technical box.

The thing they describe so well in *' Bell's Life,"

When a battle comes off, and they publish the strife

In a very long column, condemning the knife.

Geoige was there, and, in round one.

He M his back turned to the sun,

His first blow echoed like a gun ;
The Dragon then parried, and gave G. a noser,
A throw ! and the fiend, he went down in a closer.
Round the second began, but with more cautious play.
Each trying to find out the other*8 pet way ;

One or two smart blows

Just over the nose.
Then the Dragon got one of G 's cleverest throws.
Round after round continued to pass,
One or the other was down on the grass.
But round nine hundred and seventy-one.
Shewed that the monster was getting quite done ;
George struck his eyes, like a lucifer match.
And he fell o'er his tail as he came to the scratch.

The Dragon turned pale

When he trod on his tail ;
George took the cue, for the moment just suits,
And tore it, most ruthlessly, out by the roots.
VOL. XXIII.

316

ST. GEORGE AKD THE DBAOOl

'Twfts finished * 'twas done! he gave one more wbi
And the monster rolled over, t^tone dead, on lus l>a<
He took the Ursgun, tail and all.
And at the piiUce quick did c:d\ \
He laid him down before the kin^,
M'hu neVr forgot one promised thiniir ;
He fcave, hs wife, bU lovely daughter.
With all the wealth her mother hniufht her,
Which there and then was paid him down,
M'ith promise soon of half-n-crown :
Tho good old king soon died, alas !
And all George hoped fur came to paae.

To boys, big and little, this caution Hwilt givCy
Koep younelves honest as long as you live;
if ever, by chance, you happen to see
Apples which grow on another man's tree,

Pmy let them alone,

Don't try with a stone
To knock any down — they are not your own.
But think at your back there *a a precious thick '
And &8k if the fruit 'a worth the chance of a Lick.

My grandmotlier winked, as she read thiK to me.
And >iaid she believed it an AUe — go — ry.

317

ALIWAL AND SIR HARRY SMITH.

WITH A PORTRAIT.

Ir anybody should wish to
tilful gener

detract from the fame of Sir Harrjr
urging

and

Smith as a skilful general, by urging that he has teen service,
had hard fighling enough to make him one, while we doubted the
correctness of such objector's conclusion, we should be unable to
deny the facts upon which he arrived at it-
Sir Harry Smith was at the capture of Monte Video ; at the at-
tack upon Buenos Ayres; he served during the first campaign of the
Peninsular war, from the battle of Vimiera to that of Corunna; he
was at the battles of Sabajal and Fuente d'Onor ; at the sieges of
Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajos ; at the battles of Salamanca, Viltoria»
Orthes, the Pyrenees, and Toulouse. He was at Washington and
New Orleans, and he was at Waterloo,

In all these actions Sir Harry Smith approved liimaelf a gallant
officer. But it is not as a brave soldier, but as a distinguished com-
mander, we would at present view him ; and, accordingly, by way
of refreshing the reader's memory, we give as an accompaniment to
a portrait of *' the hero of Aliwal," a brief sketch of those operations
in India of which he had the conduct, that have conferred enduring
lustre upon his name.

It will be remembered that when the British army first advanced
Xo meet the invasion of the Sikhs, it was deemed necessary to with-
draw a great part of the forces which were assembled with the view
of protecting Lnodiana, for the purpose of effecting a combination
■with that portion of the army which was advancing from Umbaliah,
and thereby to be in a position to meet the Sikhs at Ferozeporc with
a larger and more concentrated force. The effect of this step was,
unquestionably, to leave Loodiana open to an attack by any force
the Sikhs might bring to bear in that quarter ; but the chief object
being to attack their main army at Ferozepore, points of secondary
importance were for the moment neglected. The great present ob-
ject was to concentrate a powerful army at all events, and with these
combined forces to ijtrike a decisive blow.

No sooner, however, had the enemy been driven across the Sutlej,
after the battles of the 2l8t and 22nd Dtcember 1845, and our army
placed in a position unassailable by the enemy on the opposite siile,
than it was thought advisable to strengthen our force at Loodiana,
not only to provide against any contingencies, but to displace any
force of the enemy that might then be, or that might make its appear-
ance, in that direction. It was not expected, indeed, that any force
the enemy could collect at Loodiana would amount to such a force as
he had on the lower part of the Sutlej, yet, nevertheless, the position
he might occupy on that point would be such as to cause extreme
inconvenience by cutting off our communications, by intercepting
detached reinforcements, but chiefly by compelling to diverge, if not
capturing, the heavy battering-train, the arrival of which at the
camp of the commander-in-chief was absolutely indispensable to the
carrying on of his projected operations.

Accordingly, it was decided to detach a force to Loodiana for tKt

318 ALIWAL AND StR HARRY SMITH.

purpose of accomnlisbing that object, and Sir Harry Smith wo »
lected to commana that force. On the 7th of January several corpi
had moved in the direction of Feroaepore and other points ; and b?
the ]r>th a large force was assembled there, and was quite prepmd
against any sudden attack of the enemy. Out at this time ao ioD-
roation was received at head-quarters to the effect that the enemf
had collected a very large force at Phullor, opposite Loodiaiu,i
force stronger than liad been supposed, that it was moving acroastbc
river, and that it was conjectured he would entrench himself ia a
position between the main body of our army and the reinforcemott
in the fort. These new circumstances necessitated further meantfa
to increase our forces, and, accordingly, the o3rd re^ment of infmlr;.
which was moving up, was ordered to join Sir Harry Smith's cBri-
sion, which was subsequently increased by a body of cavalry. TUi
force was directed to attack a fort called Dhurrunakote. which iolV"
rupted the communication between our position on the Sutlcjaid
Loodiana. Sir Harry Smith proceeding to execute this movemai^
the enemy abandoned the fort immediately, that is to say. alW tk'
exchange of a few shots, and some guuB and a quantity of grain ftll
into our hands.

And now the general advanced in the direction of Loodiana. B<
WB» to be joined on his way by the 53rd regiment and a corps of ot-
tive troops, which was arriving from another point and expected u|
be in that vicinity by the 22iul of January. It was further deckki
to despatch to the general anullier division, viz. the brigade unls
Brigadier Wheeler. Proceeding in his march, the 53rd regiraotf
was found at the appointed place, and the native troops were
advancing according to the calculations which had been made; sfl^j
on the 2lBt he continued his march from Jugraun to Ijoodiana.

Meanwhile, the enemy was making a forced movement towartb;
Loodiana, and it was likewise ascertained that lie had
up a position at the village of Buddowal, which was situated MJ
the direct road to Loodiana. That road passes through serenll
villages, all defensible; and, occupying that |>os)tion. the enemy had!

filaced himself exactly on the line of march between Jugraon tndj
ioodiana. When he arrived at a certain distance from the latter
place, he found them in position, moving in a line parallel to tbtf
he had taken.

It was now that Sir Harry Smith sustained that check which uoc
through ignorance, and others from envy or malice, endeavoured it
the time to magnify into a serious reverse. Let us have the general'i
own version ot the affair. Writing to Sir Hugh Gou^h just afler
he had succeeded in relieving Loodiana. he said that he had accom-
plished that object, but under circumstances not quite so fortunatt
as he had desired (the lo&s of his baggage, which was carried away
by the enemy) ; and adds: " When within a mile anfl a half to mj
lef\ of Buddnwal, moving parallel with my column (which was right
in front ready to wheel into line), and evidently for the purple
of interrupting my advance, I saw the enemy. Nothing could be
stronger for the enemy than the continued line of villages wbic^
were in his front.

" He was moving by roads, white 1 was moving over very hcarj
sand-beds. He was in advance far beyond, on my right fl«nk ; so
far did he extend, and so numerous did he shew his infantry and

ALIWAL AND SIR HAKRY SMITH.

S19

^ns, and so well chosen for him was the line of villages, that with
all my force he was not to be assailed: and he opened a furious can-
nonade of from thirty-five to forty puns of very lar^e calibre, and,
■a usual, right well served. My object being to unite myself with
the force from Loodiana^ which every moment I expected to appear
in Biffht, for it was nine o'clock, 1 moved parallel with the enemy,
wishing to attack ihe moment the Loodiana troops reached me. He,
however, so pressed upon me, that I opened in one body my eleven
Kuns upon him with considerable effect, and moved up the Slst, and
was preparing to form line upon this regiment, when the enemy most
rapidly formed a line of seven regiments, with their guns, between,
at right angles with the line I was about to attack, while a consider-
able force was moving round my right and front. Thus enveloped,
and overbalanced by numbers, and such a superiority of guns, 1 had
nothing for it but to throw back my line on its right, which rcpre-
aented a small line on the hypothenuse of a triangle.

*' The enemy thus outflanked me and my whole force. I Uierefore
gradually withdrew my infantry in echellonof battalions, the cavalry
in echellon of squadrons, in the direction of Loodiana, momentarily
expecting to see the approach of that force, — viz. one regiment of
cavalry, five guns, and four regiments of infantry, when I would
have made a vigorous attack. The ground wns very deep and sandy,
and therefore very difficult to move on. The enemy continued to
move on as described for upwards of an hour, and until I knew that
the Loodiana force was moving, not a musket was fired. Nothing
could exceed the steadiness of the troops. The line was thrown
back, under this cannonade, us if on parade. Native as well as
British; and the movements of the cavalry under Brigadier Cureton
were, without any exception, the most perfect thing I ever saw, and
which I cannot describe."

The truth is. Sir Ilarrv Smith knew that he must maintain tlie
communication with Loodiana at all events; he resolutely adhered
to the object he had in view, and although the enemy was much
more numerous than our troops, and strong enough, had they con-
centrated their whole strength, to have cnvulopcd them, he was not
dismayed. With obstinate persistance he pursued his point, which
he accomplished with comparatively trifling loss, concentrating his
force at Loodiana.

The general had now placed himself in a position almost in the
rear of that of the enemy at Buddowal ; and, therefore, although he
had avoided an action, and sustained comparatively no loss, he had
so placed himself with regard to the enemy's force, that it was almost
impossible they could maintain themselves without fighting him
in the position of Budduwal. Meanwhile, Brigadier Wheeler had
advanced to join him, and having been informed that on the 21st an
action had been fought in which the British troops had been entirely
successful, and that the enemy had been driven back, he proceeded
on the direct road from Dhurrumkote to Loodiana. Having advanced
some dihtance, he received intelligence of a directly opposite ten-
dency, that is to say, tidings of an action and a defeat; upon which,
deeming it impo^^sible to push on in that direction, inasmuch as
by so doing, he might fall into the midst of the enemy's army, he
took a more circuitous route. But this movement, arising from
erroneous information, brought the heads of bis column so far to the

ALIWAL AXD SIX HARBY SMITH.

roiH

bcftition or the right of the enemy, that, fiodinff tbenne)re« witb
Hftiry Smith's corps on their left uhI that of Bri^viicr WhadM-

thar'rij^ht, ihey deemed their pontion antmable, sn
Um middle of the night. The position occnpied by Sir Hury
V it impossible for the enemy to retire at the point at which
crmfn the river, and they were accordingly compelled le

:h to cross at a lower point.
Harry Smith, having heen joined by Brigadier Wfacdcr, ttfl^
lo atuick them. He had a strong force, althoogfa cana^
to thftt of the enemy, which had been reinforced (ttm
and at the very last by the Avitabile regimenC, vfaidh
the flower of the enemy's infantry,
of the general were to drive the Sihks acrocs iht
9kMl^ ; and he made his arrangements accordingly — such arran^
ITC drawn from the highest military authorities the
Hiinns, and such as showed him to be a consummate
m 9iw ttt of war. He arranged the order of his march »
ha provided against every possible attack that could be
|>9Ha» ^f"* *^> whilst the disposition of his own forces was such
[%^|iM hi^ tvtry facility for acting on the offensive.

IWvnwdvtt M the attack under a heavy fire, then halted ft
9 ^NMiiail^ ta are whether he could not discover the key to dtf
|\ ^MilMil^ S^d he found it in the village of AUwal. Under tlif
he instantly made such a disposition of his tnMps
fcrce the position, and by succeeding in doing »
'W lk»Mt he Mirdopcd the wing, and drove it back in confusion ua
■f the most complete operations of the kind that «m
uoder the fire of the enemy. The success was con*-
l|hl«^ Ht had a gallant enemy to deal with, who had not unskil-
N^ neda his own arrangements ; but nothing could finally witb-
4Miad the irresistible Qttnck made by our soldiers. The battle w«
w«n, our troops advunciug with the most perfect order to the com-
mon focus, the imssuge of the river. The enemy completely hemmed
in. fled frum the hostile flrr* and precipitated themselves in difor*
dcrcd mosses, in the uiiiu^t confusion and consternation. Eveiy
l^un the enemy hud fell into our hands.

The Duke of WcllinKiou has said of this piece of dazzlmg military
skill : —

" My lords, 1 will say with regard to the movements of Sir Hany
Smith, that I have read ihr account of many battles, but I never read
an account oi"^ an affair in which more ability, energy, and discretion
were manifested, than in this caAc — of one in which any officer hu
ever shewn himself more capable than this officer did, of commanding
|iw)ps in the Held. Every description of troops was brought to bear
i»i)h all arms in the position in which they were most capable of
tidvrtng service; everything was carried on most perfectly, the
kl mancEuvres being |R*rtbrmed under the enemy's lire with thf
iMiist precision ; por, my lords, have I read oC any battle, in any
I lif the world, in which, at the same tiroes energy and gallant^
Ini part of llie troops were displayed to a degree that surpassed
Ujd in this engagemenl.**
llfttry 8niiLh had achieved this briUttat success, tftf^
:n back the enemy acroai the Stttkj. he imlatitly rvlunKd

IHB MDiSnBL S CTBSK. SSI

join hit commDdiag oSeer. Sir Ho^ Govgh. He amrca at
id-quarters on tbe 8lb of Fefanary, three <bTs bdbre the decMne
ilory gained by the ftrce» ondcr Sir Hi^ Goagfa and Sr Henry
irdn^e. He took, therefore^ a dirtingnUhcd part in the battle of

We aD kaoar the reception the hero met in En^and ; the nohle
dea^ with which he accepted the praisn eteijahete heaped
OB hutt, and the gencrooi warmth and eanett sinccritj with which
aeiied every occasion of bearing testimony to the ralour of the
«pa who share with him the glories of AfiwaL

THE MINSTREL'S CURSE.
(faox uauuiOL)

Tbebe stood in ancient times & cutle proud and high.
It lorded o*er the land, it tower'd towards the sky ;
And at iu base a Uotnning wreath d lordy gardens lay,
Where sparkled many a fountain beneath the summer's ray.

There dwelt a haughty king, rich in treasure and renown ;
Upon his throne he sat with pale cheek and gloomy frown ;
For his thoughts are thoughts of blood, and baleful is hii breath,
And his words are words (mT menace, and his writings dooms of death.

Two noble minstrel-guests once trod the castle-way,

A youth with flowing locks of gold, and an old man hoary grey.

The old man with his harp on a gallant steed did ride.

With carols blithe and spirits light, the youth he walkM beside.

Thus spake the aged miustrel : ** Prepare thyself, my son !
This day the monarch's stony heart by music must be won ;
Think on thy lays of deepest power, thy saddest, 8weet«t strain —
Our pains stull soon be crownM with joy, our journey not in vain 1

Now stand the minstrels twain within those halls of pride,

Whilst on their gorgeous thrones sit the king and his fair bride, —

The king in dreadful splendour, like the bloody northern light.

His genUe queen, with eyes that beam like the moon so pale and bright.

The old man struck the harp, his touch the chords awoke, —
Oh ! thrilling were theglurious tones that forth from prison broke t
The youth he raised his clear sweet voice, a strain to make them weep,
Whiist suuud between, like spirits* chant, the uld man^s notes so deep.

They sang of spring and love, of the blessed golden time.
When mnn was free and happy, when earth was in her prime ;
They sang all tender feelings tliat in the heart find rest,
All notde aspirations that animate the breast.

TES: kzkstkel's ccke.

1. ir^ H-i .tawi XT- -npniitt. »-il tw. nnw wdocv iry wJe •"

-^ «T.ieLia »CML ^Moa. taxip^ k, Imuhxt ulIci.; fjcinn.
~. i:?^ <gg-i at £:i^e* uztL. UiK c»^ uic prmac amT;

— •*-"~»^ ^** ^=e 3ius-4ir-cL S.I1L lit ciuaJr nijuLi* Lii iietc.

A Hz- rs2fr Avrnijt jtf wwuk '"■• miBB^ tec am JMBir :
•f^KA- ^ 2^Tt. Utt iiATi xa: trsec bl nuier iatw I«t\i7e.

■- ' <r"u^ z».r iip-i • ».nxc ck:uic vii.ir Vbl:! fcC»:L.
— ^c V :-irt*is;r ax» uic kL ht uumicr'c wzix. ua oefed.

..•h. ..- ^-. ik.^ ^4i T-::iiar. k r«v< Stmi.a".i, tnrc .

".r . 1 *-J-^ v-rr. ^t.11 3l:uu. .-mm i* mocvic kl^ v,T_riir:M.

- . . T-.-»: • .: 1= ^ ■«**.?■:- lie l*»«-pnf iikrt .',ek.-i i^t err
..- - ■ .- . -.-::-■ *- ».:■!. iii.-m lA-i .L ru.i. :t-^

r":.i^ Stii:*.-/: r :.u.i! > tis" « imm — in" ay^tc i«ri.v: rerK

323

LITERARY NOTICES.

BOHK*S STAVDJkRD l.tnnAnY.

There can lf« no doulit thut intelli-
gpiire of late years has brcn lo broadly
diffused, ilini the higher productioni of
genius and learttmg havu at last a cer-
tainty of finding what may be called a
f general apprecintion, wliencver a piih-
Isher halt »ense and spirit to render
ihein acceptable to the million. Some
there are, indeed, who, like ^sop's
oook, still prefer the Imrleycom to the
gem ; and others who mistake low-
priced and fugitive triviality f'T cheap
literature ; hut the BrUish public ts now
alive to the excellence and dignity uf
letteni, and it will not be long l)efore
taste wiU once more lift i is liead
junongst us, not as heretofore confined
to (he few, but the acquisition of the
tnaiiy.

\\ e oQcc eaw in a grnccr*i window —
** A bad article is dear at any price:—
try our five ithilling green.** We ao-
knowledgedl the truth »f the aphorism ;
hut lio{>ed that the innocent rendor of
hyson wus nni lu tlie practice uf im-
pressing that tTLith upon his customers
after themnoner he had shadowed forth
in his notification. Wliat may properly
hf trrmed a cheap bo<ik ? The volume
thiU claims Kuch an appellation must be
the work of a man of genius or learning,
accurately printed, without abridgment,
of Hn elegant form, and at the lowest
posaiblu price that can remunerate a pub-
lislier. It must he a good book because
a Imd article is dear at any price ; it
tni;]!<t be etegaiit of form because tc is a
ili&honour to an ilhistrious autlior to
present him m a quest ioouble^ sUiveuly,
ar shabby^enteel b)iai»e, and Uiat men
may take a pride in the property they
possess; and it must be at a low tiu^ure
that ail may have the way, who have
the will, CO ptircluue.

We hare been led to offer the forgoing
brief observations, having witnessed of
late several laudable attempts to supply
the public at a low iiric*- with works of
merit, but which }ibv6 not fulfilled the
cuudiiiuns we attach ti> the sense of
rlieapiietis, and having had our attention
drawn still more lately to Mr. Buhn's
admirable series of the best P^nglish
and foreign autbon, which he cnlls his
*' Standard Library." Ijet Mr. Bohn
speak for himself. He tayi: "The
[Miblifiher veniures to aaiume that his
unremitting and long-practiied expe-
rience in iNKiks, his constant interrounw
with tlie learned in all parts uf the
world, and his extensive literary pru-
VOL. XXIII.

perty, will enable him to bring such
resources to the formation of his *' Stan-
dard Library" a» xhall leave little or
nothing to lie desired. Thew and other
facilitieB have suggested the present un-
dertaking, and amciirrent cimimstances
have hastened its commencement. As
holder of many valuable copyrights
(including Koacoe*B Leo the fenib,
Loren7^ de Medici, and the works of
Itotiert Hull, \vhich were being pirated)
the publisher considers it incunibvin on
him to take into his own hands the pub-
lication of them in a cheap and pttpulur
form, rather than leave them to the
piecemeal appropriation of others."

If this had been an extract from a
prospectus recently put forth, we had
hardly quoted it ; but Mr. Bolin has
done enough since it was written, to
assure us that every primiise contained
or implied, in his nddrexs Ut the public,
will be faithfully fulBlled, In haudsunie
and goodly'Sized vnhimes at three>and*
sixpence each, we have the works of
Robert Uiill and of Roscoe ; of Schiller,
ScUegel, MacchtavelU, Sismondi, and
Ijomartinei the Memoirs of Benve-
nuto Cellini and of Colonel Hutchinsnu,
by his widow, — { two works, the reading
of which is memorable during life) have
lieeu republished, as alito BeckmannN
History of Inventions, Lonxl's History
of Painting. Orkley*s History o( the
Saracens, and Rankers History ctf the
Popes, and eeveral other works worthy
enough years ago to be called " Su-in-
dard/* but only now put in tlie way of
betug made so by being made popular.
Af any others of a kindred character are
in progress.

The great majority of the works pub-
liihed or inionded to be published by
Mr. Bohn for his "Standard Library"
have been, as we have in effect said,
almost lieyond the reacJi of the public,
owing to the high price at which they
were originally issued. Hut his *^An>
ti(|uarian Library" consists of a cheap
reprint of works uf the utmost interest
and value, which to all but one in a
thousand have been absolutely sealed
books. M'hu but a stud<*ntor a collector
of books has ever seen a copy of our old
chroniclers, liiKtoriMns, or travellers '
There is ample siiope here for Mr.
Bohn's enterprise; and wr feel per-
suoded he wiU not be slow to seize upon
treasures that lie su temptingly within
hia grasp.

LAilly, let us speak t>f tlte *^' Classical
Library." It is a happy omen of the
sucnmsful manner In which t.h\« biT«xkx!&.
K K

UTSK4BT

raifniv,

nd Mipenor

ibe bamu

may be ftccoaed, tn

ctf" iu pbenoaena

cmpadiia

w* do BOC bdkn
df trainuw of «a j pv

eould ever be foind

u human fo-

•kallov M may be At

Jh}ifm\ Tiiga tt^oM t« W ofaalai bv

Illcstbatiovs or IvBrnrcT. —
Br Jraatlkaa Couch, F.U&— John
Van Vomt.

Tkii U B l>ook that w«U ^aerret to
be read, because it imntiha maoT rery
curious aod insenatiaif aoacdoics o^ the
animal crcaiion, illutxatire of their ia-
■tincu. The author tells u* that, where-
M poaCft and philoaopAicrs hare said that
■MB ii goreriied by reaeon a> animaU
■IV by iostiDct, whidk U merely an an-
rcdecting impulse; and that in omas-
(|Uence uf tlus mode of regardinf^ the
•ubjoet we have lost the advantage of the
Immmis the animal creation mig^ht hare
tangfif us in the philosophy of eren the
hmnan undentandiuff, it it one <tliject of
hi* book to afford a difTerent eslimato of
them. It is his with to point out the
patli by which a better knowledge may
be ac(|uired of the condttions of their ia-
tellectual existence. He thinks that, in
the words of Milton, 'Mhey nsason nut
'Contemptibly/* and that if a higher de-
gree of training were founded on a Juse
study of their inleUectuul faculties, the
result would he uf im|>ortancv to human
inl«rBsls. He ubwrvea, thai (be day is
gone by when tlie iiudentt of Aliud
fthoiilil WHiitt* tlieir timu \u ubittract dis-
<}uiiiitiiinti and reaii)nin(^, it priorif on
the nature uf spirit, and in laying down
ilk law of doriration, subiistence, or ac-
limi i for that U is undeniable that such
probiund ini]uirici huro ended in very
sliallow and unssllifitrtory results ; and
that phvHicjtl ACiLMioc has advanced only
in iiropiiriinn ns it hus slmkru off the
rncumhvrinK trnrmnels of diiiii annlisurd
sviicm of itudy. He goes on to remark
that tJml (^inridenoe which the search

rf ihe
pcopeoiftwi tti

of hderiot creatntaa, «c an
oot fikdy to find what we seek. Tbm$

rfsearrfies not unfre^ueatlv
ca this, tliat the mare's nen U
kwdty prodaimed to te
tihewTiMBi^Uie<*procnant cradle'* of
tmth. The homaa mind can nerer Iw
4egndei by a oompsraon of it with the
Bcstal capabilities of the animal errs*
taon ; bat sodi comparisons are vsin
and idle. Dr. Johumm, irritated \ty the
frirolous inquiries of Bosweli, broke out
witK, — ** Sir, I wiU not be put to (be
question, why is a fox's tail bushy, wky
is a cow's tail long, and such gabblr.'
Very proper inquiries in their rif^i
place, and such as our author has mw
interestingly pursued ; but away witb
Bpeculadoni that seem to hare for thtfr
object an attempt to appmxiraslc
the faculties of ttie unpnvivuive limit
to the noble and accountable facultietof
man.

ObSEETATIOVS in NaTUAAt

Toar. By the Rer. Leonani Jen]
— John Van Voorst.

The author of this woric, when
gaged some years back in preparing i
lor a new edition of Whitc'^s " Nauusl
lli&tnry of Selbome," soon found s
larger Mtock of matter collected upon lu>
hands than it was thought desirable (»
use for that (mrjiow. Uence tlie idea of
the present work, whicli enittodies a con-
siderable partiuu v( that author. And •
delightful work it is. The author hai
hruught together his niisvcU&iicims fa
and observations without attempt!
refer them to any particular prinri]
and the result h such a laillectiun
nmusing and instructivi' reading in Na-
tumi History, as we believe no
mail cimld have broujtht logeiher.
a worthy companion to Wliite's ehaf
in^ book, and we arc certain will Iteconw
a lavourite with the public.

>r DM

326

KING MOB.

BT MRS. aOMER.

WITH A PORTRAIT OP M. DB LAMABTINB.

" Tu Tu voulti, Georges Duidin !"

MOLIEBE.

Wb leave the application of the above epigraph to be made by our
readers.

If there were not sometbing pitiful in the self-complncent morab'z-
ings of the " propliets of the post/* somethini; Rtupirl and ungene-
rous in the exclamalion of ^*I always foresaw hou- things would turn
out !" which 80 often hails the announcement of a nusfortune after it
has happened, we mij^ht be tempted to indulge in a bories of sapient
reflections upon the blindness and ohstinacy that have brought nbout
the astounding events of the last few daySt and annihiluted the
dynasty of July. But we forbear. Misfortune has no sacred a charac-
ter in our eyes, that even when precipitated by wilfulness and error,
we shrinlt from reflecting ui)on its cause^ — we can only think uf its
i efccfx. In the present instance, we picture to ourselves the unhappy
I exile driven forth with contumely, in his old age, to die in a foreign
I land ; and we forgE^t the faults of the king in the sorrows of the man.
' Jn the days of his prosperity, we were no admirer of le Rm Citoyetit
i in the hour of his adversity we are fain to remember only the better
part of Louis Philippe d'Orleaus; and we are not asliamed to own that
we have shed a tear over his fall.

But it is not of the ex-King that we have sat down to discourse, but
of his successor. " Le Roi est niort — Vive le Rui !" or, in other words,
"the dynasty of July is defunct ; Long live King Mob I" For once
we will be a courtier, and speak and think onty of the new sovereign.
It is a curious thing — but far more curious than ])lensant<^to watcli
the operations of atiurchy frum uue's drawing-room window ; and our
residence upon the Boulevarda of Paris has enabled us to witness some
of the most exciting episodes uf the recent revi)Iiition. The newspa-
pers have already given to the public an outline of the principal occur-
rences of the 2Jnd, 23rd^ and 24th of Februury ; hut some minor
details iire involved in the great ivliolo, which, uUH-it Uiiuntth the no-
tice of leading-article-mfuigers, may become ]mbitnble whin presented
under a less pretending fyrm, ami gather interest from beijjg related by
ail eye-witness.

Kverybody is acquainted with the events that preceded the cuta-
stro])he, but not even the most clear-sighted appear to have anticipated
to its actual extent the overwhelming result ; for ulthough the perti-
nacious determinutiou of the late guvernmeut not tu retract the wither-
ing censure passed upon the reform banquets in the speech from the
throne (comprised in the expressinns " passions avengles et ennemies/'
and followed by a prohibition of the banquet which had been an-
nounced to take place on the 22nd of February) had awakened consi-
derable uneasiness in the public mind, it was confldtintly believed that
nothing beyond an ec/iaujfourev ending iu the overthrow of the Guixot
ministry would ensue. But the minlhtry was determined not to fall
withuut a struggle, and therefore an imposing military force of seventy-
five thousand men had been assembled in and about Paris, and wus
I VOL. xxrii. D H

d26

KING MOB.

devme^l more ttian liufficient fur the taamt«nance of order. "Tl:
nay piffrbftps be • fiew broken wiodows, and then Guizot will po

oai, and Mole trill ooaie in»" was the general rejoinder to t'very to-
xious enquiry ; and in this comfortable belief Tue«day the 22ud wm
Ubbered in.

But th(q>e opposition It^ders who hiid raised the (wpulor ])auioni
fuuud that they had evoked spirits which they niif^hi be |>owerlt^io
Uy ; and shrinking from the responsibility *>( what might ensue if ihey
])ersevered in their determination, the banquet waa abuadoned by thi
in tbe eleventh hour.

The oouce»i(m came too late.

Already the note of preparation had sounded. The Buulevardti
principal thoroughfares were thronged with workmen in blousesr
ragged gawnns prowling about with countenances full of direful mi
ing ; and some crowdn uf them who had gathered in the Place
Madeleine and round the Cliainber of Deputies, crying " Vive la
forme !" were dispersed by the Aluuicipol Guards and parties of i
tary. Some cart-louds of 6rewood were pillaged, and the depredal
made a rush down the DoulevBrds> brandishing the purloined fa
and throwing them at the windows. They were followed by a det
meut of the line, the commAuding ofiicer in a loud voice enjoining
inhabitants on either side of the way to close their casemejius, and
short time all the shup« were shut. The rappel beat to arms for
National Guard; but that being a voiuntaty service, the summons
dittregjrded — a convincing proof tliat they did not sympathize with
cuUKe they were called upon to uphold. This circumstance pi
opened the King's eyes to the thoruugh unpopularity of the course!
was pursuiug, but did not induce him to desist. Possibly he felt
self too far engaged to retreat with liunour, and that desperate ooni
tiun caused him to luse his wonted judgment fur a moment ; for,
its being observed to him that the National Guard lyvTv deaf to
cull to arms, it is asserted that he petulantly exolaiuicd> " Kb,
uous nous en passerons I"

That evening there was an ominous absence of the usual 80iu»
Parisian life in the streets, but the distant murmur of the coc
storm made itself heard. The indefatigable rappel smute upon the
nuw approaching, now receding ; scarcely any carriages were in cil
lutioUj and in lieu of the rolling wheels, the tramp of heavy
steps was everywhere heard pacing in cadence to the ckaur des G't
dint, " Alourir jmur la Palrie," chanted in chnrus by the stenti
voices of the people. Iti the cuurse of the night some barricades
made in the neighhourhood of the Halle, and some partial struj
with the Municipal Guard took pluce.

But on Wednesday morning affairs wore a more serious aspect,
aasembled crowds were more dense, their bearing more determij
their movements more threatening. The display of military force
considerably increaiied ; the Place Louis Quinze and the Carousel
tilled with troops, and |>airols cunstantly passed through the sti
the mob Hying l>efore them only to congregate again in some
quarter. The National Guard at lost turned out in considerable ni
b«r«, evidently under an apprehension that the tranquillity of the
was seriously compromised, hut not with a view to repress the poi
fettling, with which it was apparent they fully synijwthized.
-ol of the National Guard wiis fulluwed bv on excited mass of

KING MOB.

327

ee, crying "Vive lu Ourde Natiouale ! Vive la Rvforniu ! Abas
aizot ! " and ulthougli, generally speaking, they up to this period
KMioively alluwcd xhh demonstration, in some in&tancex a resfranding
cry would echo from their ranks. In short, it was evident that the
Kational Guard, although disposed to control diborder. would not cod-
trul the impulse that was likely to produce it.

It was in this conjuncture that, towardH the middle of the day, the
twelve coloneU of the twelve legions of the National Guard proceeded
to the Tuileries, and obtained an audience of the King, to atate the
fruitletmueas of their efforts to lead their men to act against the popu-
lace, for that, however they might repress outrage for the moment,
e»ery in&tant led to fraternizing with the people. Their representa-
tion decided Louis Philippe upon yielding, and he then authorized
Uuiuieur Guizot to state to the Chamber of Deputies then sitting that
CtKDte Wole had been summoned by his majesty to form a new minis-
trj. Thus a fresh instance was added to the many afforded by history
of the supreme power possessed by buch a body as the National Guard.
It i& an i/Hperium in ivtperio, and whether that liody be styled Pneto-
riaa Guard, Janissaries. Mamlukes, or National Guard, it resolves it-
^i into the same thing, — a deliberative body with bayonets in their
Wds, before which all other powers of the state vanish.

The announcement of the change of ministry flew like wildfire
Iboiuih the city, and appeared to produce unbounded satisfaction. As
tii<* officers who were commissiuned to disseminate the glad tidings to
Uie insurgents rode along the Boulevards, they were ut each moment
Ropped by eager groupu of questioners, who received the intelligence
tiiey imparted with clapping of hands, and shouts of '* Vive le Roi ! "
Ffce enemies of the government were propitiated by the downfal of
Lbeir political opponent, although they admitted that the substitution
tf Moie for Guizot was not likely to lead to any material change of
Mlicy. But the blow was struck, and humiliation inflicted upon the
[wemment and the dynasty by their being compelled tu descend from
their hitherto haughty and unbending position, and yield to the exigency
if the moment: and that was in itself sufficient to exhilarate the nial-
contents.

And now everything wore a brighter aspect. Tlie people who had
ioring ttie course of the morning broken into the armourers' shops, and
Imed themselves with every description of weapon, exchangea their
^esteuing gestures for smiles, and their furious vociferations for the
weet sounds of the Girondin chorus. At nightfall, they formed into
LQ immeoae procession^ and paraded the Buulevurds, still armed, pre-
leded by Lighted torches ; and for the lost time the loyal cry of ** Vive
e Roi !" was heard in Paris, aiingled, however, with shouts of " Vive
iReforme!" and " A has Guizot !" Every house was illuminated,
Dd thna a jrapular commotion was speedily converted into a popular
irjoicing, and "all went merry as a marriage bell," — when a cir-
unsiance, which has generally been attributed to accident, led to
le terrible explosion that toppled down the throne of July, and crush-
d it into annihilation beneath the barricades upon which it had been
seventeen years ago.

procession just alluded to directed their steps to the Hotel dcs

!S Etraugeres, charitably bent upon couipelling I^Ionsieur Guizot

linate in honour of his own overthritw. They found a strong

post in tlie court-yard of the Hotel, and a platoon of the line

a B 3

928

KING MOB.

drawD up in front of it, together with a partf of the Municipal Guard
on borsetMUik ; but, nothing daunted, they proceeded to vociferate for
lights to be exhibited, and evinced a determination, in caae of non-
compliance, to break into the house. At thiA moment a ahoi was 6red
(from whence it came none can tell), but the officer in command, coo-
ceiving it to be an attack, ordered his men to fire, and a rollef irM
poured in upon the mob «*iih murderous effect. The unfortunate mA-
diers were mowed down by their infuriate opponents, and, as fast is
they fell, the lighted torches were applied to their hair, their roousta-
cfaifw, and their clothing, to make sure of their perishing either br
sword or fire.

It ia supposed that the chance shot that led to this fatal cnlliiias,
was not, as at first bt^liered, a mere accident, but the work of aone
master 'mind, which had, upon the spur of the moment, resolved opM
rendering the people and tlie military the instruments of a sudden aid
but too well-conceived project. The republican party, ever on the
alert to turn to advantage all that could favour tbeir views, peroci^
that an opportunity of advancing tbeir cause was about to slip
their fingers, and that the demonstrations of discontent they had set
motion were subsiding in the satisfaction evinced at the overthruv
an obnoxious ministry. As that event, idlhough a step iowartU rfpol
lican views, fell very far x/iorl of them, the leader of tnat party, lcno<
ing the public puUe to be so far excited, that very little would
stimulate it to fever height, and that some act of violence
once aet every angrv passion afloat, and knowing, too, that up
moment the general orders to the troops were not to frc unless is
fcnctt is supposed to have directed the firing of that mysterious
which led the o&cer commanding the troops to believe that it wu
attack.

Let us lose no more time in conjectures upon that which has
passed into the category of f aits accompiisj but return to the Boule

When the carnage was over in front of Monsieur Guixot's U<
the people, true even in that supreme moment to their instiact
theatrioal effect, raised the bleeding bodies of their slain oomradai is
their arms, and carried them to the Cour des Messageries lUysla
(Diligence Office), where they seized upon one of the carts beloogHiK
to the establishment, and, jtUcing the dead in it, proceeded to tnvenc
tlie Boulevards, waving blazing torches over the gnaiilly heap, and yell-
ing forth the terrible cry of " V^engeance! Aux armes!" which w«
quickly caught up and echoed from street to street by the excited mul-
titude. As the sinister cortege passed on beneath our windows, ererj
other sound in the streets became hushed ; the illuminations, one b^
one, were extinguished, the noisy crowds tied as if from some impeiui-
ing danger, and the city was left to darkness and silence.

It was the ominous stillness and gloom that precede the thuntler-
cUp. From eleven o'clock till one in the morning it was unbroken h)
a single sound : not a carriage* wheel was heard^ not a footfall ooultl ^
detected, not a patrol approached to assure us that protection wss>i
band in case of need. Never shall we forget the awful suspentv of
those two hours ! To think of retiring to rest, or even undressing* ww
impossible: that unnatural stillness had murdered steep more eneetn-
ally than the most uproarious manifestations coulJ have done. M
sat with our frightened servants around us, a strange sound suddi
struck upon our ears, and made our hearts die within us. We rai

KING MOB.

P to the window, and, throwing it open, beheld the verification of our
w worst ft'iirs. Groups of workmen in blouses liad silently assembled
f with torches and pickaxeh, and with a stern determinatiun cunimenced
I* tearing up the pavement and catling down the trees (the only trees
P spared hy thf revulutionist^ of 1B30 were the acacias before our door),

tin preparation for the morrow's struggle. Immediately under the
windows where these lines are written were erected three of the prin-
cipal barricades that figured in the late revolution : one acrotw the
BoulevLird Paissonnit-re, and the two others at the junction of the Rue
Monlmartre and the Faubourg iMontmartre with the Boulevard. The
sound of the uprooted btoues as they were thrown upon one another.
the crash of the falling trees, the resolute voices of ihe workmen, and
the nEiture of their labours at that unwonted hour^ had in them all ihc
strange fascination of terror. We ^vould have given worlds to have shut
the sounds from our ears, and yet we could not leave tlie window.
When the work of destruction was completed, they smashed the lamps
that still remained lighted, moved onward to recommence a few hun-
dred paces higher up on the Boulevard, and left us to solitude and
utter darkness. And thuH passed Wednesday night.

A death-like silence reigned until between five and six in the morn-
I ing, when a volley of muKketry at the adjacent barricade announced
the commencement of hostilities, and sent us trembling to the window
to witness the arrival of a large military force, under the command of
General Bedeau, consisting of u rcgimetit of cuiratiHierK, one of chas-
BeurS'ii'Cheval, three reginienta of the line, and a halterv of artillery.
The ragged insurgents who had been left to guard the barricades scam-
pered away before the platoon firing, and the soldiurs of the line demo-
lished in less than a quarter of an hour the formidable barriers that
had been constructed during the nighty leaving a free passage for the
cavalry and artillery, who. together with the infantry, immediately
look up their position on the Boulevard just above our residence. After
the terrible ahnndaument of the night, this appearance of protection
was most cheering; but whatever hopes had been raised by the arrival
of so strong a force, were in a short lime dashed by seeing the heroes
of the night, who had been disper^ted by the Kotdiers, return with an
increase of numbers, and co^tily commence reconstructing their barri-
cades, while the troops looked on tranquilly within a hundred paces of
them without attempting to interfere with their work. In an incredi-
bly short time the three barricades were again erected, and an armed
naob, not amounting in number to one-fourth of the troops drawn up
witliin a few yards of them, ensconced themselves behind, prepared
" to do or die."

Neither party did anything, however, but rested on their arms until
haJf-paat ten o'clock, when an aide-de-camp arrived from the Tuileries
and announced that the King had nominated a new ministry, at the
head of which were Messieurs Thiers and Odillon Barrot. Cries of
"Vive la Re forme !" greeted this intelligence; and ere they had
GubHided a large body of National Guards advanced from the FanUmrg
Paiasonniere, accompanied by an immense mob cheering and vttciferat-
ing for reform, and took up their position with the troopSj with whom
the whole body appeared to fraternize. At this juncture, i^Ionsieur
Odflhin Barrot and General Lamoriciere (who had just been appointed
to supersede General Jacqueminot in the cuuimund of the National
Guard), uccompunied by Horace Vei;nay, rode up aud gave orders to

330

KINO MOB»

ihe troops to retire, making; fine speeches tn the cnob a
the King, who, they said, wished for no protection or' f
afforded hy " les braves Gardes Nationaux et le brave pen
A sort of conference was held between the officers of botb
terminated in the word of command being given to the
line to march off. They lost no time in doin^ so, reversi
kets and holding the butt ends uppermost in signal of t)M
tion not to act ; the mob with the utmost cordiality hand
the barricades, and saluting them with enthusiastic criei
ligne!" Cavalry and artillery followed, and detiled aloi
vard in ]>erfect order, the trumpets sounding a retreat.
had they reached the Boulevard des Italiens, ere the mo
assert its newly acfjuired power hysome practical demons
to disarm the soldiery ; and to our dismay we beheld the
had juRt passed under our windows, in all the pomp and
nf military array, forcibly taken from their guardian artil
brought hack to the barricade by a screaming and frai
Similar scenes took pluce at the other military posts, and
moments was Paris delivered over to the people under 1
of being under the protection of the Xational Guards ~
troops being withdrawn from the city, except those
chfttenu of the Tuileries, and the post at the guard-
the Palais Royal.

The oiiportunity afforded by this tenure of power
by the Ivevolutionists, nor was it lost- The momentf
tained over them by Odillon Barrot and Lamoriciere qnlc
and seditious cries marked the odium with which the
was already regarded. "A has Thiers, qui afaii U^Jof
Paris ! — <i has tbomme dcs iois de Septemlre f" burst f
At last the people no longer liesitated to proclaim their
" A has Louis Philippe V was echoed by a thousand voic<

And now the plot thickened. Dense masses from tl
armed with every description of weapon that they could ]
selves of, from the arms surrendered by the troops to t
from the properties of the theatres, came pouring like t
torrent down the Boulevards, gathering its thousands as it
Such of these infuriated patriots as bad not yet obtained
their way into private dwellings to require, in tones thai
no refusal, that whatever weapons they contained should
to tbeni forthwith. Our own individual courage was pu
test by a domiciliary visit of that description from nine i
individuals who would not be denied, and whom we wa
receive with all the courtesy and sang froid that we coi
To do them juatice they behaved with mucli civility, an
that their search was fruitless, and that neither pistol, gi
formed any part of female belongings, they quietly de
many apologies for the trouble they had given. M

The terrific appearance of this rabble rout recalled
Ijeen written of the risings of the faubourgs and the sec
first Revolution. A few straggling National Guards — h
to give the colour of a movement under them — were spriniL
out ; but the mass was composed of men in blouses, their
ed tip to their bhuulders, and their naked arms brandishiz
aabrea, pikes, muskets, jtlstols, fo^vling-picces, fencing

KINO MOB.

many instances branches of trees witli bayonets affixed to them. Some
few flp]>^flred in the Rt^nrmn helmets and pantehoard cnira.s.ses they had
ipurluined from tho thentres- Womtn were there too, some carrying
iajjjK tliat had been got u(i far the occasion with a fragment of red rag
tied to a pike stuff; und one old fiend murehed in front, Rtiouldering
like a mu»ket half of the panel of a dmir that hud heen torn from its
hinges^ her gray hnir streaming to the wind, and a branch of laurel
Btuck into her head-kerchief. Amidst the deafening din rained by
their vociferations, and the sort of fury with which they vi'Hed the
I Marseillaise, one cry suddenly predominated; ** Aux Tuitertes T and,
sweeping down the Rue Richelieu, the nionstrouN gathering directed
its fearful course tuwards the pulace> witliont encountering any resint-
ance save fntm a gnlhint detnchment of the line occupying the post of
the Chateau d'Ean, in the Place du Palais Royal. Tlie officer in com-
mand, on refusing to surrender his arms, was bayonetted on the spot ;
and his brave men — liie only ones ivliu did their duty — were all maa-
sacred, and the guard-house burnt to the ground.

While these events were passing on liie Rnulevard, scenes of an-
other description were enacting within the precincts of the palace.
There all was still security. The court of the palace nnd the gar-
dens were filled with troops under the command of the Duke of Ne-
mours ; of their fideUty there was no reason as yet to doubt, for they
had not been called upon to act, conKefjuently had not been exposed to
the djjtheartening pn^ceNs of being led out, like those on the Uoiilevardj
to witnes.4 the triumph of lawless violence witliont being suffered to
repress it. The king had passed them in review in the morning, and
was satisfied that with such a guard he had nothing to fear. But in
the n>idjit of his security, RIoiiyicur Thiers abruptly entered, and an-
nounced to his majesty that the game was up I that the National
Guard bad made common cause with the people, that the troops would
not act, that the mob was in full career to storm the Tuilerie.s, and
that any iitCempt to resist them would only occasion a useless effusion
of blood f His xvtirds were, " Sire^ voua n'avez pas d'opiion, il favt
ahdiiiuer /" The Duke of iMontpensier seconded the counsel of the
minidter; but the Queen, who was present, surrounded by her little
grundcbildrenj with the tender heroism of a woman and a wife, urged
him to do nothing which his own reason or his own wishes did not
sanction. *' Ueste ici," she wiid, " si tn crois devoir k faire. Tu sais
cmnme je t'aime ; Je suis prete ti tnourir d coit de tot !" The King's
hesitations, however, were oi'ercome by the urgent entreaties of Mon-
sieur Thiers ; and wliile the yells of the approaching mob were be-
coming audible, he signed an abdication in favuur of his grandson^
the Comte de Paris, under the regency of the Duchesa of Orleans.
" Et matJtt man! , partcz, sire i votts n'avezpas uu moment ii pcrdreJ"
The royal pair descended lo the garden ot the TuiJeries, which they
traversed in tlie direction of the potit totirnoni, preceded by the Duke
of J^Iontpensier, who endeavoured to prevent the crowd from pressing
too rudely upon his father. A few National Guards, and one or two
deputies accomniinied them, one of whom, indignant at seeing the
crowd keep their hats on in the King's presenc**, exclaimed: " Met-
sieurSj decouvrcz vous in presence du Roi .'" — " 21 n'y a phis de RoiJ"
ivas the answer. '* Ahus^ si vous ne respectez plus le Rot, rcsi>ectez au
moins le malhenr" was indignantly urged by the speaker. " Ef le crimt
done ?" was uU that could l>e extracted from the titubborn republican.

KING MOB.

he quitted hh palfleCf wished and intended to hiT«

to the Cbunber of BeputieA.. but t)ie few penooi

fvaruig for kis safetr, urged the fugitives on ton-arda

Iwttse, wlwre a couple of oue-dorse vehicles were in

By a strmnge faulity, the group wns brought to i

!• ^ pgdeiiCil of the Obelisk of Luxor, on the very

■kaCkifty-ftTC Ttms% before, tl>e 6r»t royal victim to the cause uf

im Vtwaa bad expiated by bis bliiod the misfortune of having

syas tian vbkk ke had Beitlier genius to comprehend nur

•i ^asacBer to oaipeu with. What the feelingH uf Louis

>lj be imagined- He raisetl

the people who surrounded him,

rem wm$M fn wtmvtz fait moftt^r au tr/tM—

<^«< ■»» ^ atVa jUcr deKieadrr.' ftyra 'keurtrux" In another

hm tMmwytd art* tbe b— bJa whwlo tbat wa« to bear him

frvB yi to gnndew, aad, like o«r royal Richard, "not oue

cried Q«d kkM kto r

«« mi tbe abdication waa isawdkiely eonveyed to the Plnce
Rof^l. where tbe eeaiKt vaa ttill geiag'on between tbe
d tke traepa, and ICankal Geraid appeared anionj; them on
» vikk a green bcwMk m kit kaad, hoping that the iutelli-
Wvld pacilj all angry paanaa^ and knd to the cessation of Hm-
B«t the tptrit wkxik kad bees stimed up gained streogth
^■i^ evenr freak act af dniag» and tke P«op^> vho the day before
vwU kava gntefnily aiWMHwd a cknR •■ aunifliry as a boon, and i
ijaayf — — ea aa a liinmt ta pakfic a^iBioa, now indignantly re-
jK>Mlk»aUtoKiaaaf tkeaawK^ aa — iMnftfifiit homage to their
m^^f-me^fdnd lauifULi ; aad tke aaaociaeement was only met by
iiwiwri oto af** Am* TUbrwa/ m hms LmU* PkUippc !"
^ At ^baft mtmBm wmit af tke matt tcwperate leaders of the mob
iknatci^^ tka ^«adfiil ouaa^ tkat mast take pUc« fthuuld they come
ilk «MiftMt «ilk tka Inge kody af troops siatioiied in tbe Carousel and
^ f«dM» «f tkaCkftlm, mhcd to the iron gate opening from the
Rae 4» ftinlL and cMfeMtod «a ke admitted to an interview with tbe
Oake ef^NnMMa, vkoitill rfnim il tkere io command of the troopi.
What paaKd at tkat ilnnin is uaaeceaair to detail, but its practi-
tU ilttt was* tkat tko dake gave the order to the troops to retire,
aad at they deAWd alH^g ika ^aava and throogfa the gardens^ tbe mob
ra^ed ta and task pNasento of tke paUoe.

Tkcfv il wammAimg i^niiblu in tkis precipitate flieht of the royal
hmSiff arka departed witk mck kaate and in Kuch oisorder that the
* seatu fat po^** iiMrin<t apycM* to have scared away from then

every ackcr waliaawit far tke aaaMntv and the young princesses were
left ta Bake tke krst af tkcir way ant of the tumult, umiided bv their

Tbe Parisiaa popaUtHm have already instituted a comjm*
batween the tf%ht of tbe \i»\ Bourboa sovereign in 1030, and
Uttit of Le Hoi des Franvais iu UU8, which fully expresses the estimfl*
in which they hold the Utter : they say, '* Nous avona renrvji
Dtx d oomp tU cannon, et nous avons eha&bC Louis Philippe^
idr |Mrtf' / " O^^ member only of the dynasty appeared to male a
" and to assert the rights that had devolved upon her cliild-
ihe Kin;j; and Qneen were hastening to the carriuf;<» tliat bore
atruV fry"* Horis, thi* l)uche?ti» of Orleans, accompanied hy ihc
:ded on foot with bar two wns to ibc

KTNG MOB,

33S

ber of Deputies, to seek for support at the bands of tbe legislative
boc]}r> for the ri^^hts of the Comte de Paris, in whose favour his grand-
father had abdicated. But it was too late. The scene of viult-ncc
that was exhibited there equalled the most infuriate epifutdes of the
first revolution ; and the duchess was subjected to trials as painful as
those that had been inflicted upon Marie Antoinette in tlie stormy
epoch of I'jy''^' The moral inHuence of the deputies had vanished;
and even if they had been dispased to listen to the pathetic appeal of
the duchess when she attempted to address them, they could not asstert
themselves, for the chamber was not only morally disorganized, but it
was under the influence of terror from physical force and outrage. Not
only the galleries devoted to the public, but the interior of the Cham-
ber, supposed to be for ever sacred from intrusion, ^vas broken in upon
by a furious and armed mob, from whom the ducheaa and her cliildrun
were driven to take refuge on the upper benches reserved for the de-
puties ; and when 2^Ionsieur Odillon IJarrot, to his eternal credit, nt*
tempted to assert the cause of the motlier and son, and energetically
declared that be would form no part of any government tliat did not
acknowledge rights so sacred, every uiuiiket in the hands of the mub
was suddenly levelled at his head, with vociferous cries for the re-
public

It was then that the duchess rose, and would have spoken ; but her
voice was lost in the tumult, and the Uuke of Nemours compelling her
toreceat herself, she committed to paper the words 6he would have
uttered, which were immediately exhibited upon the point of a bayo-
net. Their substance was as follows : " Gentlemen, it is from the
nation, and not from the Chamber, that must emanate the rights of my
orphan son ; and it is that alone which hia widowed mother has come
to ask of you."

For a quarter of an hour the uproar that ensued can only be likened
to Pandemonium ; the mob pointing their muskets at the heads of the
deputies, ready to fire at the first word that displeased them. So much
for tlie freedom of the debate that sealed the fiite of the monarcliy !
Had it not been for this physical-force irruption, there is no dmibt that
the most exaggerated of the opposition members would have thought
that they had ocliievcd a signal political victtiry by the adoption of the
regency of the Duchess of Orleans. But Monsieur Ledru Hollin, tak-
ing advantage of the panic that had been produced, as soon as any voice
could bu heard, declared that the Chamber had no power to accept a
regency, and that the people only were to be api>euled to. Monsieur
de Liimartine followed, demanding that a proviMimal gorernment,
based upon the suffrages of the people, should be formed ; and one or
two others expressed themselves in the same sense.

At that moment, the gates of the Chamber were broken in by a so*
cond mob more terrible, if possible, than the first. The deputies has-
tily evacuated the Chamber, and adjourned to the Hotel de Ville, to
carry out measures for a provisional government. Some charitable
individuals, seizing the little princes in their arms, saved them from
being crushed to death. The michess, half-fainting, ^vas with dilhculty
removed with them to the Invalides; and the Duke of Nemours,
jumping out of an open window that ^vas pointed out to him, escaped
through the garden of the Chamber of Deputies.

The intelligence of what had takeu place was shortly afterwards
;yed to us on the Boulevards by the terrible vox jxipuli. " Vive

S34

KIXG MOB.

U Republique !" had now superseded every other crvt and a
proof that ruyalty was indeed deUruyed, soon pamed before
The counties mob which had two huun before gone forth with such
relentle&tt purpose tu storui the Tuileries, notr returned triumphant
frum the sack» bearing with them the throne of Louis Philippe sfaoni
of its royal rro\%n and cypher, on its way to the Place de la Bastille,
where they subsequently executed poetical justice upon it by buminc
it at the foot of the column of July, and scattering its ashes to the
winds. An endless multitude followed with blood-red flags, frantic
with excitement, and esch bearing aloft, stuck upon the point of t
bayonet or pike> some spoil from the scene of devutation. One horri-
ble trophy spoke eloquently of the strufrj^le that had taken place. Tlie
battered and blood-stained casques of the unfortunate Municipal Guards
who had been massacred by the mob were carried upon pikes, and de-
risively cheered with " bravoK*' and clapping of hands as they passed
along. Then came figures at once ko terrific and so grotesque, thit ia
the midst of our horror we could not forbear smiling and asking oui^
selves if it were not some Mardi Gras parade we were witnessing—
some carnival saturnalia, directed by the "Abbot of Unreason" — instead
of the evidences of a bloody and ruthless struggle which bad ended in
the overthrow of one of the greatest monarchies ujwn earth.

Jt is vain to assert that nothing was plundered from the Tuilrrio
on that day. Every individual of that rabble rout exhibited tooic
share of the sjwil either upon his person or upon his arms. One^47>iiii
with half of a state livery coat upon his back^ came capering sioniEf
shouting, " Ou est le tailleiir du Roi ? Knvoyez mot done le cailleur
de Louis Philippe." Others wore the cocked hats of the King's coach-
men surmounted with beautiful wreaths of artificial flowers, which bad
doubtless belonged to the princesses. Some had dressed themselves in
the crimson and gold table-covers of the atnte apartments. One man
carried an ermine mulf upon bis pike, another a velvet cushion, an-
other a splendid tortoise-shell cat (probably a royal \iei), which bad
been strangled and suspended theie; another a haunch of venison
spitted upon his bayonet, another a quartier de chevreuil piquS, In
short, the whole inenn of the royal table for that day ^vas exhibited
upon the )>ike8 of the ragged multitude ; and as they swept along, in-
toxicated with their success, the deafening din caused by the sound of
those thousands of voices chanting the Marseillaise, combined with the
tramping of those thousands of feet, hurrying on in the Hush of lawless
excitement, struck upon our ears like the knell of order and security.

We could no longer submit to remain a quiet spectator from a win-
dow of these stirring events; and, taking a friend's arm, directed onr
steps towards the Tuileries^-a service of much fatigue and some dan-
ger, for, inde]>endent of the dense and frantic masses that obstructed
the streets, a constant fusillade was kept up by the excited rabble, wtw
were firing for joy in all directions, and many were the fatal accidents
that occurred that evening in ci>nsequence. With considerable diffi-
culty we reached the Tuileries by the Boulevards and the Hue de In
Paix. But what a scene did the palace display I King AJob, Hushed
with victory, sut enthroned amidst the ruins of the monarchy he hsd
overturned,! and with his foot planted upon the neck of the defunct
dynasty, held his first court in those gilded saloons.

Kvery |>art of the princely pile, from the ground-floor to thegnrrcU*
wuA tilled to overflowing with the majestic presence of the sovereign

KING MOB.

836

people. Furniture, dresses* papers, were flying ont of the windows
(or rather window-frumes, for not a pane of glass was left whole) and,
as fast as they reached the ground, were collected into a heap and c«n-
Terted into bonfires. But, strange anomaly, even then some system of
order had been established, and no plunder in the shape of robbery
was permitted. Destruction and devastation were not only tolerated,
but encouraged ; but when the tir<4t rush was over, and those trophies
1 had seen on the Boulevard had been borne off, a most rigorous police
had been instituted by the destroyers, and was already in lull operation
bv the time we reached the scene of action. Sentinels were posted at
all the issues from the palace and gardens, and everv pcrfion leaving
the premises wns examined to ascertain that they carried away nothing
with them. " Brulez tant que vous voulez, mais n'emportez rien,"
uas the ynot d'ordrct and in more than one instance where an attempt
had l>een made to evade it, the culprits had been placed upon their
knees and shot through the head on the spot pour encournger Us nvtrex.
To be sure, the incipient palace guard was of a most burlesque de-
scription, both as to dress and equipment. Ragged blouses predomi-
nated ; and the colossal granite hons at the gates of the Pavilion de
I'Horloge were bestridden by patriots in that guise, with their faces
blackened with powder, pistols stuck in their girdles, the cross-belts
and side-urois of some plundered soldier slung over their shoulders,
and naked sabres flushing in their hands, — the very heau ideal of re-
publican life-guardsmen. Every description of arms and accoutre-
Dients were pressed into the service, and in one instance we noticed an
enthusiastic patriot with not only his fowling-piece, but his pointer-
dog. Doubtless the faithful animal thought the gun had no right to a
day's sho<ning without his joining in it.

We passed from the Tuileries to the Palais Boyal through the scene
uf the greiitest carriage that had taken place during the struggle, the post
of the Chateau d'Euu, where the soldiery had rememhered their duty to
their sovereign, and perished asserting it. The gunrd-house had been
completely burned, and nothing but the stone fumade remained stand-
ing, blackened, and as thickly indented willi bullet-marks as a face
seamed with the small-pox. Tlie Gollerie d'Orleans of the Palais
Royal had been converted into an amhnlatice or temporary hospital for
the wounded, many of whom were being conveyed there upon stretchers
contrived out uf door and window-shutters. The palace itself pre-
sented a similar picture of devastation with the Tuileries, every species
of destruction being deemed not only lawful, but meritorious. Four-
teen of the King's carriages had been burned in the Cour d'ilonneur,
amidst the acclamations uf the populace, anil upon llie smoking em-
bers were flung from the windows pianofortes, couches, chairs, and the
defaced and mutilated armorial bearings of the house of Orleans torn
from the walls and cast into the mud, to complete the funeral pile of
royalty.

The appeorance of the city was awful in the extreme: every shop
closed, every lamp smashed, not a vehicle of any kind to be seen, oil
circulation impeded, barricades at the end of every street, bristling
with bayonets and surmounted by red Hags; the pavements torn u[i
the trees cut down; the crest-fallen National Guard disarmed, and a
dense population of the ragged heroes of the day perambulating the
thoroughfares in masses, armed at all points, and firing ofl^ their pieces
in very wantonness of glee. .

336

KINO Hon.

Thus ended that eventrnl Thursday, whose terrors could only be
equalled by those anticipated for the approaching night. The con-
sciousness that we were entirely in the hands and at the mercy of the
people, all troops withdrawn from the city, everything in the shape uf
police force disorganized, and the Municipal Guard (hitherto the pro-
tection of the citizens) either killed or dispersed, filled all with appre-
kenbion. Marrelluua to relate, however, nothing like outrage was
perpetrated. King Wob, terrible in his fury, shewed himself "bon
Prince" in the hour of succesR^ and dinplnyed a moderation and calm
that it would be worse thun uncandid not to admire. Patrols of men
looking like brigands circulated through the streets all night, and the
barricades remained guardeil, le»t any attempt at counter-revolution
might be made upon the town. In short, a wonderful system of order
suddenly sprung up out uf the disorder that had reigned a few hours
before ; and it is difficult to withhold assent to the remark made to us
by a French gentleman (I beg pardon, 1 must uofv say a citoyett), who
while lamenting the events that had taken place, exclaimed : *' 11 faut
avouer qu'eu France tout sentiment d'honneur s'est refngie chex le
pen pie."

Ten days have now elapsed since the victory achieved by the people.
Order has lieen re-established, but not confidence ; and sad and anxious
are the anticipations for the future. The Provifiional Government has
made, and is making, efforts ulmust superhuman to dischnrge the oner-
ous duties which its devutcd members have taken upon themselves.

But the great and absorbing subject of anxiety is the approach-
ing elections for the National Assembly, fixed for the 9th of April.
Passions and schisms are already fomenting; Utopiau theories and
expectations are beginning to be vociferous; stormy questions ai
to the regulation of labour, and the wages of workmen, are a^-
tated ; and a gloom such as we never before witnessed in tmi
country, has enveloped Paris in an atmosphere of doubt and dread.
Undoubtedly the mass of public opinion goes with, and supportS|
the government, and, above all, pays tribute to the devotednee
telligence, and loyalty of its brightest ornament. Monsieur de Li
tine. His courage in resisting the recent demend of the combal
of the barricades to change the national colours, and substitute tlie red
flag of revolt adopted by them on the late occasiun for the tricolor,
consecrated by so many glorious memories, was absulutely sublime;
and his attitude, words, and demeanour, when the bayunets oi the
ruili.iuly deputation were pointed at his breast and crossed over his
liead, were characterised by a noble ovlm worthy of ihe greatest heroes
of antiquity. God grant that all his future eftbrts to repel unreason-
able exjiectations may prove as successful as in that instance, and that
the eloquent convictions uf such a mind may again and again awakea
an echo in the rugged bosoms of the multitude T But misgivings may
be pardoned in an e[>o<:h like the present; nor con we forget, while
]>ondering over all that the hint sixty years has unrolled in this agi->
tated country, during the great process of political regeneration, what
lias been the fate of its purest patriots. In miHlern France as in
ancient Rome, the space is brief from the Capitol to the Tarpeiun
Rock !

Pjiaifl. Marrhd, IU48.

337

IRDJALl; THE BULGARIAN BANDIT.
A TALE.

FROM THB RUSSIAN OF PCBHRIN.
BY TBOMAS B. SHAW, B. A.

KiRDJALi v-a5 by birth a Bulgarian. Kiriljali, in the Turkish
lanj|^u.*ige, signifies n hero, a brave warrior. His real name 1 never
knew. Kirtlrili, at the head of his band, carried terror throughout
the whole of jloldavia. In order to give some idea of his daring, I
will relate one of his expli»its. One night he and the Arnaiit Alik-
haihiki fell Mngle-handcu on a Bulgarian village. They .^et 6re to
the hamlet in two places, and went on together from cottage to cot-
tage. Kirdjf'di cut the throats of all he met, and Mikhailaki carried
the booty. Both shouted '' Kirdjali ! Kirdjali I" and the whole
population betook themselves to flight.

When Alexander Ipsilanti was agitating the general revolt against
the Turks, and had begun to auttemble his [inny> Kirdjali joined
him with a small number of his old comrades. The real object of
the rising was but imperfectly known to these guerillas; but the
war presented an excellent opportunity for them to enrich them-
selves at the expeni^e of the Turks, and perhaps also at that of the
Moldavians. This appeared to them self-evident, and this was all
they cared to know.

Alter the battle of Skuliani, the Turks remained the victors, Mol-
davia was cleared of the gucritlns. About six thousand Arnautsscat-
tered themselves over Bessarabia : though not knowing how to find
a subsistence, tliey were grateful to Russia for the protection she af-
forded them. They led an idle, but far from licentious life. They
might always be met with in the cofi'ee-bousea of the half-Turkish
Bessarabia, with long chibouques in their mouths, sipping the dregs
of coffee from their little cups. Their embroidered jackets and their
red sharp-pointed slippers were already beginning to look rather
worn-out and threadbare; but the tufted skull-cap was still, as of
old, cocked jauntily aside, and utaghan and pistol still bristled in
their broad girdles. None of them were ever complained of. It
seemed incredible that these poor, inoffensive fellows could ever
have been the famous Klephts of Moldavia, the comrades of the
terrible Kirdjali, and that he himself was here among them.

The pasha who was at that time governor of Jassy, obtained in-
telligence of this circumstance, and demanded, as a basis for nego-
ciations for peace, the surrender, on the part of the Russian govern-
ment, of the celebrated brigand.

The police began to institute a search. It was ascertained that
Kirdjali was actually residing in Kisheneff, He was arrested in the
house of a runaway monk, in the evening, as he was at supper,
sitting in the twilight with seven of his comrades.

Kirdjali was placed under a guard. He did not attempt to con-
ceal the truth, and immediately confessed that he was Kir<ljaJi<
" But," added he, " from the time when I crossed the Pruth, I have
- never touched a hair of any man's goods, nor harmed the ntcane^t

KIB0JALI.

cipffy. To the Turks, to the Moldavians, to the Vallachians» J am.
in troth, a robber; but to the Russians I am a guest. When
Saphianos had 6red away all his ammunition, and came to us in the
quarantine, to collect from the wounded men everythtnj; he could
find for a lut loading for our guns, — buttons, nails, the chains and
tasseU of their ata^chans, I ^ve him twenty sequins, and left myself
without money. God sees that I, — I, Kirdjalf, have lived on alms!
Wherefore, then^ should the Russians now j^ve me up to my ene-
mies ?*' Afler pronouncing these words, Kirdjali was silent, and
began calmly to await the decision of bis destiny.

A kaniUEa was drawn up at the gate of the prison, in the yetr
1821, un one of the last days of September. Jewesses, with their
sleeves danglii:^ loose and their sliptihud slippers trailing along the
ground; Amai'its, in their ragged but picturesque costume; tall
Moldavian women, with their black-eyed babies in their arms; — all
these, in a motley group, surrounded the kariitza. The men pre-
served a complete ulenccj — the women seemed eagerly expecting
something or other.

The gates opened, and a namber of police officers came out into
the street; they were followed by two soldiers, conducting between
them Kirdjali, chained.

He app^rcd about thirty years of age. The features of his tawo^r
countenance were regular and severe. He was of lofty stature,
broad shouldered, exhibiting every sign of extraordinary phyucal
strength. A turban of various colours was placed slantingly on his
head ; his slender waist was encircled by a broad belt of shawl; a
doli man of stout dark-blue cloth, a wide and thickly-plaited shirt,
falling nearly to the knee, and scarlet slippers, completed his cos-
tume. His air was calm and proud.

One of the civil officers, a red-faced old fellow, in a faded and
threadbare uniform, to which still dangled three remaining buttons,
having pinched between the arch of a pair of pewter spectacles a
purplish nob, which represented a nose, unfolded a paper, and hold-
ing it up to his eye, began to read in the Moldavian language.
From time to time he glanced contemptuously at the fettered Kird-
jali, who was apparently the subject of the paper. Kirdjitli
listened to him with attention. The civilian finished his reading,
folded up the paper, called loudly to the people, ordering thera to
make way, and commanded the kaniiza to be brought up. Then
Kirdjali turned towards him, and said a few words in the JMol-
davian dialect ; his voice trembled ; he changed countenance ; burst
into tears, and threw himself at the feet of the officer of police, his
chains clashing as he fell. The police officer, struck with terror,
scuttle<l off; the soldiers were about to raise Kirdjali, but he got up
of his own accord, gathered his fetters into his hand, stepped into
the kanitza, and cried. "Drive on!'* A gendarme seated himself
by his side, the iMoldavian cracked his whip, and the kanitza rolled
■way.

Kirdjali, on his arrival at Jassy, was delivered up to the |>a8ha.
who sentenced him to be impaled. The execution was deferred to
some great holiday or other. In the meantime he was shut up in
a dungeon. The duty of guarding the prisoner was confided to seven
Turks (^men of rude and simple habits, and at heart, to a certain
'•'"•ee, brigands like Kirdjali) ; they treated him with respect, and

KIRDJALI.

listened, with the greediness 80 universal throughuut the East, to
his strange and wondrous tales.

It was not \otifr before & secret bond of fellowship united the
guards and their prisoner. One day Kirdj^li said lo them^ — ** Bro-
thers! my hour is near. Nu man can escape his fate, In a short
dixne I !*hull bi^l ye farewell. I should like to leave you something
%8 a keepsake." The Turks pricketl up their ears,

'* Brothers I'* continued Kirdjali, '* three years ago, when I robbed
ill company with Mikhailake, who is now dead, we buried in the
steppe, not far from Jassy, a great iron pal full of piastres. Appa-
rently neither I nor he were destined to enjoy that hoard. So be
it ! do yrju dig it up, and share it among ye like good comrades."

The Turks were almost crazy with delight. Then be;ran the
arguments, how they should Hnd the spot in which the treasure
was concealed. They meditated and discussed tlie matter so long,
that at last they ]iroposed that Kinljali himself should shew them
the way.

Night came on. The Turks took off the fetters from the pri-
soner's feet, tied his hands behind him with a rope, and the whole
party set off with him for the iteppe.

Kirdjidi led them on, keeping always in the same direction,
from one hillock to another. They walked onward for a long
time. At last Kirdjidi stopped at a broad stone, measured out
twelve paces towards the south, stamped with his fool, and cried —
here.

The Turks now set to work. Four of them drew their ataghans,
and began to dig up the earth. The three others stood on guard.
Kirdjjili sat down on the stone, and began to look at them as they
laboured.

" Well, are you near it?" he inquired, **have you got down toil?"

" Not yet/' replied the Turks, toiling on, till the sweat streamed
from them like rain.

Kirdjali began to show signs of impatience.

** What a set of fellows! " he cried; "they can't even dig up a
few feet of earth 7 If I set about it, the affair would be done in a
couple of minutes. Cume, my boys! untie my hands and give me
an ata|;;han." The Turks hesitated, and began to consult together.

*' VVell," said they at last, " let 's unbind his hands, and give him
an ataghan. What harm can that do? We are seven to one." And
the Turks untied his hands, and gave him an ataghan.

At last Kirdjali found himself once more a free man, with arms
in his hands. What must he have felt at such a moment ! He be-
i;an to dig with grest activity ; his guards helped him. Suddenly
he plunged his ataghan into the body of one of them, and leaving
the weapon sticking in the Turk's bosom, he snatched a brace of
pistols from the falling man's belt.

The remaining six, seeing Kirdjali levelling a cocked pistol in
each hand, took to their heels.

Kirdjali is now once more a brigand, and plunders principally
in the neighbourhood of Jassy. A short time ago be wrote a letter
to the hospodar, demanding five thousand gold piastres, and threat-
ening, in case of non-payment, to set fire to Jassy, and to present
himself in |)erson to the hospo<lar. The five thousand piastres were
sent him.

340

" ARB THERE THOSE WHO READ THE FUTURE?

B or flTKAltOB OOttlCIDEKCSd.

mw tim «M iA agicnkfe petBOa : far is aacietf har in»in wm vai u

In b sheltered Book of fertile Derail, withia ui easy clrive of
Exeter, and a pleaaaitt stil of Torquaj, XitB a little bustUof; village—
oncioallf a clatter of 6shers' huts — whose bold const, firm Mndi.
and gently shelving shore proved irresistible recoromendations to
pikblic favour. The stragghng hamlet of Sunny Bay rose raftidlj
into a much frequented watering-place. To it flocked the infiniif
the feeble, the consumptive, the suffering : and these, ere long, were
fblloved by the idle, and the jaded, the luxurious, and the hypo-
diondriacaL

To tlie former cla&s, the invalids, belonged the young^ Due de U
Miniac de Rohan, who, at the period I am referring to, came to
Sunny Bay bv the special recommendation of a whole conclave of
physicians. Hi^ malady was consumption : but he had youth antJ
a truly happy, equable, contented temper on hia side ; and the mott
vigilant and affectionate of nurses. He was ordered to live in the
saddle; to confine himself mainly to a milk diet ; to be at least a
couple of hours every morning on the sands ; and daily to luxariatr
in a beverage, or broth, of which snails were the main ingrdi- ) t
and for which horrible staple in his mid-day meal the neighbouring-
gardens were laid under willing contribution.

Whether from the soft, genial air of Dcvon» or from horse-exer-
cise, or from the long hours passed on the liunny beach fanned thf
while by the freshening breeze, or from the strange but ncjurishing
diet so peremptorily prescribed for him, and so steadily abided by,
tt boots not now to say, — the result was this : the Due de Hobao
rallied. The hectic spot disappeared from his cheek. His face lost
its anxious and haggard expression. He rode with greater fimin
and spirit. His eye looked no longer dull and glassy. And I
Sunny Bay people — with whom, from his gay good humour ai
lavish expenditure, the young French noble was n favourite — th
expressed, and with sincerity, their sentiments. " For his own a
we wish the young duke may get right well again ; but for ours
hope that he will take some time about it !"

Where, and in what latitude, dwell disinterested people ? Strange
that with all our hopes and aspirations Self should so insensibly am
larijcly mingle !

With the departure of the duke's household from Sunny Bay, all
memory of their sayings and doings would have gradually faded,
had it not been for the prolonged sojourn of a lady who seemed, to
a certain degree, idenuficd with the foreign visitant. This party
hud come into Devonshire at the express wish of the ladies of
(hike's family. They had known her abroad; liked her societ
had ex|»eiieneed great courtesy at her hands, and pressed her
viait them. On the other liand, Ilortense de Crespigny— such w

WHO READ THE FUTURE?

341

the fair one's name — had no settled home. "All countries and
domiciles," she remarked, "are alike tu one who is an exile lor
ever ; and why not waste what remains to me of life at Sunny
jBay?"

What might remain to her of life was "an open" and "much con-
troverted" question. No two gossips could agree as to her age.
By some fliadcmoiselle de Crespigny was pronounced forty ; by
I others five-and-twenty. Her country, too, afforded matter for many
a wordy war.

The elderlies held her to be of French origin. The juniors main-
tained Hlt to be an Italian. She herself observed the most in-
violable tilence as to her birth-place, connexions, past or future
residence. She was an accomplished linguist ; could converse in
five languages ; drew rapidly and accurately ; and sang ; but — like
the beautiful and too celebrated Lady Hamilton — declined invari-
ably an accompaniment. "It confused her," was her remark;
"caused her to forget both words and air." But the quality of her
voice was delicious ; her intonation perfect; and those who hail the
^ood fortune to hear her in an English or Spanish ballad, will not
. easily forget the witchery of Iier tones.

She had ample means ; was not disinclined to use them ; com-
passionate and fearless. One exhibition of her courage and kindly
^ feeling established for her an ascendancy among the poor, who in
after years often reverted to the bold heart and open hand of the
' nielancholy Spanish lady.

I A very poor woman, living within a stone's throw of Mr. Stacey,
I the flourishing grocer and petty banker of the little sea-port, was
' seized with malignant fever. Two nurses who had gone to the
assistance of the auflTerer, had, one after another, caught the infec-
I tion, and were pronounced past recovery. No one was disposed to
I succeed them ; and the deserted woman — she had four fatherless
I children — seemed doometl to perish alone. At this juncture the
I foreigner heard of the case, and sought fearlessly the bedside of the
sulTerer. Watch her, hour by hour, as a nurse, bhe did twi. But
four times a day did Hortense de Crespigny present herself in that
squalid dwelling. She gave the poor delirious creature her medi-
cine; she surrounded her with comforts; she shifted her uneasy
pillow, and fumigated her close and unhealthy chamber. Nay,
more. At the crisis of the disorder the generous Hortense, at no
light cost, summoned Dr. Luke twice from Exeter, on purpose to
place the case under hla guidance. The widow — &he was a lace-
maker — rallied ; and when^ on the first morning of recovered reason
she saw her benefactress bending over her couch, she overwhelmed
her with thanks and blessings, and pniyed that she might live long
and happily. A strange expression of anguish passed over Made-
moiselle de Crespigny'a face ; and she checked the grateful speaker
with the hurried exclamation, "No, no! don't pray for me that I
may live; but pray— yes, pray, and that earnestly, that I may be
permitted to die."

Perhaps this morbid and devouring melancholy will explain her
long solitary rambles by the shore* Watching the ceaseless throb
of ocean, she would remain for hours on the hissing beach, heedless
of the blast and the spray. She said the waves spoke to her, — spoke
to her of the future,— spoke to her of the past. She manitained that
VOL. XX It I. c c

342

ARE THERE THOSE

to her mind the great deep mirrored tbb Infinite and tuk £tbb4
NAt, and that the biUows, as they burst In rapid succession on tbe
ihore, had each for her a language and a lesson, and bore tidingi d
the dead and the distant, the lo&t and the loved.

Of the Btars, her notions were to the full as wild and dreaiD/<
AfYer a lengthened gaze at the studded hemisphere on a bright uu)
glorious night, &he burst forth;—

" The stars are talking together, a« happily and hamionioutly.ii
on the first morning of creation, fulfilling, with unutterable gladneni
their mighty Maker's will, nnr dreading nor desiring to shun the
hour when they must fall from their cour&es ! "

Of necessity, her religious views were speedly pronounced faaltjT'
and it was hinted that she thought much more about the sea hu
stars than a sober-minded christian ought to do.

** Perhaps," said she, in reply, •• my creed is not so fully matured
as it should be. In truth, 1 feel that I have much to learn: but
what is it which you here teach me ? What do I see at Sunny B«y ?
An aged minister, Air, Winton, has the misfortune to differ slightlT
with some of his hearers. They instantly leave him, turn that
backs on Glenorchy Chapel, and run up a hideous brick buildiof
behind the Beacon, in which they congregate, and call their hotw
of assembly ' The Little Bkvenoe ;' a strange name, surely, ftf
a place dedicated to the worship of the Supbemk ! Again, in tke
churchj iK)or old Mr. Rhymer, a most inoffensive being, makes um
of two or three unguarded expressions in an ill-considered serontfU
lie ib denounced to his bishop ; dted in the spiritual court ; ea*-
pended ; takes to his bed and dies of a broken heart. My creed, I
daresay, is imperfect, but it tells me this, — to lotic — loforhenr—^
to forgive."

"A rank heretic!" cried Mrs. Chapman of The Olobev— •■
enormously stout woman, and an unquestionable authority in tb*
hamlet, — "a rank heretic! and if she had but lived in good old
Bishop Bonner's days, I, for one, know what would bavebecoro«(^
her I "

Nor was this the only point on which public propriety ,^-niar»^
lously sensitive at Sunny Bay .'—felt itself scantlalized.

It soon transpired, — how or by what means I cannot now recaJ,—
that this extraordinary woman read the future. This 1a»t expi
sion is, perhaps, w» pen trap fort / and should be sollened dowl
into "guessed" at what was approaching, and «ll her '* hita" be dr
signated as so many fortunate coincidences. The reader must tak
which version soever he pleases.

Her firet essay was in connexion with a youthful sou of Admiril
(then Captain) Carpenter. The captain was afloat, and a house ut
the Parade — not far from Miss Langford's library — was occupied bj
his lady and her young family. It numbered among its memberf I
very intelligent, shrewd, restless boy, full of life and hope, of pec*
liarly frank and winning manners, and of whom the fondest expe&
tations were formed by those around him.

"That boy will cut a brilliant figure in after life," was the r«
mark of a gentleman wiio had been captivated with his apt bi
courteous answers; " we bhall hear of him by the lime he 'a thirty

Alisa de Crespigiiy looked at the lad steadily, and then slowl/
murmured, to the amaxement of tlioee who listened: —

WHO READ THE FUTURE?

34S

" He will never live to be thirty; he will never live to be twenty :
will never enter bis teens. Early doomed ! early doomed ! Poor
EeUow!

At this outbreak the preceding speaker looked thoroughly aghast.
He timidly conlVonled the sibyl ; observed her intently for some
•econds, his face the while becoming momentarily paler and longer,
and his eye growing wilder. At length he rose, and with a voice
anything but tirmj ejaculated, —

"Don't know what to make of this I Odd! very odd! Some-
thing in it 1 can 't fathom. Must shift my quarters. Shall hear
aomething not very palatable about my own doom if I stay much
longer/'

The old gentleman here ga&ped horribly once or twice, like a fish
im exiremU, and then with a bound, bolted.

Some six or eight weeks after this scene, a rumourj late one even-
ing, ran through Sunny Bay, that the coroner had been summoned
to bold an inquest on young Carpenter, who was killed. At fir^t
the report was treated with indifference. It M-as deemed too impro-
bable to be correct. But on inquiry the melancholy tidings were
found to be too true. It appeared that the fearless boy had pe-
d the victim of his own raahness.

was given in evidence, that, profiting by his mother's ab-
, and the occupation of an aged French governess who was
d elsewhere with his sisters, he had once more indulged his
burite and forbidden freak, that of sliding down by the balus-
trade from the third to the basement story. It was conjectured, in
the abisence of all proof, that from some cause he had swerved in
his descent, overbalanced himself, and fallen headlong,
sad and tragic end for one so engaging and so loved !
mc rolled away, but left uneffaced the singular conversation
ch liad preceded little Carpenter's demise. This ere long reached
the ears of a party then residing at Sunny Bay, remarkable alike for
her sorrows, and the uncomplaining spirit m which she sustained
them — Viscountess XeUon, widow of the hero of Trafalgar How-
ever bright may be the lustre which distinguished services throw
around the memory of Lord Nelson, — however conspicuous his
name may stand on the roll of fame as a successful naval com-
mander,— there is in his private life much to condemn ami deplore.
He vfOi a most unfaitht'ul husband to a generous and confiding
woman.'^be was a most careless protector of one who loved him
fondly and truly, — who linked her fate with his when he was poor
and comparatively unknown, — who was spotless in her own charac-
ter and conduct, and whose life his indifference, ingratitude, and
neglect, ateeped in unimaginable bitterness. She — the victim—
lived in comparative neglect and obscurity. He — the wrong-doer
^-basked in the full smile of public favour. Oh world! thou su-
perficial and rash judge! how strangely and partially dost thou
mete out thy penalties! Suffering and obloquy to the weak, im-
punity and triumph to the strong ; always disposed to lean to the
defying and the daring ; always disposed to crush the feeble and
the smitten; ever hasty in thy conclusions; ever careless of the
misery they may entail ! Well is it that thy awards are not eternal !
Well IS it that there is another and dread court of appeal to reverse
thy unjust and unnatural decisions 1

c c2

S44

ARE THERE THOSE

Of Nelson it may be said that his sUvisb subserviency to the
meretricious arts ot an unprincipled woman — ike pri/if of' another —
is matter of history. That Lady Hamilton should spare no art, no
allurement, no blandishment, to detain so renowned a captive in
ihrall is in perfect keeping with her character. But that the hero
of the Nile should openly treat with the utmost consideration and
affection a wanton — should honour her as though she bore his name
— should set all public decency at defiance— should practically pro-
claim his thorough contempt of, and indifference to, the sacretlneti
of the marriage vow, and leave his uncomplaining, unoffending, and
irreproachable wife to the whisper, and ine surmise, and the sneer
of the world — is a stain which his most devoted eulogist must regret
His fame ns a hero remains. But in dwelling on his private life,
marvellously diminished ia the respect which we would fain bear him
as a man.

But Lady Nelson loved him — loved him in spite of long years of
indifference and desertion — cherished his fame — waa proud of hi*
exploits — tried to forget past neglect, antl to recall only that period
in her life when he was the attached and devoted husband. Anxious
beyond measure was she to ascertain whether at the last he recnem-
beret) her; was sensible of the injustice he had done her; and bad
written or spoken aught indicative of reviving affection.

To thie end, and with special reference to Hortense de Crejpigny,
she had again and again consulted Mrs. Marianne Stark — ^the cele-
brated tourist — then a resident with her aged mother at Sunny Bay-
Now ftlrs Marianne Stark — profanely called by the multitude •* Jack
Stark " from her predilection in favour of a man's hat and ridiag
habit, which formed her usual attire — viewed the reserved and
melancholy foreigner with unmitigated abhorrence.

Not content with deriding her pretensions, and designating her as
an impostor, Mrs. Starke charged the unfortunate Hortense with
trensonabte designs.

•' Avoid her. Lady Nelson," — so ran Mrs. Stark's diatribe—*' avoid
her as you would infamV' She can tell you nothing. She is an un-
principled chariatan. Nay, more, she is a spy. How comes it,—
for though I am wholly indifferent in a general way to the faying)
and doings of my neighbours, I have made myself mistress of hers —
how comes it that she receives no letters? Whence happens it that,
though continually writing, she posts none through the Sunny Bay
oince. but takes them herself to Exeter, and despatches them from
thence? A journey of twenty miles to post a letter! whence this
precaution? Why this reserve? Where there is mystery tiiere ii
iniquity. She 's a spy : and is at this very moment, such is my firm
conviction, under government surveiilance. Have nothing to do with
her. She can tell you nothing that has reference to the late Lord
Nelson. How should she? She does not know him even by name."
•* Miss de Crespigny," remarked the viscountess, with stately dig-
nity, •• is a well read and intelligent woman."

'• She's a desperately wicketl one:" said Mrs. Stark, pointedlr.
*• She mujtt have heard of my late husband's exploita," rejoined bff
ladyship, proudly : " ihcy arc familiar to every tongue."

" As notorious, ere many months are over, will be Mndemois«lle
d« Crespigny 's: take care thul among them is not included some
clrverly contrived fraud on Viscountess Nelson/'

WHO READ THE FUTURE?

345

«' I do not fear her." ^

«• The bravado to a letter in which the Duke of Yorl. indulged
touching Mrs. Alary Anne Clark. See by Thursday's debates to
-what extent that virtuous lady has damaged the duke's character.
Can tjou touch pitch fvithoui being defiled?"

"And your advice is?"

" Shun her."

And this advice being counter to her own previous determination,
the widowed viscountess heard, and forthwith disobeyed.

An interview was speedily arranged at the foreigner's cottage;
and early, on a bleak and gusty morning. Lady NeUon might have
been seen wending her way towards Shepherd's Walk.

The usual greetings over, and her visitor appearing unable or un-
willing to announce her errand, Hortense led the way by an enquiry.

" Your ladyship wished to see me on a matter of a private nature,
may I venture to ask its object?*'

•* It relates mainly to myself:" was the reply.

*' Ccnnniand me; I listen."

A pause uf some moments took place before the widowed lady
broke silence.

" RefeiTing to-to-to your exiraordinnry and acknowledged powers,
did " — was her question put with moistened eye and quivering lip —
" did Lord XeUon make any,— the slightest mention of me in the last
few days of his life ?"

" lie did not. '

"Was 1 wholly forgotten?" was the next inquiry shrieked rather
than uttered: »o great was the emotion with which it was accom-
panied.

"No: a letter was written to you some eight days before be went
into action."

** I never received it," was Lady Nelson's response: "no, believe
mc, I never received it."

" Is it likely that it should have been permitted to reach your
hands?" returned the foreigner in her usual calm, impassive, tones.

" Its tenor? oh \ let your answer be quick^ts tenor?" cried the
widowed peeress anxiously.

** Kind, respectful, and affectionate in the highest degree."

"Could I but credit this!" said Lady Nelson, earnestly: "could
I but credit this! how it would soothe a heart riven with regrets!"

■• Why should your ladyship »eek me, may I ask," — said the
foreigner abruptly and sternly — "unless you credit me? This in-
terview is not of mi/ proposing."

" True," returned the elder lady : "true; I <fo credit you : but I
have friends who — who — "

" Represent me as an impostor and a chfirlaian, Mrs. Stark among
the rest. I am thoroughly conversant with their insinuations: but
I disdain answering her or them. Will your ladyship, fur a brief
moment, listen to me? You shall yourself test the truth of what 1
am now asserting."

" How ?" And the colour forsook her lips as if the fears of the
woman predominated, and she dreaded some exhibition of super-
natural power.

"I have understood/' resumed the other without noticing the emo-
tion of her companion, " that you regard Sunny Bay as your home?"

%%M AU

WHO READ THE TVTUVtE.

auiSehmn:

' vas Lady Xel«aa'i axuwer. " 1 im

; ob, jet ; noch and deeply atUchfid

Its retiremcnC screens me. In SiuiDf

-jcted to mj md, md hiMary, Yes, hen

of .J deys.-

'**f aed the ftrdgncr cnplwtically ; " ■
M» grmUbA to y«a will not always be
frigMttl cuaiegti joa will be prctent

and prrdilrrtJona !— quite irapot-

the other, in a low but authoritatiTt
Ma of the fray, aod be sairaonded with all its
dOT— 4HBk ^tt wffl — will be one of the most
J rf yg thtqmmd Kfe."
«- Aa 1 thcB to perah by violeBce>^
«N*; Botahnrorymrhead wiUbeinjored.**
* Aad yet that dar will be one of sorrow and soffiering ?'* said hrr

Of sveay*** was the nplx> "hitense and unmitigated. And
it mras. aa it ■bbbi uny wfll*"— the tnumph with which ihii

~ le — ^ 1 do DOC ask your ladydi^
te thhA of ane and to credit me ; Uke setme artmrnd you and your «va
kearl mitt compd yom to Jo heiJk r A low mocking laugh cfoaed th«

ne great hero's widow seemed psralysed. Lost in thought «be
•ycd ber eoanpsaiao in sikoce for some moments ; and the quiver-
ing of her bpa and the tmnuloas motion of her head, shewed that
■he was deeply moved. Replying to her look, Hortense said calmly
•ad proudlv, '^ 1 will not deisin your ladyship longer: 1 hsf(
done.'"

*' (%," exclaimed die peeress, her usual self-possession overborne
by the firmness and decision of her companion^ ** oh, in mercy, be
more explicit."
" 1 have done/

'* A few words of explanation — only a few — a eingle sentenoe."
" I hsTe nothing to aidcL*'

" But hear me — pray hear me ; can no persuasion — no induce*
^ft ment — no pecuniary consideration be suggested which would in*

^1 fluence you ? I have means, ample means ; these 1 should scruple

^H not to use if — '*

^H *' You mistake me altogether," interposed Hortense, coldly and

^V proudly ; " my wants are fully supplied. I have nothing to wish,—

^1 nothing to ask, — nothing to receive from humsn being. 1 desire

^B neither countenance nor sympathy from my kind."

H " Is there nothing I can offer?" persisted ber generous and gentle

^H hearted visitor.

H *' Our interview is ended," was the reply : and with frigid cour-

^B tesy Hortense conducted Lady Nelson from her humble apartmeDt

347

»ARA; OR, SCENES AND ADVENTURES ON THE
BANKS OF THE AMAZON.

BY J. E. WARRBN.

RcjfponB iramcnie, iinseardialile. unknown^

Baiik in the splendour of the torrid none.— 3Iontoomery.

CHAPTsn vn.

4m Omhw.'* — *' Fe«ta de Espirito Sanlo." — A»h Wedneodity. — Palm

IT — Early Mom in the City. — A magnifit'cnc Frmnentide. — The Foundling

it&l. — Its }N!miciotu Influence. — A KotnauLic Huiu in the Forest, — Vei-

tho Revolution. — View of the City. — ^* Dia dc Inirudo," or lutrudiug

'he niost mjBterioui of the different feritivaU of Para is the

ita dofi Oasos, or festival of bones. This singular celebration, as
we understood, was not of annual occurrence, but only transpired
once in a certain number of years. It is in commemoration of some
distinguished padre, bishop, or pope, but on wtiat particular account,
we unfortunately never ascertained. Our notice of it, therefore,
must be confined to a brief account of the fcxia it&elf, without any
LMference whatever to its origin.

^K)n the day of its observance, the cathedral is brilliantly illuminated
WTlh lighted candles, which are kept burning from morning until
pjghL In the centre of the church a niouunxentiil platform is erected
especially for this occasion, which is overhung by a dark tapestry of
expensive material, embroidered along its margin with gold and
silver fringe, L'pon this mausoleum is placed an immense coffin,
containing perhaps the ushes of the illustrious dead! This is
shrouded with a rich drapery of black crape, hanging down in pro-
fuse folds on either side.

During the day the cathedral is 511ed with persons who come to
^aze upon this strange spectacle, and to render homage to the con-
secrated shrine of the departed !

About dusk, a body of |>enitents, dressed in the coarsest garments,
repair to the burying-ground uf the poor, where they disinter a
quantity of bones which they bring with them into the city. Form-
ing themselves into a procession, they march along through the
streets of the city in regular file, each one uf them bearing a blazing
torch in one hand, and a naked bone in the other, Should a stranger
accidentally meet this spectral procession in some unfrequented
avenue, he would almost be led to believe that be had encountered
s party of cannibals returning from some horrid rite, or feast of
human flesh.

Having arrived at the cathedral, the penitents enter, and a religious
ceremony is performed. This being concluded, each one ascends
the platform and casts his bone into the cottin. A hymn follows —
then prayer — and this wonderful festival is ended !'

Another of the festivals is in honour of the Holy Ghost, and is
styled the " Festa de Espirito Santo." It is in every respect the op-

* We may here prnperly remark, that we ourai.>1roii did not witni»u tbis Blrou^
fetliTal, hut received nur infnrmatlun from a friend, upon wh(i«e verarity, huwevvr,
we think we ewi confidrntly rely.

348

para; OB,

posite of the preceding, being characterized by extreme hiUrity anil
animation. A \ot\y pole is erected in one of the church squares, the
summit of which is ornamented with a picture, representing the
Holy Spirit descending in the form of a dove, which is hung around
with green >vreath& and garlands of flowers. A gorgeous procession
parades the streets in the morning, led by a 6ne band, and distin-
guished by the great number of its splendid images, which are car-
ried on platforms, profusely strewed with bouquets of the brightest
flowers. In the afternoon services are held in the Church of the
Trinity, which is tastefully decked with evergreens for the occasion.
In the evening there is a public display of flre-works in the area in
front of the church, and a general illumination throughout the citj.
Every one appears to take a peculiar interest in this day, ^hich is,
I believe, universally observed in all the provinces of the empire.

Ash Wednesday is also a very gay day. The procession on this
occasion is distinguished by the great number of its images^ which
aonietimes exceeds twenty or even thirty. Before the images,
beautiful little girls, with wings on their shoulders, trip along,
sportively scattering flowers upon the path. These are intended ai
representatives of the angels, and none others could have been more
appropriately Eelected for the purpose.

On Palm Sunday, which is celebrated in all parts of Brazil, the
display of palm branches is very extensive. The churches are hung
with them — the people ornament their persons with their curioui
leaves — and as the procession passes through the street*, ladiei
standing out on the balconies, throw down flowers and branches of
palms, until the ground is literally covered with them.

The morning after our departure from the Koscenia de Na»are,
wc were awakened at an unusually early hour by the discordant
chiming of the church bells, whose uproar broke upon our slumberi
with startling vehemence. The custom of bell ringing is prevalent
in all Catholic countries, but it is carried to an unbounded excen
at Para, — from four in the morning, until the hour of sunset, they
keep up a perpetual jargon, such as habit can alone render familiar,
or familiarity endurable!

At six o'clock precisely, we took a cup of coffee, and at niiM ut
down to a delicious breakfast, consisting of stewed beef and but*
tered toast, together with tea and chocolate. We then started out to
take a snuff oF the pure air, as well as a stroll among the quiet en*
virons of the city.

Passing slowly through the streets of the town, we at length ar-
rived at a beautiful promenade, called the Estrada das Manga-
beiraa. This is a well laid out and magnificent highway, running
from north to south, along the western suburbs of the city, and
extending from the marine arsenal, to the "largo da Polvora,"

It is skirted on either side with lofty mangabcira trees, which
stand within ten feet or more from each other, in regular rows,
forming n green arch overhead with their bending branches. Being
the finest road in the vicinity of the city, considerable care is taken
to keep it in excellcnit order. A more beautiful promenade^ I think
I never saw.

Pursuing our walk along this charming highway, we diverged
from our course to visit the hospital of S.Jose. This establishment
was in former times used as a kind of convent, but, like many insti-

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON.

349

tutions of a similar character, it has of ]ate years been converted
into an institutiua of more practical utility. A botanical garden
was commenced many years ago on the extensive grounds connected
with the hospital, but owinp to a deficiency of energy and public
spirit on the part of its projectors, the plan was soon abanUunedj
and no attempt has been since made to restore it.

Near to this place is the recolimento of orphan girls. This is
an institution for the maintenance of female infants, selected for
the most part from the large number of those deposited at the
Foundling Hospital. This latter establishment is for the conve-
nience of those who are not able, or who do not wish, to takecharge
of their own children. The building is provided with a huge
wheelj occupying the place of a window, half of which is exposed,
while the other half is within the building. The wheel is supplied
with four cradles, one of which is always visible from without.
Whenever a parent wishes to get rid of his child, — which is gene-
rally the case when it is illegitimate, — all he or she has to do, ia to
take the child in the evening and put it in one of the cradles of the
wheel. A semi-revolution then conveys it immediately within the
hou&e, where it is taken care of for the future. A considerable portion
of the infants disposed of in this inhuman manner are the children
of slaves; all that survive arc ever afler free. This i^ the chief in-
centive to the sacrifice. If this was the only evil consequence of
such an institution, it might be overlooked, in consideration of the
benefit that would accrue in the gradual extinction of slavery ; but
this is not the case, for no one can doubt but that it offers serious
encouragement to licentiousness, besides it has a tendency to re-
move from the minds of the profligate all fear of restraint in the
prosecution of their sinful purposes, and to break down the bul-
warks of society, by destroying in a great measure that legitimate
uniun of the sexes which is absolutely essential to the welfare and
prosperity of any nation or country. It is astonishing how an in-
stitution of this character should be tolerated even in Brazil^ when
the evil results are so palpably manifest to all. We sincerely trust
that before many years it will sitik beneath the influence of a more
enlightened legislation, never to rise again !

With this reflection we will proceed with our walk.

As the heat of the summer was now very powerful, we sought
relief in the refreshing shades of the forest. Wending our way
through a green tunnel of fanuistic foliage, we shortly emer-
ged from its cooling twilight into the open grounds of a wild and
neglected garden. In the midst of the clear space, surrounded
by an almost impassable wall of low bushes, and overhung with gay
festoons of flowering vines, was a stone mansion of noble propro-
tions, half demolished by the ravages of time, yet solemn and inter-
esting even in its mournful decay. Gay spirits liud once inhabited
that lone dwelling, but they have long since gone; the tinkling of
merry music no longer resounds along its deserted corridors; the
revelry of the joyous dance no more breaks upon the stillness of the
surrounding wilderness, and the house itself, like its former prt>-
prietors, is rapidly "passing away." 8ome twenty or thirty years
ago, Spix and Von Martins, two eminent German naturnliatif, spent
several weeks at this romantic spot, in whose near vicinity they
succeeded in collecting a variety of rare specimens, both of insects.

350

PARA ; OB,

and plants, nnO birds. They could not have selected a location
more convenient fur their laudable purposes than this, any when
within the neighbourhood of the city, and it was Uiis fact that is-
duced them to take up their abode there, in defiance of it« dilapi-
dated condition, and the numerous tenants, in the way of bats and
reptiles, that were accustomed to frequent its moas-grown and tot-
tering walls.

Having plucked a few choice flowers, and picked up some curioui
shells winch we found crawling about the walls of the majestic
ruin, we dashed once more into the forest, and commenced retra-
cing our steps towards the city. In less than an hour we were a^^ain
seated in one of the front apartments of Mr, Campbell's spadoui
house, looking down upon the moving throng beneath us, and
chatting familiarly on the different spectacles as they severally nMt
our eye.

Among the passers by we noticed a man of wonderful corpulency
j(^ging slowly through the street, while with one bond he WM
wiping away the thick drops of perspiration that had gathered OQ
his massive brow. "That man," said a gentleman present, "htt
had three trices." "Three wives!" ejaculated a merry Scotch-
man at our elbow, *' by heavens ! he looks as if he had eaten then
aU."

Many of the houses in the city still bear marks of the late div
turbances. That of Mr. Norris, an intelligent and hospitable Ame-
rican merchant, is perhaps the most notable in this respect. Beiof
a very lofty building, it was used as a kind of fort, and garrisoned
by the president's guard. Some of the up|M;r window-blinds were
completely riddled with bullets, and in the garden. Mr. N. in-
forme<l me, that he had found a quantity of balls, of from half t
pound to a pound in weight. These were probably thrown from
the vessels then lying in the harbour.

The view of Para from the cupola of this building ia very |MC-
turestiue and variegated. The red-tiled roofs of the houses, the
rich shrubbery of the gardens, with here and there a single coco^
nut tree litling up its feather-tufted head, constitute a pleasing con-
trast, while the dark and venerable-looking churches, and U)e vine-
grown walls of the unfinished theatre gave additional interest to the
charming scene. Before you, tJie sparkling w.iters of tlie harbour,
studded with little islands, stretch out like a lake. Behind yoii
a dense wilderness of never-fading foliage presents an imposing
background tn the enchanting landscape.

The ensuing day was probably the most remarkable that we in

1)erson had ever witnessed in Brazil. It was called the " Dia de
'ntrudo," or Intruding-day. Being the day immediately preceding
Lent, it seemed as if the multitude had determined to enjoy them-
selves as much as possible, while they yet had it in their power, in
view of the restrictions which the conaing season always imposes
upon their conduct.

On '* Intruding-duy," every one is permitted to assail whomsoever
he pleases, with such articles as are accustomed to be used on this
occasion. The most innocent of these are small waxen balls called
" cabncinhas;" being about equal to a hen's egg in size, and filled
with perfumed water. For some time previous to the day in que#-
lion, blttck-ey«l damsels may be seen parading the streets, with

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON.

tst

large trays on tlteir uiicoveretl heads, laden with these sportive
missiles, glistening with their gay colours of asurc and crimson and
gold. They are sold for a penny a-piece, and every one lays in a
stock of thero, in preparation for the approRchin;;^ carnival.

On the morning of this remarkable anniversary, all the balconies
of the different mansions are fortified with frolicksome damsels, who
keep up an indiscriminate warfare with their cabacinhas, against all
who Iticklestjly attract their attention in the street. But the sport is
not entirely confined to the innocent waxen balls. As the excite-
tnent increases, basons, syringes, and even pails and tubs of water
are calle<l into requisition. Every one is assaulted, but no one pre-
tends to take offence. Should a person be dispo^d to do so, ten to
one that he would be seized and most unceremoniously ducked into
a hogshead of water, until hi» foolish ire was somewhat abated.
This has been done in several instances.

Heedless of all consequences. Jenks and myself rashly ventured
into the streets for the purpose of witnessing the sport. Cabacinhas
were flying in all directions, syringes were filling the air with glit-
tering spray, while busons and dippers and pails, wielded by female
hands, were pouring their watery contents with marvellous assi-
duity upon the devoted heads of the unfortunate passers-by.

We by no means escaped unscathed ; on the contrary, in less than
half an hour we were as thoroughly drenched as if wc had been
taking a bath in the river with our clothes on. But don't imagine,
fond reader, that we bore all this with the patience of a Job, or the
huntility of an anchorite. No such thing! Eagerly we rushed into
the thickest of the fray, throwing our cabacinhas with skill, wherever
m pretty face presented itself. Peeping through a half open lattice, I
perceived a lovely young damsel luxuriantly reclining in her ham*
mock, her long sable tresses hanging in wavy masses over her
pretty face and olive-mantled bosom. 8he appeared to be in a gentle
•lumber, and the magic smile that still played around her rosy lips,
nearly disarmed me of my intended purpose.

But my determination was made, and it was now too late to re»
tract. 80 delicately tossing one of my cabacinhas into the apartment,
alaa! it broke upon the cheek of the charming maiden : jumping up
hurriedly in her fright, she rushed at once to the window, and in an
instant her slag-like eyes were fixed upon me as the heartless assaiU
ant. Transfixed with guilt and enraptured at the sight of her beauty,
roy heart forbade me for the deed I had committed, and I felt half
resolved to make atonement for my crime, but iust at this moment,
a weU-charge<l ball from the hand of the maiden herself, almost
blinded my left ogle, and suddenly drove the idea from my mind.

The most formidable of all the belligerents, was a certain widow
lady, who had from a lofty balcony been ]}ouring down pails of
water up(m the heads of all who passed below. Bent on revenge, a
Toung man who had been near drowned by this virago, entered her
house, with his pockets full of cabacinhas. He was white, surely,
when he entered that fatal house, but when he came out, his com-
plexion was as dark as that of the raven's wing. How it came so,
any reader with the slightest spark of imagination can easily surmise.
But to be brief. The Jaif passed by without any consequent evils,
and the beautiful moonlight evening which followed, waa consecrated
by music, dancing, and revelry of every kind!

252
AXD FiO.!. OF AIASAKIELLO.

more extrmordi

acquired —

14 DO

to mi

space of sii

Aod orgmnixed

J a powerfoi

■aUftoritj of Spain,

privileges of the proudett

The wooden wroQ^

equalled bj tbe

of the grcatett nen in

very iiptorance of diffi*

who wander reckle»»ly

thnra^h dangers that

Bat tbe use made

r degree be thui

poilicj. uhI the

Uma^faoat his brieT

posterity that

of the Spaniard, not

hannonjr exist-

qaafificatBooa forgovav

Us character was £w tos

by the mo«t ooac-

fiiAe most, bower er,

that can now be

physical ans-

MatiaMiiy of facts. To

Bi tha sCtangv, slow- working

the powerful mind of

w«rkings alone. To such

; they easily find in tbe

-intoxicated brain tbe re^l

Respecting the oihff

exists no mantier of doubt:

worthy of credit, and these

of Naples rose the humble

AarlWi of Awatfi ; he vas by trade one of

1 IVsciiendoli. He got his living by

me, ho€tk, and line. Sometime* he

to his neighbours: his was a life o(

ID it continued until he attained the

Soiae prophetic instincts of future greatness*

thn»wh the darkness of a lot of drudgery

pnTsuuH, nr mmmv probably the prophecy of the future was in-

rni in *^ workings of his own mind, its peculiar form alone being

iTcd f'"*''** *^* external ctrcumsUnces most calculated to impress

. strange coincidence the arms and the name of Charles

"^ pl^ed in very ancient carving under one of the win*

THE RISE AND FALL OF MASANIELLO.

353

dows of the fisherman's humble home. This great monarch's
memory was dear to the people of Naples, as they were indebted to
hini for the grant of a very important charter of privileges ; and
Thomas Anello was he»rd at times to boast, half in jest ha.lf in
earnest, that he was the person destined to restore the city to the
liberty and exemptions accorded them by the Kmperor of Austria.
Many years had now elapsed since the kingdom of Naples, having
undergone sundry changes and revolutions, submitted itself volun-
tarily to the power of Austria. Its attachment to that imperial
hoube had been proved by liberal contributions to its treasury.
Large donations were freely offered to the kings Philip l\., III., and
IV. of Spain ;• and the sovereigns of the house of Austria professed
themselves fully sensible of a loyalty and affection so satisfactorily
proved. The people, however, suffered severely from their gover-
nors' acts of generosity. They were oppressed with heavy ex-
actions ; the provisions necessary for the support of life grew dear,
and were placed almost beyond the reach of the poor. Even the
indolent patience of a sunny clime and cloudless skiea began
to fail; popular discontents arose, gathered strength, and were at
length openly expressed. The populace were already ripe for an
outbreak, when, in an evil hour for Spain, a new donative was
offered to the acceptance of its king, Philip IV. It was eagerly
accepted ; but all commodities being already taxed, it was difficult
to contrive a method to raise the money. The expedient hit upon
was eminently unfortunate. It was decided to lay a gabel (or tax)
on every sort of fruit, <lry as well as green ; grapes, figs, mulberries,
apples, pears, and plums were all included, thus depriving the
lowest class of people of their usual nourishment and support, and
reducing them to the extreme of misery and distress. This gabel
WA« collected with severity for seven months; many poor wretches
were obliged to sell all their household stuff", even the beds they lay
upon; and at last, driven to despair, they resolved to resist exac-
tions impossible to satisfy.

The Duke of Arcos, a grandee of the first order, was the viceroy
of Naples under the king of Spain. He was a man of mild and
yielding temper, personally brave, but utterly incapable of acting
with energy or promptitude either for good or evil. The thin
" blue blood " of a Spanish grandee, filtered in its long descent
through hundreds of noble ancestors, could ill support the test of
collision with the fresh and healthy current that ffowed in the veins
of the low-born and free-hearted Masaniello. The fisherman of
Amalfi is described as "a man of middle stature, with sharp and
piercing black eyes, his body rather lean than fat, his hair cropped
short ; ne wore a mariner's cap upon his head, long linen slops or
drawers, a blue waistcoat, his feet were always bare. Oaring and
enterprise were expressed in his strongly marked countenance, his
address was bold and confident, his disposition pleasant and hu-
morous." It is, however, probable that this description was drawn
from memory, after Maaaniello had become world-famous. Other
accounts represent him as looked down upon by his associates for
inferiority of intellect. To few is the insight granted to see the
hero until the outward semblance is put on.

* Charks V. nrns Kmperor nf Aiuttria in ri^t of hii father Philip; King of
iglit of his mother Joanna, ihe heiress of Ferdinand and IcAtwlla. ■

A3n> FAIX

tenper vas iinpe>

the sleeping lion

to his projfctj

met in the fUt«U

of contribuu)

d»e fiery Maftzmello

«Ten to tearsy she ««i

there until be bad

' tbc fiae act on ber oITcoccl

tkc i^niy of helpleanieM ; it

Be hsd no aooDtf

he »et about the

«• W aptmiSty realixeil ; the id-

a vile vsv vaahed oot in the Boblttt

ul; the riot he

fiaherBAan retam-

ML Jks be BiiiilitachHi

tbat • number of I1071

tit wch w»» tbeaceneaad

aa iuwiMUlfcaa to k» fatare power;

«f the bey-rabble of an eoakvtd

</ MaaeneUo, the bo^rn, who

readtlr to obcjr hi*

of the otT. they rv-

be bed tauj[rht them.

g^ht\ vpea gabel ! tbirtj-tix

m lb* povMl of cfaeeae/tvo

t of viae! Are tkcae Aiagu to be endured ? Let

Ite L^f ^ Caeaine Kvel kc the pope Hrel ksng

^ &■■■■» bat let esr cnved gmeiuuitnt lUet"

a b7«be I ivpedlkM of Maaairirilo't

diy iB im ■foai' ; the Boaae the boys made

fcil A-iingbing at the odiU

to be in pem far tbe cooaequences."

% OD the watch to direct

^id ma af ibi fell m hiing forth peace. On th«t

JI^MMdfe aaliMBd ^e boja vbo ofaed to follow hnn to

«f ftw banArcd ; tbcv agm were about fiixteen, fleren-

jJ! cbeace, stvidv Ud«.**

QMiiiaj_ ^ next day. d» country froiterers ■■fnibled joft as

to aaU. «nd tbe n^nrn to caDect tbe tax, but all these prctn-

ra podtirdy refuted to buy uoKSt
tbe wuMue tK^ ^d miaiedtlMtt the day before were fulfilled, and

the gsbd fginofed. Tbe cuuuUjien, finding^ ther were to have
BO market far their goods, were'fuU of rage and msappointnifiit ;
MaonieUo was at band lo sciae the opportunity, and heading hb

Bof boys he ran into the mid^t of the tumult, exclaintxflf
, -Without gabel* without gabel!" The people soon col-
in gwat numlKTs ; they marched in triumph through the
-reels, crying loudly, ''Iiong live the king of $|>aii], but let tbt
pscd government die."* It was then thai, btanding upon the hightrt
Ic among the fruit-stalls, Maaaniello addreasMl to ihem the i^

OF MASANTELLO.

355

; speech, given at full leiif^th, that the reoiler may judge of

iturc of that eloauence which for a few short day« swayeii

heart, and ruled every hand, within the reach of its in-

e: —

ffain, xny dear companions and countrymen, give God thanks,

Se most gracious Virgin of Carmine^ that the hour of our re-

tion and the time of our deliverance drawetb near: this poor

nan, barefooted as he ie, shall, as another Moses, wlio delivered

'lites from the cruel rod of Pharaoh the Efi^yptian king, free

all gabels and impositions that ever were laid upon you.

fisherman, I mean St. Peter, who reduced the city of Rome

ic slavery of the devil to die liberty of Christ, and the whole

Tollowed that deliverance and obtained their freedom from the

indage. Now another fisherman, one masaniello, (1 am the

ill release the city of Naples, and with it a whole kingdom

cruel yoke of tolls and gabels. To bring this glorious end

for myself, 1 don't value if I am torn to pieces and dragged

rd down the city of Naples, through all the kennels and gutters

lelong to it. Let all the blood in my body How cheerfully out

Me veins ; let this head fall from these shoulders by the fatal

■nd be perched up over this market-place on a pule to be gazed

si shall die contented and glorious. It will be triumph and

■r sufficient for me to think that my blood and my life were

Iced in so worthy a cause, and that I became the saviour of my
._» ••

^•

tobreathless silence maintained through i}\\» lung harangue — an

Id mob of fiery southern temperament being the listeners, is
■ sufficient test of its eloquence. Universal applause succeeded,
Ebe people declared themselves ready to follow wherever
aiello chose to lead.

• tolt-houses, where the account-books of the gabel were laid
pre the first objects of their fury. They were ransacked of
contents, and most of them burnt to the ground. The spread-
lames alarmed the whole city, and many of the peaceably in-
] joined the rioters, as the best means of preserving their pro-
uninjured. Towards the Bfternoon the following of Masaniello
increased to the number of 10,000, and they now demanded
loud cries to be led to the V^iceroy's palace. Person.illy fear*
the Duke of Arcos made no attempt to escape, but appeared at
[conv and endeavoured to soothe the rioters into submission.
pfl*ers he made of partially repealing the taxes were, however,
ifully rejected ; the mob forced their way into the palace, and
by the opposition of the guards would certainly have torn
Ike to pieces, had he not been conveyed awuy by a stratagem
;Duke di Casicl de Sangro.
:ness brought no calm to Naples, nor cessation to the exertions
'people: all the night through ihey were engaged in collecting
id ammunition, and making hostile preparations for the fol-
day. Three times the loud peal of the great bell belonging
^church of the Ludy of the Carmine was heard in the remotest
ra of die city, t^ummoning their inhabitajitu to arm for the
^f freedom.

re it was clear day Slasaniello appeared in the great mnrket-
Pand dividing the people, who were there met together, into

35G

THE RISE ANH FALL

regiments and companies, he distributed among them whatever armi
they had been able to collect. With singular dexterity be had
already acquired complete authority, and his rude oratory kindled
the passions, and swayed the wills of his followers so eflectually
that " they needed but a motion of his hand/' says the historian, "to
cut the throats of all the nobility, and set every house in the city on
fire." A'othing now was to be heard in the streets but the noise of
drums and trumpets, and the clashing of armour. Banners waved
aloft, each man ranging himself under his appointed colours; that
which was yesterday but a rabble-rout, is to day a formidable and
well-ordered army. The soldiers marched along, bearing lances and
targets, with swords drawn, rausauets and arquebuses cocked. The
country-people had by this time tnronged into the city in great mul-
titudes; armed with plough-shares, pitch-forks, spades and pikes,
they joined themselves to the more regular forces, their wild cries
and furious gestures inspiring universal terror. The insurgents were
accompanied by numbers of women, who carried fire shovels, iron-
tongs, and any other household instrument they could convert to
purposes of distruction. They exclaimed loudly as they marched
along, that *• they would burn the city, and themselves and children
along with it, rather than bring up their children to be slaves
and pack-horses to a proud and haughty nobility." And truly
it was now tlie turn of this proud and haughty nobility to obey and
to tremble. Those who had not made their escape in time knew that
they were entirely at the mercy of the infuriated populace. So man
"Was safe either in life or property. All business and public offices
were at a stand. Studies were neglected, books abandoned ; the
bar was solitary, the law ceased ; advocates were dumb. The judges
were fled, and the courts of justice were shut up.

In the meantime the viceroy had taken refuge in the strong hold of
Castelnovo. He summoned a council of the nobility who hastily
gathered round him, and consulted with them as to the best mea-
sures to be pursued. The nobles of Naples, as well as the mer-
chants had advanced large sums to the government on the gabel,
and they strongly dissuaded the viceroy from concessions neces-
sarily prejudicial to their interests. Their opinion was in favour
of a sally from Gastelnovo. The Duke of Arcos, however, gentle
in disposition and unuarlike in habits, was averse to any violent
measure ; he decided a^^ainst the proposal of the nobles and sent a
conciliatory embassy to MaKaniello,

JVIany of the nobility were joined with the Duke of Alataloni*
a nobleman in high favour with the people, in this embassage, and
forcing their way in amongst the insurgents, they loudly announ-
ced to them in the name of the viceroy that all gabels should bo
abolished by public authority ; they intreaied them, therefore, to
lay down their arms. But Masaniello quickly arrested their pro-
gress. He who was yesterday the barefooted fisherman of Amalfi
now exercised despotic autttority over the hearts and hands of
thousands, and he confronted the haughty nobility with a pride
equal to tlieir own. Mounted on a noble and richly caparisoned
charger, he headed his followers, sword in hand, and refused to
allow any answer to be given to the embassage until crcdeniiaU
from the viceroy were produced. Astonished at his daring, the
Duke de Mataloni and his companions had great difficulty in di>-

OF MA8AMELLO.

357

•robling their indignation ; nevertheless, they replied couiteously
Mt " iV be would condescend to hear their proposal, he might then
idgeofthem as he in his great wisdom should think fit ; ami if they
tould be so fortunate as to come to any terms ol' agreement, they
;reed to see the conditions executed at the hazard of their own
es."

The general and his followers proceeded to detail at full length

e redress they claimed for their grievances. Their statement is

•o just in matter^ and so moderate in tone, that it well deserves a

■uotatJon at full length. The sound rea-soning and strong sense of

yu&tice manifested throughout the proceedings of a Neapolitan mob

the seventeentli century, affords a striking precedent for a Inter

"od.

They desired no more/* they said, "than that the privileges
anted to Uie city of Naples by King Ferdinand should be made
They were al\crwards confirmed by Charles V., of glo-
ouB memory, who by oath had promised to thi:« faithful city that
o new tuxes should be laid on the people of Naples by himself or
is successors, without the consent of the Apostolic See. l( they
ere imposed with that authority they were to be obeyed ; olher-
ise the city and the people had the liberty to refuse the payment,
hey might, if they pleased, rise one and all with sword in hand.
defence of their charter, without the iuiputation of rebellion or
reverence to the prince who governed them. Now, since all taxes,
ery few, and they of small consequence, excepted, have been im-
" without the consent of his Reverence, it was but just that
ey should be immediately taken off, being in themselves void and
jttf no effect ; they further claimed to have the original of said
eharter, preserved in the archives of St. Lawrence's Church, de-
livered into their hands." The noblemen listened with patience,
Ind took their leave with courtesy, promising ai they departed to
»se their best endeavours with the Viceroy.

I When they returned to Castelnovo, the Duke of Arcos called an-
other council to advise with them as to the possibility of acceding
the demands of Masaniello. This delay added fuel to the violence
the insurgents; fire and sword raged unopposedly everywhere,
' the moat splendid palaces of Naples were burnt to the ground.
The people, when they appointed Masaniello their general, gave
ID for privy councillor a priest of the name of Julio Genovino,
[e wa» beloved and much depended upon by the people for bis
jular ability, prudence, and experience. These qualities were,
lowever, stained by crueUy and craft, and it is to him and to the
landit Perrone that the rau'rders and burnings that now devastated
he city are justly to be attributed. These two councillors were
riven to attend upon Masaniello under the pretence of being a curb
0 his fury, instead of which it was all in vain he attempted to ex-
rcise a restrmnt upon theirs. Blazing fai^gots were seen in every
quarter preparing for the execution of their sentences, and it was
Appy for the inmates when they escaped with life.

In the midst of all these disorders, however, the most exact rules of
Ustice and moral honesty was strictly observed. " All was done for
he public good, and no private interest was to be considered." One
nan was instantly struck down dead for pilfering a small towel, and
nany who had fallen victims to the temptations of seeing so much

VOL. XXIII. B tt

FaIX.

a bed m
cut off with
U expertneai
^MBtbe whole
d^ qf y«^ l»a faea — eJ f fciMhii, — c with his
c^ by the faMi oT a

Bot fcw puMti»e 6aatl of mxj ihare m the ■llrmiiti on
r« fii^ oa fab ical for the yi^wrm of the ^
Che mtgrj fmmiimt oT the yeopte, aittl
to iBtcn to [muMMiali or peace. Be had taken uruic^fiund^
hicfa were itiU more eflectnal. He had won ovtfi
khe priest Julio Genovino by bribes and proouMs, and the ambi-]
tioiu coUeagoe of MaaanieUo found tittle (Sficult^ in beguiHof <
test oiu! opmbeartefl fi«berman to a compliance with tbc
* best suited to fon^afd GeooTiDo's riewa.
«aty of accommodation was at last perfected and drawn up | ^

OF MASANIELLO.

359

ly Oenovino, read and approved by Arasaniollo, then finally signed
ly the viceroy, The substance of the articles was this: — ** That
he people should from that time forward enjoy all the benefits,
privileges, and immunities granted them by the charter of
Uharlea V. ; that all excesses committed from the 7th of July, the
lay on which the insurrection began, until the signature of the
freaty, should be pardoned by a general amnesty ; that the elect and
ill the other officers of the people should be chof^en every six months
>y the commons, without need of any further confirmation; and
D case they should not obtain such confirniaLion. they might with
mpunity rise in arms, and strive to redress themselves, without
King deemed guilty of rebellion."

The next step towards a general pacification was the visit of
^asaniello to the viceroy, a viiiit he most reluctantly consented to
p*y, and was only at last prevailed upon by the solicitations of the
krcbbishop of Naples, Cardinal Kilomarino. He also succeeded in
^rsuading him to lay aside for the first time, the "tattered fisher-
ban's dress," in which he had conquered and ruled with authority
ts despotic as ever belonged to the purple and ermine of hereditary
lorereignty.

JMasaniello, however, now appeared in magnificent vestments,
(orresponding to the high station he held. A lofty plume of feathers
iravcd over his burnished helmet, his welKtried sword was drawn;
ta splendid and martial array he rode before the archbishop's coach,
lis whole route appearing one long triumphal procession. The
^tlzens strewed the way before him with palm and olive branches;
irhilbt from balconies hung with the richest silks and tapestries, the
>righte8t eyes of Naples cast eager glances of curiosity and admiration
Ipon the hero as he passed. Garlands of flowers were showered
Ipon him from every side ; the air was filled with sounds of exquisite
iDUftic, and with this mingled in rapturous acclamation the praises
Knd the blessings of the thronging crowd, who greeted him with the
glorious title of ** Saviour of his country."

When Masaniello arrived at Castelnovo, he addressed the people
in words that long lived in their memories. He commenced with
^ing upon them alt to thank God " and the most gracious Lady
»f Carmine for the recovery of their liberty." He then, in glow-
ing terms, described the advantages procured to them by the
irticles just ratified^ holding out the charter of Charles V. as a
nibstantial proof of the reality of the occurrences of the last few
lays, " which otherwise/' he said, " might well appear to them
Mbing more than a splendid dream." He continued by reminding
ihein of the disinterestedness of his services to his country, calling
he archbishop to witness that he had refused large bribes which had
>een offered him in the very first day of the Revolution, if he would
>n!v culm the people, and induce them to give up their just claims.
' Nor even at this time," he continued, "should I have thrown off
ny tattered weeds, to assume this gaudy magnificence had not his
Eminence, for decency's sake, and under pain of excommunication,
^liged me to it. No, no, 1 am still Masaniello the fisherman, such
tras I born, such have I lived, and such I intend to live and die.
|knd after having fished for and caught the public liberty, in that
tempestuous sea wherein it had been iramer>ed so long, I'll return
lo my former condition, reserving nothing for myself, but my hook

■D \> 'i

S60

TOE RISE AND FALL

And line, with which to provide daily for the necessary support of
the remainder of my life. The only favour I desire of you, in token
of the acknowledgment for all my labours is, that when I am dead,
you will each of you say an Ave Maria for me. Do you proome
me this?" The people's shout rose high into the air, ** Yes," W4i
exclaimed by thousands, '* but let it be a hundred years hence.'
Again the rich clear voice of Masaniello fell on the ears of the
assembled multitude, and again their silence became still as the
grave: " My friends, I thank you," he said, "and as a further testi-
mony of my love to you, and my adherence to your interests, 1 wilt
give you two words of advice, the first is not to lay down your anu
till the confirmation of your privileges arrives from Spain, the second,
that you should ever mistrust the nobility, who are our sworn and
professed enemies. Take care of them and be upon your guard."
There was much in the foregoing address that partook of the nature
of a farewell; Masaniello's exceeding reluctance to consent to this
visit to Casttflnovo may have arisen from a presentiment of the fate
awaiting him there, but the frank and honest son of the people could
never have conceived the depth of treachery meditated against him
by aristocratic cowardice. If any dark shadow of coming events
passed over his mind, it never assumed the form or likeness of the
truth, he thought he provided for the " wild justice of revenge," by
commanding that if he did not return before the next morning the
palace should beset on fire. Loud cries of *' We will do it," assured
him of vengeance at least, if not of safety.

The viceroy stood at the head of the great stair-case to receive
Masaniello, who threw himself at the duke's feet, and having kissed
them he thanked his excellency in the name of the people for bis
gracious acceptation of the treaty. He then added that be had come
to present himself to receive any punishment he thought fit to inHicL
But the viceroy raising and embracing him, assured him that be wu
so far from looking upon him as a criminal that he would daily give
him substantial proofs of his favour and esteem. He then led mm
into a private apartment, whore, in company with the archbishop,
they consulted together on the best measures to be adopted for car-
rying the articles itito effect. In the meantime the concourse of
people in the palace-yard were seized with apprehension on account
of Alasaniello's long absence, and became so clamorous for his ap-
pearance, that the viceroy was obliged to break up the council, and
to lead him to a balcony where they stood together, while Masaniello
assured the people that he was safe and under no restraint. The
crowd below replied by loud shouts of "Long live the King of
Spain, lung live the Duke of Arcos."

Masaniello's eye flashed with the pride of power : " Your excel-
lency shall now see how obedient the Neapolitan can be," said he,
as he put his finger to his mouth, and at the signal^ a profound
silence instantly fell on the shouting crowd below ; even the breath-
ing of that dense mass seemed suspended, so hushed, so deep, so
solemn was the stillness impressed on that vast multitude by the
silent signal of one strong-willed man. In a few moments more,
Masaniello raised his powerful voice, and commanded th.it every
soul should retire; the court-yard cleared so suddenly, that con-
temporary writers s&y the viceroy looked upon it as a kind of
^irncte. But if the viceroy had before hesitated, this rash display

OF MASANIELLO.

361

of AfasAniello's power sealed his fate. Amongst the hospitalities
lavishly proffered, the 6nest wines of Naples held of course a place,
and while .Alasuuiellu quaffetl the deep red juices, a fatal drug of
fiery efficacy, but &low operation, insinuated itself through his veins*
and laid the foundation of hi^ ruin.

When the Hsherman departed, the viceroy loaded him with com-
plimentfi and commendations, a^uring him he so highly approved
of his conduct hitherto, "that he would for the future leave the
administration of affairs entirely to his care and wisdom ;" and
Maaauiellu accepted these words so literally, that from that moment
to the last of his life, he acted, and in all respects governed, as if he
had been king of Naples. As a final farewell, the viceroy hung
round his neck a splendid gold chain ; this he several times refused,
and only at last accepted at the earnest solicitation of the arch-
bishop. He also created him Duke of St. George, a title the high-
spirited son of the people never deigned to assume. The numerous
orders he al\erwards issued for the promotion of the peace and welfare
of the city were signed by the name under which he had triumphed,
Thomas Anello d'Amalfi. The day following was appointed for
the solemn ceremony of finally ratifying the articles in the cathedral
church of Naples. Masaniello spent all the morning in hearing
causes, redressing grievances, and mnking regulations relatino; both
to civil and military affairs. He displayed throughout the same clear
head and sound judgment as usual. It was only in the harangue
closing the final ceremony at the cathedral, that his fine mind began
to give evidence of deranged powers. Even in the hour that set
the seal to his |;lorious triumph, the treacherous vengeance of his
enemies began to take effect.

The viceroy, the council of state and war, the royal chamber of
Santa Chiara, the tribunals of the chancery, and all the civil and
criminal judges of the great court of the Vicaria, were assembled in
the cathedral when Masaniello arrived ; they swore upon the Holy
Evangelists "to observe inviolably for ever" the articles before
agreed to, and to procure without delay their ratification from the
King of Spain. A Te Dcum fujlowed, and then Masaniello rose to
address a rei^pectful and admiring audience.

His natural eloquence had not yet forsaken him ; his speech to
the noble and dignified assembly within the cathedral, and the
thronging multitude without, contained many passages deserving of
high admiration, but so mixed up with extravagant boasts and wildly
improbable assertions, that the listeners sbired at each other in
mute amazement. Home amongst them imagined that his sudden
elevation had intoxicated his brain ; others, that with overweening
pride and haughtiness he desired to shew his contempt for the
august assemblage of lay and ecclesiastical dignity to whom his in-
coherent speech was atldressed. Those few only who were in the
fatal secret prudently avoided noticing a result they knew to be
the triumph of their own treachery.

Masaniello having finished his harangue, began to tear in pieces
the splendid dress he wore, calling with an air of command upon
the archbishop and the viceroy to help him off with it. He had
unly put it on, he said, " for the honour of the ceremony ; it was
become useless since that was ended ; and having done all that he
had to do, he would now return to hia hook and line." The sooth-

362

THE RISE AND PALL

iDg persuasions of the good archbishop at length succeeded in prf-
TsiHng on him not to lay aside his robes of state until the proceseioo
homeward was concluded, and the viceroy and the rest of the nobln
having taken leave of him with all due respect and courtesy, be
returned to his humble dwelling in the market-nlace.

The next day that lowly ahmle was besieged by a crowd of the
most distinguiiihed nobles and ecclesiastics, also the mini<ter« of
state, all eager to pay their compliments to Masaniello, and confp-a-
tuUte him on his wonderful successes. But alas ! the dignity iml
elevation, the calm of conscious superiority, before ensuring his sclf-
poMcasion under every variety of circumstance, had now completelr
abandoned him. The strangest, wildest expressions escaped him;
the most extravagant acts tested his no longer revered, but btitl
strictly obeyed authority; none dared to oppose his will or contradict
his assertions, but suspicions gradually strengthened into certaliitr*
that his once powerful intellect was by some means or other com-
pletely overthrown. Various suppositions were put forward to ac-
count for the sudden madness of Masaniello. Some asserted that
the height of absolute power attained to almost in an instant, hid
made his head giddy and tume<l his brain; others accounted for it
by the great and continual fatigues he had undergone, scarcely
allowing himself the necessary refreshments of food and sleep ; bat
the opinion, since more openly expressed, was universally whispered
then, that the viceroy's draught had heated his blood to maane*&r
and would gradually produce hopeless insanity.

The day after the ceremony in the cathedral Masaniello's derange-
ment was still more openly manifested. He rmle full speed througb
the streets of Naples, abusing, menacing, and even killing several of
the people who had not time to get out of his way ; he also caused
several officers to be instantly put to death for the most trivial
oifences. About three in the afternoon he went to the palace, witb
'■afirg^d clothing, only one stocking, and without either hat or sworil;
and in this condition forcing his way into the viceroy's presence, he
told him he was "almost starved to death, and would fain eat some-
thing." The viceroy instantly commanded food to be set before
him ; but ^lasaniello exclaimed that he had not come there to eat,
but to request his excellency would accompany him to Posilippo, to
partake of a collation with him there; then giving a call, several
sailors entered loaded with all sorts of fruits and delicacies. The
viceroy hurriedly excused liinibelf on account of a pain in his head,
which^ he said, had that moment seized him ; but he ordered his
own gondola to be prepared for the voyage, saw Masaniello on
board, and took leave of him with seeming friendliness, but real
hate and dread. He had, however, no cause for alarm. Until they
confront each other before the Judgment-seat, the betrayer and tbci
betrayed were never to meet again.

The gondola that conveyed Masaniello in viceregal state to Povl-
lippo, Mas accompanied by forty feluccas, filled with attenthuita on
his pleasures; some danced, others played and sung, others dived
repeatedly to pick up the pieces of gold he threw into the sea.
During this voyage he is said to have drunk twelve bottles of
]achryma> Christi, and this so heightened the efficacy of the viceroys
fatal drug, that from that moment he never knew another interval
of reason.

OF MASANIEIXO.

No soonn- had tbe neit day dawned than he recommenced hid
frantic rides through the city. He now held a dravti sword in his
hand, and with it he struck and maimed every one who ventured
within his reach. At times he loudly tfarcatnaed that be would uke
off the viceroy's head ; and issued the iikmK esctrava^nt orders to
his followersw Don Ferrant and Don Carlos Caracciolo, two illus-
trions brothers, were passing in their carriages through the street
where Masaniello was on horseback, because they did not get out
to salute him, be issued an order ** under pain of death and firing,"
that they should come to kiss his feet publicly in the market-place.
Instead of obeying this insolent summons, the fiery nobles hastened
to the viceroy's palace and inveighed against the intolerable indig-
nity of "A wretch sprung from the very dregs of the rabble, thus
trampling under his feet the dignity of the proudest Neapolitan
nobles." Even while they yet spoke Genovino and Arpaja entered
with heavy complaints against Masanicllo, who liad, that very morn-
ing caned one of them, and given a slap on the face to the other.
They asserted that many of the chief citizens were so terrified at
the extravagancies of Alasaniello, that if the viceroy would only
confirm the privileges he had obtained for them, they desired no-
tliing better than to return to their allegiance to his excellency, and
to take away the office of captain-general of the people from Alasa-
nieUo. The Duke of Arcos was overjoyed to find his treachery
M> fiir successful that the people were brought into the very dis-
position he could wish, as it appeared, too, by MasanielJo's own
act ; he immediately published a new ban re-confinning the capitu-
lation ; and Masaniello was, in a public meeting of the citizens^ de-
posed from all his offices and condemned to be confined in a strong
hold for the rest of his days. Notwithstanding the many outrages
he had committed, no one could find it in their hearts to consent to
the death of one who had restored liberty to his country. But the
viceroy could not feel himself in safety while breath remainetl in
the wretched body which he had deprived of mind. He therefore
eagerlv accepted the proposal of I!klichael Angelo Ardizzone, who
uflereJ to make away with him at the hazard of his own life. He
promised him lavish rewards and unbounded favour, and urged him
to immeiliare action.

The last scene of the fisherman's strange career now approaches.
It was the festival of our Lady of Carmine, and the church of that
name was filled with an infinite number of persons waiting for the
arrival of the archbishop to begin the singing of the mass. The
moment he appeared Masaniello rushed forward and made a pas-
sionate address to him of mingled complaint and resignation, con-
cluding with a request that he would send a letter for hira to the
viceroy. Soothing the poor lunatic with his accustomed gentleness,
the archbishop instantly sent one of his attendants to the palace
with the letter, then going up to the grand altar he attempted to
begin the service, but Masaniello interrupted him again, and going
himself into the pulpit, he held out a crucifix in his hand, and ad-
dressing himself to the people earnestly besought them not to for-
sake hira. For some time he spoke with all his former eloquence;
with pathos and earnestness he reminded them of the toils and dan-
he had undergone for their sakes, the great deliverance and

invaluable beuefiu he hud procured for them, which they had

to
Bm

the Incid inteml
be lalwied ander bro«i^ht oo
to fmndnmn lua«^ for the bid-
evcrj MW pmtiit to " make tfae
ghoitlj frther, that so God's anger migbt be
nn ea into mamj tiificsloo* and eztnvagnt
mf which even mv^md of heresy t Upoo tfaii
it tine lo imeriere, and ooanBonded hu
to loeee faim oot of the polpst, and to eoMgn him to the
in the a^oiaiBg eonvenc He had not been lo^g
the mmmiam iMiileiid br the ricerojr fbnnd m
lowDjr lor JfiMnffln Am aooa aa the ricdo
Mnnced. he haiimfd to nicet his niardercn> ex-
fa it'ne 700 look for, bj people ^ Behold, I on here."
BOwer he received was ter nMhct ihaCB» fired opon hiin
at the aanie time. He mstantlv feU dead, only ottering the wonh
" Piigiatefol traitors T as he breathed his last. Salvalor CslancD,
one of the fonr asMscins, cut off his head and fixed it on a spar.
Thns it woi carried through the streeu of Naples, the mmditni
crying ont loodly as ther went akmg, '* Masaniello is dead !• Mag
anello is dend ! Let the King of Spain live, and let nobody premie
hereafter to nsme Masaniello." The cowardly rabble, who were tt
that very moment collected in the church and market-place to the
— mbrr of eight or ten thousand, made no attempt to avenge the
death of their benefactor ; nor was any opposition uflered or mur-
mor uttered when his head, after being carrietl in proocsdos
throngh the oty, was thrown iuto s ditch called the Com ~~
His body also^ after being dragged through all the ki
Naples, was thrown into another town ditch, lying without

In the meantime, the nobility were hurrying in crowds to con-
gratulate the Tioeroy on the death of their mutual enemy. Their
extraragant demonstrations of joy at being rid of Masaniello evi-
denced bow much they dreai)ed his power. The Duke of Arcos
manifested his pious sense of the great deliverance by going in pro-
cession with the chief officers and magistrates of the kingdom to the
church of Carmine, to return God thanks for the cowardly act of
hired murderers. The head and blood of San Gennaro were boll)
exposed to view, to grace the joyful solemnity. At the same time,
the con6rmation of the articles sworn to the Saturday before, ^u
proclaimed by sound of trumpet in the market-place, amid the loud
acclamations of the credulous populace. They soon, however,
learned, by the publication of the printed treaty, how futile wai
their confidence in the ju&tice to be rendere^l thein when their pro-
tector was withdrawn. By the aid of Julio Genovino's treachery, «
•aivo had been inserted into the 1-lth article, of a tenor to make all
the rest null and voidj Mnd the Neapolitans, reduced to the sninc
i»tate of oppression us befure, were compelled to begin over again
the desperate struggle against Spanish tyranny.

In the meantime, unc of those quick transitions, common in sQi
popular [lenmnat rations, ha^^l tukcn place among the volatile Ncapoli-
The day following his death, the head and body of AlasaiiiclU

OF MA8ANIELL0.

365

were looked out and joined together by a few amongst his more ad-
venturous and devoted folluwers, and an exhibition of them tn the
church of Carmine excited violent feelings of sorrow and repentance.
The corpse w/w carried through the most public streets of the city,
with all the ftolemnities commonly used at the funeral of a martial
commander. It was preceded by five hundred monkSj and followed
by forty thousand men-in-arms, and almost as many women, with
beads in their hands. As the procession passed the palace of the
viceroy, he readily conformed to the times, and sent eight pages
with torches in their hands to accompany the corpse; the Spaniards
on guard were also ordered to lower their ensigns, and to salute it
as it was carried by. At last it was brought back to the cathedral
church, and there buried, while all the bells of Naples rung a
mournful peal, and passionate lamentations were uttered by the sur-
rounding multitude. An old writer <]uainily observes, that, '"by
an unequalled popular inconstancy, Masaniello, in less than three
days was obeyed like a monarch, murdered tike a villain, and re-
Tered like a saint."

Thus ended the unexampled career of Masaniello of Amalfi.
Neither ancient nor modern history can furnish any parallel to the
brief brilliance of his sudden success. " Trampling barefoot on a
throne, and wearing a mariner's cap instead of a diadem, in the space
of four days he raised an army of one hundred and fifty thoustmd
men, and made himself master of one of the most populous cities in
the world ; o£ Naples, the metropolis of so many fair provinces, the
mother and the nurse of so many illustrious pnnces and renowned
heroes. His orders were without reply, his decrees without ap-
peal, and the destiny of all Naples mi^nt be said to depend upon
a single motion of his hand." The qualifications that raised Masa-
niello to such a height of power are variously stated by various
authors, according to their nation and their prejudices, but the ac-
tions he performed are incontrovertible proofs of eminent abilities.
Cardinal Filomarino was probably the person amongst his contem-
poraries best qualified to judge of Masaniello's mental capadty ; he
professed himself often astonished at the solidity of the nuherman's
judgment, and the subtlety of his contrivance.4. One fact alone,
bis dictating to seven secretaries at the same time, gives evidence of
rare command of intellect in a statesman of six days' experience.

In summing up a character, ever destined to remain in some de-
gree a mystery to posterity, a high place should be allotted to the
moral qualities displayed by Alasaniello under circumstances of
strong excitement and extraordinary temptation. So strict was his
justice, that amongst the numerous deaths inflicted by his orders,
not one suffered who did not deserve it; so noble his disinterested.
ness, that in the midst of glittering piles of wealth, he remained as
poor as in his original condition.

From the harmony existing between his mental and moral quali-

Bs, it may be fairlv inferred that a character of otherwise apparent
^pletenesSj could not have been deficient in the strength requisite
support the elevation attained by its own unaided efforts. The
metapnysical student of human nature will find it far easier to be-
lieve in a physical cause for Masaniello's sudden derangement. There
arc s(»mc discrepancies, some inconsistencie&, not possible even to
fallen humanity.

sndcr l^

«U aeenpied tt
amA poau wcie

•■ tfcegF*cB* Ute lugittntBt*. of

tkfliiv aiv !«■, fcad HMnUcd ta tke twa-liiU. whenot thry

to tiie I h«i Lh, Asd, after Uw aemMh Mdrmoed in procfiwn

to tWMMHiUy, aUcsded b^ aooic dnn* and i§e^ wad a few mea car-

raip halfctfti; hot iwtliiag eanld exceed ike plainneas of tbeir a^

tfiaor. At tkat tine am. flabirUg nrt af Anaa, with powder and

-h. wa« wiirn d] arer EcrapCy amd mta ia office especiallj^ weie

■gniitifd bf a striking and mostly sbowy ciwtinaf-

iad tlKtr hair cot alwrt, had oo powderj and were

PASTORAL CANTONS OF SWITZERLAND, 367

covered by long black mantles, that made them look something like
mourners at a funeral.

The Laiiclammaiif tlie highest ufhcur of tbc country, took possession
of a wooden platform raised a few feet from the ground, and painted
in the state colours, black and white ; at each end of the platform was
placed a sword of formidable dimensions.

By the side of the chief magistrate stood a secretary and another
officer culled a Landwebel ; and a great book Inj: open before them, des-
tined to contain the minutes of the proceedingsi. The people were
ranged round in a great semicircle, and so tliut tA'ery man wjs in bis
own rhutc or clan^ which docs not depend upon the place where he
niny be livings but upon the family to which he belongs, as the people
are divided in races according to the names they bear-

The Landammtui opened the meeting by a speech ; but the bustle of
perjietual nt*w arrivals prevented my hearing a word. After this, the
whole assembly took off their hats, and, kneeling down, prayed for the
divine blessiug on their proceedings. When tlie prayer was ended,
the Landammnn enquired of the head or captain of each rhode whetlier
"he was content with the accounts of the past year now Inid before
them, and receiving, I presiime, u satisfactory answer, proceeded to
the business next to be attended lo, namely, the election of new magis-
tratea, or the conHrmation of the old.

The Landamman now left bis place» and it was proclaimed aloud by
the secretary, or clerk, that the assembly was about tu proceed to the
election of another chief magistrate^ He then demanded whom they
meant to name for this office, and with one accord all voice:* shouted
the name of the Landamman who had Just left the chair. The clerk
then cried out, *' Let all who find good that our present Landamman
shall continue to reign hold up their hands/' And inmiediately uprose
the hands of the whole assembly. The Landamman being then declared
to be duly elected, took his place again, and the meeting went on to
elect the officers next in dignity- What we may calf thir ministry con-
sists of seven members, but every rhode sends eight members to the
great and six to the little council, which constitutes the executive
{Kiwer, and these also have tu be elected to it by the general asseniblyj
as well aa a captain for each rbode<

After the election of the government officers was concluded, the
landamman rose to propose that a new high road should be made from
the canton of Ap])enzeil to the valley of the Rhine. All the roads in
the country, with the exception of a few in outer rhodes, are or were
then passable merely for foot-passengers and horses; and ull goods,
had, therefore, to be transported on pack-saddles, — a much more
expensive method, of course, than by wugons.

It appeared that t>oth exportH nwA imports travelled in the direction
of the Rhine, because that was the side on which a highroad approach-
ed the nearest to the canton, and thut a new road of about twelve
miles long would open a very convenient communication with the great
road leading to the lake of Constance, the Tyrol, and the Grisons-

£ach of the magistrates first declared his opinion of the measure,—*
some being for, others againist it. The people appeared to take a lively
interest in the discussion, and by degrees the voices rose higher and
higher, and the whole assembly became agitated like one of their lakes
in a stormy wind. Some thought that this road would prove of great
advantage to trade and industry, others feared It would open the way

~_ «rtk«

W w sp to ha

rftWaiirimtfi «f the WaMy, Hyy» U">^
Hi a a sMBd bwlyr makil aft ktt tW ■niiuMi beil

PASTORAL CANTONS OF SWITZERLAND. 369

tirove me sway tr> the refresliing tranquillity affuriled me beneatli the
hosintable roof of my new friends, and of which the inn did not, during
that night, hold out the most distunt prospect.

The people of Appenzell Inner lUiotles, when I was there, lived al-
most wholly by the produce of iheir tiocks and herds. The experiment
of growing a few potatoeB had only lately been tried, and, with the ex-
ception of these^ a little oats and barley was all that was raised from a
soil which would* in my opinion, have rewarded a more diligent culti-
vation. The fruit-trees, it was said, were often destroyed by the frosts;
hilt I found that those who bestowed sufficient care on their culture,
cenerally reaped a very ample produce ; and, notwithstanding what I
had heard of the severity of the winter, I found a great number of
clierry-treea in full blossum at the beginning of May.

The manufacturing industry of Inner Rhodes I found, aa I expect-
ed, at the lowest grade as compared with its extraordinary development
in the outer Imlf canton. I say I expected this, becttusc it appears to
be the invariable rule that, where they are brought into immediate
contact, manufactures desert catholic and take up their abode in pro-
testant communities. To investigate the cause of this phenamenon
would, perhaps, lead us into too lung a discussion for the present ; hut
I must own that the way in which we protestants are in the habit of
accounting for it, by declaring shortly that it is the natural effect of
catiiulicism to produce slothfulness, does not appear satisfactory to me,
aince the whole progress made in Europe in industry and the useful
arts, from times of complete barbarism up to the middle of the sixteenth
century, was made under the inHuence of Catholicism. In Appenzel]
manufactures, it appears, were mure Nourishing at that period than
they are now. In 1537, there was a grand exhibition of linen mauu-
facture»), under official superintendence ; but, unluckily, soon after
this, they took to " protecting industry," and made a law that all the
flax spun must be made into linen in the country itself, and it is not
unlikely that this, and similar regulations, may have had much to do
with their decay.

I was rather struck by the fact that the people of Inner Rhodes,
poor as they were, did not appear at all daxzledor rendered envious by
the superior wealth of their neighbours. Was it that they perceived
that the rapid increast; uf Outer Rht>de8 in prosperity and population
hud not rendered existence more secure ; that money created as well as
satisfied wauts, and has uut the power to make men more cheerful,
tranquil, or content^

The manufactories of the outer half canton are exposed to vicissi-
tudes from occurrences taking place in distant countries, wholly
beyond their control, and which have sometimes left their warehouses
choked with their productions, and deprived thousands of workpeople uf
their bread, or compelled them to work for the lowest pittance on which
life can be supported. When panic and stoppage of trade, occasion-
ed often by political changes, and the commercial regulations of foreign
countries have shed their baleful influence on the land, all its riches
and industry have not protected it from scarcity, and even famine. In
the years 177' and '72. distress had actually reached this terrible point
in Outpr Rhodes, while their poorer iieieh hours suffered scarcity, in-
deed, but were secured from anything Uke starvation by their flocks
and herds. Possibly these facts have not escaped the observation of the
Inner Appenzeller, and rendered him content to remain within the

370

RECX>LLECTI0N8 OF THE

narrow circle of his own simple life, rather than encounter the agiutinf '
vii^isAituflc^ of his neighbours.

One branch of industry I saw carried on in Inner Appenxell^jirhicli
I have never seen in uny other country. Along the banks of the Sit-
ter lie rows of little gardens, in which are kept such enormous Hocks of
snails, that the sound of their fuedinj; on the leaves can be plainly
heard several paces off. The young snails are collected at the proper sea-
son, and brought into these gardens, where the owners feed them with
cabbages, lettuces, and leaves of variuus kinds, till they become very
large and fat ; and they are then packed in barrels, and sent to the
convents in Swabia, Bavarin, and Austria, aud even as far as Vienna,
where they are considered as rather a dainty dish for fast Jays. Some
of the dealers in snaila have amassed a tolerable fortune. The Capn-
chins in the village of Appenzell feed for themselves a flock of forty or
fifty thousand snails.

Tiie entire exjiortH of these diminutive states consist, therefor^ is
cheese, butter, cattle, skins, saltpetre, honey, and snails; in exchange
for which the inhabitants obtain all the articleii which, in their simple
mode of life, they require. Simple as it is, however, when we consi-
der that, with the exception of the above-mentioned products and
butcher's meat, absolutely cvcrvthing must be imported, — flour fur
bread and other kinds of food, all sorts of stuff for cluthinj;, leather,
iron, and copper goods, glass, salt, coffee, and wine — that aJl these
things must be paid for from those few exports — we may conceive
that the inhabitants of this little republic are compelled to great mo-
deration and sobriety.

There are or were in this country, as I mentioned before, no road*
passable fur carriages, and all kinds of goods are carried on horsebsck.
The whole number of horses used for this purpose in the entire canUn
of AppeuKell belonged to only twenty-seven owners, and but two uf
these lived in Inner Rhodeii. In their warehouses was stored up aU
the cheese and butter made in the country. They generally make as
agreement with the herdsmen by the year, and send the horses round
to the mountains to collect it. The chtese was all packtfd in bales of
a size convenient for placing on each side of a wooden saddle ; and I
often met long lines of these pack-horses, covered with gnilv-colourcd
cloths, and decorated with bells, so that it might be supposed they
belonged to some festal procession.

After making myself pretty well acquainted with the country round
the village of AppenzL-ll, I began to feel my desire to climb some of
the surrounding mountains quite irresistible ; but, as the state of the
weather made it impossible to gratify this wish completely, as the
snow still lay even on the less elevated peaks, I was obliged to content
myself with climbing some of the lower Alps, in order to make my
first acquaintance with the scenery that so much attracted me.

An extremely pretty path leads from Appenzell along the bonks of
tbe Sitter to Weisbod, (where there are springs whose water u of t
milky colour, and considered very ethcacious for many maladies,} and
beyond this it begins rapidly to rise. About an hour and a half*
climbing a very rugged stony path, brings y«tu to the Wild Church, ns
it is culled ; but before reaching it, the nerves of the wanderer are put
to a little trial. The path gradually grows narrower and narrower,
till it becomes a mere ledge along the side of a perpendicular wall of
ruck. On the right the black precipice draws nearer und nearer, till

PASTORAL CANTONS OF SWITZERLAND.

371

you dare at last neither to turn nor look round : you press anxioiibly
close to the rocky wall, till at last the path vanishes altogether, and its
place is supplied by a feu' plankft, forming a Bort of little wuoden bridge
across a tremendous chasm, and with nothing but a rope to lay the
hand upon by way of security for the steps. At the ena, however, of
this fruil bridge, han<;intr high in mid air, the traveller has the satis-
faction of seeing a cottage opened to afford him a refuge, a sight which
certainly contributes not a little to give him courage to cross it. I
must confess I breathed more freely^ when I found myself safe within
its hospitable shelter, and looked back with a sort of shivering pleasure
on the path I had just traversed.

On every side high perpendicular rocks, bare of tree or shrub, were
piled one above another, in their forms having mucli the appearance
of ruined walls and castles, and with a certain desolate grandeur of
aspect. But among the dark precipices glittered far below the silver
Seealp lake and the Sitter, which, after forming several beautiful cas-
Cftdes, wound its serpentine course through a plain, covered with the
loveliest green, and still further animated by pretty houses and grazing
cattle.

About thirty paces from the resting-place brought me to the " wild
church,'* a simple building, with a little tower, containing a bell of three
hundred weight. Immediately behind the toweropensu rocky cavern,
in which is an altar of stone; the sides are as white as if they were
white-washed ; and before the altar lay about twenty beams of wood,
which serve for benches when the Appenzellera come here to the ser-
vice, which is performed three times a-ycar.

An altar stood in this cavern as early as the year lOlO ; and in lfh5f>
an inhabitant of Appenzcll huilt the little church, and retired from the
world into the cavern behind it. At bis death he left a sum of money
to maintain the church and the bridge in repair, us well as fifteen
fulden a yt'ar (about 1/. os,) for any heruiic who should Ci)me after him.
The cell was occupied, at the time of my visit, by one who passed the
whole summer there. His actual abode was a second cave, entered
through the firht, and containing a stove and u bedstead ; and his whole
occupation consisted in praying for the herdsmen, and ringing the bell
fire times a-day, to call to prayer those who might be scattered about
the Alps. On Sundays and holidays they generallv go up to this
chapel, and in very bud weather they sometimes seek nu asylum there.
For the services he rendered them, the '* Brother of the Rock " re-
ceivedi I was told, cheese and buttermilk, and permission to let his
two goats graze where he will. In the winter, he lived at Appenzell,
and maintained himsL'if by spinning, or some other work.

Behind the hermit's cell opened a third and more spacious one,
about two hundred feet long and sixty broad, and in some parts as
much as ten feet high, but in others so low, that I was uuuble to stand
upright in it. The roof was covered with strangely shaped stalactites,
from which was continually dropping a clear water, received in hollowed
trunks of trees thai hud been placed there for the purpose. This cavern
was divided into two apartments, and the second was by no means easy
of access, from the darkness, and the masses of fallen rock that lay
strewed upon the ground. On reaching it, however, I found the
ground ascended a little, and I at length emerged upon a beuuliful
open, grassy Alp; and threw my.self down upon the soft turf, to
enjoy to the utmost the splendid prospect, the effect of which was of

372

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE

course more striking nfter the darkness of tbe casern. The whole
ctinton of AppenzelT lay here spread l>efore me, like a picture set in

the glittering frame of the lake of Constance.

It was long before I would resolve lo leave a spot where I tltonghi
I should never be tired with gazingj but when I did so, and climbed
the nearest suinmit, I was revvurded with a view still more extensive
and magnificeut, including even the countless peaks of the Tyrol and
Carinthia.

There are in this inner part of Appenxell six Alps* which ore oon*
mon land or aUmends, as they are called, on which every countryman
has a right to drive his cows ; hut as it has been found that the rich
who had large herds to send gained a much greater advantage by this
right than the luior, who had only one or two cows, it was settled thst
every one should pay fifteen kreuzers, or Hvepencei for each cow tlint
he drove up to the Alp.

Some herdsmen do not possess a foot of land of their own, beyond
what their house stands on ; and they have to send men about tbe
country to find out where gotnl hay is to be met with, — who get it in
at the best time, in dry woathiT or wet, and so on ; snd in autuinn.
when the cows leave the pasture, they and their beasts betake them-
selves to one and another whose liay they have purchased, and change
their abode six or seven linies in the winter. Besides sometimes
shelter for his cows, he gets hoard and lodging for himself, hi*
wife, and his childron ; and in return, as well as the sum of money
agreed on, he gives of the milk, whey, and cheese, as much os is
required for the whole household.

As soon as the young year has again covered the meadows with
gnuM and flowers— out again goes the seun and his cowsj and resumei
his open air life on the mountains until the return of autumn, h
would seem that these perpetual wanderings contribute to maintuio
the health and cheerfulness, for they are fine jolly looking fellows —
but their dayB, nevertheless, do not ahrays flow on in unUistorbed
careless Arcadian tranquillity. Even here, in this simple pastoral
land, the " accursed thirst of gold," and the selfishness of the rich will
often disturb the peace of these poor families. Sometimes it happenn
that the spring is very late in making its appearance, or there will be
a relapse into cold weather, after the eenn has gone out with his herds
to the mountains, and such a heavy fall of snow as will compel him to
drive them back again.

If he have no land at all of his own, and no stock of hay to fall bock
upon in an emergency, he will of course be entirely at the mercy of
those who have, and compelled to pay whatever they require, or tee
his cattle perish ; and it sometimes happens that the cruel exorbitance
of these hay usurers involves the poor senn in debt from which hfr,
never escapes.

The genuine race of Appcnzell cows is usually brown and black, but
the scnn takes pleasure in having a variety of colour in his lierd^ .tnd
if he can will have some of a yellowish dun culour, and at least odo
black-and-white- The cattle are beautifully kept, so curry-combed'
and polished, and look so smooth, and clean, and healthy, that it id i
pleasure to stroke their shining liuir, and observe their lively looks, uiitl
tree animated movements. The relation between them urn] their
owners is that of a reciprocal service and kindness. The cow give*
the herdsman all that he possesses, and is in return tenderly c^red for.

PASTORAL CANTONS OF SWITZERLAND.

373

ived like a child — or sometimes, perhaps rather more. Nerer
I he think of raising hin hand against her, or even of carrying a
or a stick as a menus of menace. Mi.s voice alone is suthcieiit to
and nile the whole herd. In short, the cow in Appenzell en-
he respect and consideration which of right belongs to her a« the
useful animal in nature.

e Ap|)enzeller is not content with the natural beauty of his
but seeks to bestow on them also the advantages of dress, and
ies his vanity by ad<)niing his favourites with broad leathern
s, handsomely worked, to which bells are attached, taking the
pride in their fashionable appearance that a mtbleman might do
e rich liveries of his servants, and sometimes, it may be feared,
lis love of finery is carried even to extravagance and sinful vanity.
p-eat praint is, as I have said, that the bells should sound harmo-
l? together; and to all the markets held in Ajipenzell, there
TTTolese with collections of bells of all sizes, and embroidered
>r bands, with a buckle to fasten them round the cow's neck. The
i affair complete, not unti'equently costs as much as 140 gulden ;
fc the dress of the owner liimself; in liis grandest state, never ex-
l^wenty. The largest bell is generally given to the *' beautiful
cow," and the next to the two beautieft next in succession; but
itre not allowed to appear in this full-dress every day, but only on
tuUr occasions, such as the moving out to the Alps lu the spring,
urning from them in the autumn, or in the winter, passing from
irm to another. The procession moves along in regular order ;
the ««« in his white shirt, coloured waistcoat, and, even in win-
is sleeves rolled up above the elbow, his gaily -cohni red braces,
yellow trowsers, and a jmndsumely-cut wooden milk-porringer
ng over his shouldf r. On he marches, generally singing at the
F his voice, and foUuived first by three or four fine goats; then
E the reigning belle of the herd with the largest bells, then the
ilea of interior lustre, then the bull carrying the milking-stool
his horns, and, lastly, a sledge with the remainder of the dairy
.ure.

ould not help noticing the proud and self-complacent demeanour
! cows, €n granffe parttrc^ and if one may believe the accounts of
•ople, they not only feel pride and vanity, but are tormented by
and jealousy, and will do their utmost to persecute a fortunate
and thrust at and gore her with their horns till they either get
ells restored, or are banished from the herd.

e renowned herdsman's song of the S» iss mouutains, which has
ae known all over Europe under the name of the /?u7i: dcs f'achcs,
^uently heard in Inner Appenzell. It is, unquestionably, aa
I the population of these mountains, and has come down to the
nt generation from the firfet herdsmen who inhabited them ; so
there is not the remotest probability of its having been, as bus
times been supposed, originally a dance-tune. It arose obviously
e most simple and natural manner. In these ^vild solitudes,
3 there are no other bounds to the pastures than rocks and pre-
ia, the cows would of course wander about in all directions in
h of fresh herbs and grass, and it would be absolutely impossible
ve them in two or three times a day to be milked,
ce&sity, therefore, has compelled the herdsman to hit upon some
}d of collecting hia cattle, and, in the mere tones of his voice, be

374

RETURN OF TlIE BIRDS.

has found a most pfft*cttiii1 one. The Apponzellers CftU it enticing the
cows; and that it has this effect is obTious from the manner in which
they come hastening from all corners at tlie sound. It is, of course,
impossible to judge of the etrect of this melody, without hearing it in
ita native land;l)ut, among these mountains, where nature sits en-
throned in primeval majesty and beauty, and in the perfectly still
and most pure and elastic atmosphere, it has sometimes occasioned me
indescribable pleasure to listen to its clear, simple tones, and the re-
sponsive harmony of the silver-soundine bells.

Now, I am told, when Switzerland has been for so many y«rr
a regular show country, overrun by hordes of tourists hungering after
the picturesque, you cannot see u group of peasant-girls upon the moun-
tains, without their immediately striking up the " Ranz des Vochn" ■
as a sort of " Open Sesame ! " to the travellers' pocket, and in that case ■
I should not care much to hear it. Indeed, it cannot be denied that to '
Switzerland, as well as to her neighbour, Italy* beauty bos been in
some measure a fatal gift, luring mere pleasure-seekers, gazers, and ad-
mirers— not true lovers^ but those whose pretence destrovi that
beauty's highest charm. Here's a tine moral to conclude with I Is it
not suRceptible of another more important application ?

THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS.

BY ALFBED CROWaUlLL,

TiiKT rvtum, they return, widi their plums^ so gay,
To the iutp»e, to the meadows ; and on the Itghc spray,
Amidst tlie wild hcuthcr, and golden topped (cmin,
On the iMinks of the streamlet titey *re with us agnin.

In the midst nf itie dark wofxl I hear the loved cry.
And ilie learei whisper welcome to them as they fly.
And the pale water-lily c(>4(uettikhly dips.
That they may quaff pearly drops from her white llpa.

How they rise, how they float in the bright golden ray.
As they soar in the ether of sweet-breathed young day !
How their wings wave a wcleoroe to Nature s fair face
Ai they revel so free in yon glorious spare I

Pretty birds, pretty birds, though you fly without fear.
Dun't forget tluit the Firvt of Septeml>er is near;
Remember the small double barrel I 're got.
With Plgou's best powder, and hatsful of shot.

I have borrowM two pointer dogs, suunch, good, and true.
Who will both Ih; out with me U> point mo out you ;
80 1 give yon fair wnmtng, if you see my face,
That I never go home without eight or ten bn».

I *ve a shooting roat, sliooting box, ahooting iMMts, t^w,
80, the devil in in it if I can't shrwt you ;
80, mind, I give warning, remember the first.
For 1 mean to come out with a terrible burst.

375

CAPTAIN SPIKE;

OR, THE ISLETS OF THE GULF.

BV THE AUTIlOIl OP "THE PILOT," " KSI> HOVER,'* ETC.

The Cruittng hciu'i*8 repose, the panutise
Of home, i^'itb all its loren, duth fiite allow
The crown of glory unto woman's tjrow.

Mns. UcMAws.

ORAPTBB XVI.

It has a^in become ncceasar)* to advance the time, and we shall
take the occasion thus offered to make a few explanations, touching cer-
tain events which have been paj^sed over without notice

The reason why Captain Mull did not chase the yawl of the hrig in
the Poughkeepsie, herself, was the neeessitv of waiting for his own
Iraats that were endeavouring to regain the sloop of war. It would not
have done to abantlon them, inasmuch as the men were so much ex-
hausted by the pull to windward, that when they reached the vessel all
were relieved from duty for the rest of the day. As soon, however, as
the other boats vrerc hoisted in, or run up, the ship filled away, stood
out of the passage, and ran down to join the cutter of Wallace, which
was endeavouring to keep its position as much as possible, by making
short tacks under close reefed luggs.

Spike had been received on board the sloop of war, sent into her sick
bay, and put under the care of the surgeon and his assistants. From the
first, these gentlemen pronounced the hurt mortal. The wounded man
was insensible most of the time, until the ship had beat up and gone
into Key West, where he was transferred to the regular hospital as has
already been mentioned.

The wreckers went out the moment the news of the calamity of the
Swash reached their cars. Some went in quest of the doubloons of the
schooner, and others to pick up anything valuable that might be dis-
covered in the neighbourhood of the stranded brig. It may be mention-
ed here, that] not much was ever obtained from the brigantine, with tho
exception of a few spars, the sails, and a little rigging ; but, in the end,
the schooner was raised, by means of the chain Spike had placed
around her ; the cabin was ransacked, and the doubloons were re-
covered- As there was no one to claim the money, it was quietly
divided among the conscientious citizens present at its revisiting " tlie
glimpses of the moon," making gold plenty.

The doubloons in the yawl would have been lost, but for the sagacity
of Mulford. He loo well knew the character of Spike, to believe ho
would quit the brig without taking the doubloons with him. Acquainted
with the boat, he examined the little locker in the stem sheets, and
found the two bugs, one of which was probably the lawful property of
Captain Spike, while the other, in truth, belonged to the Mexican
government. The last contained the moat gold, but the first amounted
lo a sum that our young Fnale knew to be very considerable. Hose had
made him acquainted with the sex of Jack Tier since their own mar-
riage, and he at once saw that the claims of this uncouth wife, who was
BO soon to be a widow, to the gold in question, might prove to be as
good in law, as they unquestionably were in morals. On representing

tit "i

37C

CAPTAIN spike;

the facts of the case to Capt. Mull, and the legal functionaries at Kej
West, it was determined to relinquish this money to the heirs of Spik««
OS indeed ihey must have done under process, there being no oiber
claimant. These doubloons, however, did not amount to the full pricrof
the flour and powder that composed the cargo of the Swash. The cargo
had been purchased with Mexican funds, and all that Spike or his heir*
could claim, was the high freight for which he had undertaken the deli-
cate office of transporting those forbidden articles, contraband of war, to
the Dry Tortugas.

Mulfordf by this time, was high in the conBdence and esteem of all
on board the Poughkeepsie. He bad frankly explained his whole con-
nection with Spike, not even attempting lo conceal the reluctance he huA
felt to betray the brig, after he had fully aacertaiued the fact of hts
commander's treason.

The manly gentleman with whom he was now brought in contact
entered into his feelings, and admitted that it was an office no odc
could desire, to turn against the craft in which he sailed, li is tnif
they could not, and would not be traitors, but Mulford had stopped fif
short of this, and the distinction between such a character and that of
an informer was wide enough to satisfy all their scruples.

Then, Rose had the greatest success with the gentlemen of the
Poughkeepsie. Her youth, beauty, and modesty, told largely in hei
favour, and the simple womanly affection she unconsciously betrayed in
behalf of Harry, touched the heart of every observer. When the intrl-
ligence of her aunt's fate reached her, the sorrow she manifested was n
profound and natural, that every one sympathised with her grief. Nor
would she be satisfied unless Mulford would consent to go in search of th«
bodies. The latter knew the hopelessness of such an excursion, but he
could not refuse to comply. He was absent on that melancholy dutv.
therefore, at the moment of the scene related in our last chapter, and
did not return until after that which we are now about to lay before the
reader. Mrs. Budd, Biddy, and all of those who perished after the ya«rl
got clear of the reef, were drowned in deep water, and no more waa ever
seen of any of them; or if wreckers did pass them, they did not stop lo
bury the dead. It was different, however, with those who were first
sacrificed lo Spike's selfishness. They were drowned on the reef, and
Harry did actually recover the bodies of the Seiior Montefalderoo, and
of Josh, the steward ; they had washed upon a rock that is bare at low
water. He took them both to the Dry Tortugas, and had them interred
along with the other dead at that place. Don Juan was placed side by
side with his unfortunate countryman, the master of his equally un-
fortunate schooner.

While Harry was absent, and thus employed, Hose wept much, and
prayed more. She would have felt herself almost alone in the world,
hut for the youth to whom nhe had so recently, less than a week before,
plighted her faith in wedlock. That new tie, it is true, was of sufficient
importance to counteract many of the ordinary feelings of her situation,
and fthe now turned to it as the one which al^iorhed most of the future
duties of her life. Still, she misled the kindness, the solitudr,
oven the weaknesses of her aunt, and the terrible manner in which Mr».
Budd had perished, made her shudder with horror, whenever the
thought of iu Poor Biddy, too, came in for her share of the regret*.
This laithful creature, who had beeu in the relict's service ever since

OR, THE ISLETS OF THE GULF.

377

Hose'ff infancy, had become endeared tu her, in spite of her uncuutfa
manners and confused ideas, by ibc warmth of her heart, and Oiu singular
truth of her feeling. Hiddy, of all her family, liad come alone to
America, leaving behind her not only brothers nnd sisters, but parents
living. Each vear did she remit to the last a moiety of her earnings;
and many a half dollar that had como from Rose'a pretty little hand,
had been converted into gold, and forwarded on the same pious errand
to the green island of her nativity. Ireland, unhappy country! At
this moment, what arc not the dire necessities of thy poor? Here,
from the midat of abuuddnce, in a land that God has blessed in its pro-
ductions far beyond the limits of human wants, a land in which famine
was never known, do we at this moment hear thy groans, and listen to
tales of suffering that to us seem almost incredible. In the midst of
the«e chilling narratives, our eyes fall on an appeal to the English
nation, that appears in what it is the fashion of some to term the first
journal of Europe, (!) in behalf of thy suffering people, A worthy ap-
peal tu the charity of Euglood seldom fails, but it seems to us that one
sentiment of this might have been altered, if not spared. The English
are asked to be '•'' forgHful of the past," and to come forward to the relief
of their suffering fellow-subjects. We should have written " mindful
of the past** in its stead. We say this in charily, as well as in truth.
We come of Euglish blood, and if we claim to share in all the nncient
renown of that warlike and enlightened people, we are equally hound to
share iu the reproaches that original misgovernment has iiifitcted on
thee. In this latter sense, then, thou bast a right to our sympathies,
and they are not withheld.

As has been already said, we now advance the time eight and forty

hours, and again transfer the scene to that room in the hospital which

was occupied by Spike. The approaches of death, during the interval

I just named, had been slow but certain. The surgeons had announced

that the wounded man could not possibly survive the coming night, and

he, himself, had been made sensible that his end was near. It is

scarcely necessary to add, that Stephen Spike, conscious of his vigour

I and strength, in command of his brig, and bent on the pursuits of worldly

gains, or of personal grati6cution, was a very different person from him

who now lay stretched on his pallet in the hospital of Key West, a dying

roan. By the side of his bed, &till sat his strange nurse; less peculiar

iu appearance, however, than when last seen by the reader. Rose

Uudd had been ministering to the ungainly externals of Jack Tier. She

now wore a cap, thus concealing the short grey bristles of her hair, and

lending tu her countenance a little of that sotluess which is a requisite

of female character. Some attention had also been paid to the rest of her

attire, and Jack was, altogether less repulsive in her exterior, than when

unaided, she hod attempted to resume the proper garb of her sex* Use,

and association too, had contributed a little to revive her woman's

nature, if we may so expre!*8 it; and she had begun, in particular, to

feel the sort of interest in her patient, which we all come in time to

entertain towards any object of our especial care. We do not mean

that Jack had absolutely ever ceased to love her husband ; strange as it

f may seem, such had not literally been' the case ; on the contrary, her

I interest in him, and in his welfare, had never ceased, even while she

I saw his vices and detested his crimes : but all we wish tu say here, is

^ that she was getting, in addition to the long enduring feelings of a wife,

318

CAPTAIN SPTKE

Ultwtv to veepu

ttf the imerest of a ntine. During the wbole time which
Jack's rereatiog ber true character and the moment
rnhhA me are now writing, Spike had not once spoken to his
OAei kad she caught his eyea intently rivetted on her, when be «<
ttini them away, as she feared in distaste; and once or twice,
groaatd deeply, more like a man vfao suffered mental than bodily
8l3li tha flMiBl did not speak once, in all the time mentionod. WJ
■hnnM be H|ii— iiiiiifc' poor Jack as possessing naore philosophy, or \m
Ibe truth would warrant, were we to say, she waa od bort
u her bttsband. Oo the contrary, she frit it decfil;;
once, it had so far subdued her pride, a» to cbbk mt
This shedding of tears, however, was of senriee
; for it had the effect of renewing old imp
way of reriving the nature of her sex within her
had been sadly weakened by her past life.
Bat the hoar had at length come, when this long and paioful sileoi
wta to be broken. Jack and Rose were alono with the patient, w
the last again spoke to his wife.

*^ Molly, poor ^Tolly I" sud the dying man, his voice continuing
and deep to the last ** What a sad time you must tmve had of it,
I did you that wrong I"

**It is hard upoa a woman » Stephen, to torn her out helpless x
cold* selfish world,** answered Jack, simply ; much too honest to
rBScrre she did not feeL

** It was hard indeed. May God forgive me for it, as I hope yoa
Molly.-

No answer was made to this appeal, and the invalid looked anxiooslj
at hb wifp. The last rat at her work, which had now got to be Iw
awkward to her, wiih her eyes bent on her needle, and her counteoanor
rigid, and, so Hr as the eye could discern, her feelings unmoved.
** Yoar hosband speaks to you. Jack Tier," said How, |>oititedly.
"^ May jwrt never have occasion to speak to you, Rose Dudd, in the
MOM wa/y** VM the solemn answer. ** I do not flatter mvself that I
ererwas as eonely as you, or that yonder poor dying wretch was a Ilany
Mulford in his youth ; but we were young, and happy, and respected
once, and loved each other; yet, you see what it 's all come to !"

Kose was silenced, though she had too much tenderness in behalf of
her own youthful and manly bridegroom to dread a fate similar to thai
which had overtaken poor Jack. 8pike now seemed disposed to say aome-
thing more, and she went to the side of his bed, followed by hercompaoioo
who kept a little in the background, as if unwilling to let the emotioB
she really felt be seen, and, perhaps, conscious that her ungainly appeatv
anoe did not aid her in recovering the lost affections of her hui^iband
** 1 have been a verv wicked man, I fear," said ^pike, eamesUy.
"There are none without mu," answered Rose. ** Place your rolta
on the mediation of the Son of God ; sina far deeper than yours mar be
pardooed.**

71ie CAptfiiu stared ut the bt^autiful speaker, but self-indulgence, tbe
incessant pur-iuit of worMly and ^elfish objects for forty years, and the
habits of a lilV into which the thought of God and of the dread brre-
aHer never entorcd, had enca^ted his spiritual being in a sort of brsxvn^
armour^ thruujL^li wliich no ordinary blow of conscience could pouctraMbH
lit! had fi'orful glimpses of recent events, and his soul^ haugiog as^
I over the nbysE» of eternity, was troubled.

JOB

OR, THE ISLETS OP THE OULF.

87B

^V'What has become of your aunt?" half wfaisppred Spike; — *' my
^Hcapuun's widow. She ought to be here; and Dou Wao MootezuDoa,
^■wretaher

^Hltose turned aside to conceal her tears ; but no one answered the
^^■rtions of the dying man. Then a gleaming of childhood shot into
^Dfe recollection of Spike, and clasping his bands, he tried to pray. But,
like others who have lived without any communication with their Crea-
tor, through long lives of apathy to his existence and laws, thinking
ooly of the present time, and daily, hourly sacri6cing principles and duty
to the narrow interests of the momenti he now found how hard it is to
renew communications with a Being who has been so long neglected.
The fault lay in himself, however ; for a gracious ear was open even
over the death-bed of Stephen Spike, could that rude spirit only bring
itself to ask for mercy in earnestness and truth. As his companions saw
^u struggles, they left him for a few minutes to his own thoughts,
^■f* Molly," Spike at length uttered, in a faint tone, the voice of one
^ntciouB of being very near his end, " I hope you will forgive me,
Molly. I know you must have had a hard, hard time of it."

" It is hard for a woman to unsex herself, Stephen, — to throw off her
very natur*, as it might be, and to turn man."

'* It has changed you sadly. Even your speech is altered. Once your

Toice was sofl and womanish — more like that of Rose Iludd than it is now."

"I speak as them speak among whom I've been forced to live. The

PftirAoastle and steward's pantry, Stephen Spike, are poor schools to send
en to Tarn language in."
Try and forget it, poor Molly \ Say to me, so that I can hear you,
• I forget and forgive Stephen.' I am afraid God will not pardon ray
ainsi which begin to seem dreadful to me, if my own wife refuse to for-
g«t and forgive, on my dying bed."

Jack was much mollided by this appeal. Her interest in her offend-
ing husband had never been entirely extinguished. She had remem-
bered him, and often with woman's kindness, in all her wanderings and
sufferings, as the preceding ports of our narrative must shew ; and
though resentment had been mingled with the grief and mortification
she felt at finding how much he still submitted to Kose*s superior channs,
in a brcAst as really generous and humane as that of Jack Tier's, such
a feeUng was not likely to endure in the midst of a scene like that she
was now called to witness. The muscles of her countenance twitched,
tlie hardlooking, tanned face began to lose its sternness, and every way
she appeared like one profoundly disturbed.

** Turn to him whose goodness and raarcy may sarve you, Stephen,"
she said in a milder and more feminine tone than she had used, now, for
years, making her more like herself than either her husband or Hose
bad seen her, since the commencement of the late voyage. *' My saying
that I forget and forgive cannot help a man on his death-bed."

*' It will settle my mind, Molly, and leave me freer to turn my thoughts
to God."

Jack was much affected, more by the countenance and manner of the
»Dff«rer, perhaps, than by his words. She drew nearer to the side of
her husband's pallet, knelt, took his hands, and said solemnly :

" Stephen Spike, from the bottom of my heart, I do forgive you, and
1 shall pray to God that he will pardon your sins, as freely and more
marcifully than I now pardon all, and try to forget all, tliat you have
done to me."

CATTAX^

^m.

which pcme-

t^i the
T»

F tofed Ac
oTth*
Wall, kit
ia pwuidy the

«M Eisk U hishalf-«Mexed wife kaow hem to COMB

jy witnufJ la the JogwM oT hw

, . iNt pctMHft are aulnctcd m vha

"*^ OttfadaeeaBmtttiea: had bna a^de to lean the Gate-

^ Ur^t Pr^er, aad the Creed; md hmd bam left ta bm ep

> e«i thii naU eapitaly ia the gnat ooaccm of humaa e&iiU

''.aanb(»aa4attnao»eD the active hMRBixa of life When

^ ^»hkh she bad fassed the ktf tw«aty Tcan is ruoembcrctj

OR, THE ISLETS OP THE GULF.

381

DO on(f can be surprised to learn that Jack was of little assistance to her
husband in his extremity.

Hose made an effort to administer hope and consolation, but the ter-
rible nature ot' the sinig^le she witnessed induced her to send for tho
chaplain of the Poughkeepsie, This divine prayed with the dying roan;
but even he, in the laet moments of the sufferer, waa little more than a
passive but shucked witness of remorse suspended over the abyss of eter-
uity in hopeless dread. We shall not enter into the details of the revolt*
log scene, but simply add, that cur!:cs, blasphemy, tremulous cries for
Diercy, agonized entreaties to be advised, and sullen defiance, were all
strangely and fearfully blended. In the midst of one of these revolting*
paroxysms Spike breiuhed his last A few hours later, his body was
interred in the sauds of the shore. It may be well to say, in this place,
that the hurricane of 184l>, which is known to have occurred only a few
months later, swept off the frail covering, and that the body was washed
away to leave its boDes atnonjr the wrecks and relics of the Florida
Reef. ^

Mulford did not return from his fruitless expedition in quest of the
remmius of Mrs. Budd until after the death and interment of l^pike. As
nothing remained to be done at Key West, he and Hose, accompanied
by Jack Tier, took passage for Charleston in the lirst couvenient vessel
ifaat offered. Two days before they sailed, the Foughkcepsic went out
to cruise in the gulf, agreeably to her general orders. The evening
previously. Captain Mull, Wallace, and the cbaplaiu passed with the
bridegroom and bride, when the matter of the doubloons found in the
boat was discussed. It was agreed that Jack Tier should have them,
and into her bands the hag was now placed. On this occasion, to oblige
the officers. Jack went into a narrative of all she had seen and suffered,
from the uiomeut when she wh^ abandoned by her late bu^baaddown to
that when she found him again. It was a btrange account, and une tillt-d
with surprising adventures. In most of the vessels in which she had
served, Jack had acted in the steward's department, though she had
frequently done duty as a foremosL hand. In titrengih and skill she ud-
milted that she had often tailed, but in courage never. Having been
given reafioD to think her husband was reduced to serving in a vessel of
war, she had shipped on board a frigate bound to the Mediterranean,
and had actually made a whole crui&e, as a ward-room boy, on that sta-
tion. While thus Dniplovid, she had met with two of the gentlemen
present, Captain Mull and Mr. Wallace. The fonner was then first
lieutenant of the frigate, and the latter a passed midshipman ; and in
these capacities both had been well known to her. As the name she
then bore was the same as that uuder which she now 'hailed,' these
officertf were soon made to recollect her, though Jack was no longer the
light trim-built lad he had iht^n appeared to be. Neither of the gentlemen
named had made the whole cruise in the ship, but each had been pro-
moted and transferred to another craft,ai'ter bting Jack's shipmates rather
Tuure than a year. This information greatly faciUtated the affair of the
doubloons.

trom Charleston the trnvellcrB came north by railroad, having made
several stops by the way, in order to divert the thoughts of his beautiful
young bride from dwelling too much on the fate of her aunu He knew
that home would revive all these recollections painfully, and wished to
put off the hour of the return, until lime had u Utile weakeutd Hose's
regrets. For thL* reason he passed a whole week iu W'd»l\u\^\.u\\)\.^^^%^'^

Wkite Home nd iU

tllCBtf-

•r the WWte Hm»e n «

Hw Ar ovr 'pliiii|yt

las iMIBei' Btnctsftti W9
■fri^ tvoitT ynn iMvt
I apiMoai) that tbey tfv

w viB add aMthv w^ md that on « subject that is not
I the ■mniimi ti ■ people who bt position are un-
We iiiTila thoae wbo«e gorvea rise at any stricture

I, and vho hmcf h is CMoagfh to be1on|^ to thr great

^. D« gnat iB haeU; to place ^MematAre* in front of the Sute

It BOW Standi, and to examins its dinensions, material.

nlkalcyca; then to look aloog the adJAcent Treasurt

'-^ucjr thciD com|fU'ti>d hy a junciioii willi Dew cdi6ct<a of a

'^'^^^i to coutain the dufiartzncnt of state; uext, to f aocy

OR, THE ISLETS OF THE GULF.

S8»

similar works completed fur the two opposite departments; af^er which^
to compare the past and present with the future as thus finished, and
remember how recent has been the partial improvement which eveu now
pxi&ts. If this examination and comfKLrison do not show directly to the
sense of sight how much there was and is to criticise, as put in contrast
with other countries, we shall give up the individuals tn question* as too
deeply dyed in the provincial wool ever to be whitened. The present
Trinity Church, New York, certainly not more than a third-class Euro-
pean church, if as much, compared with its village-like predecessor^ may
supply a practical homily of the same degree of usefulness. There may
be those among us, however, who fancy it patriotism to maintain that
Uie old Treasury buildings are quite equal to the new; and of these in-
tense Americans we cry their mercy I

Rose felt keenly, on reaching her late aunt's very neat dwellings in
Fourteenth Street, New York, But the manly tenderness of Mulford
was a great support to her, and a little time brought her to think of that
weak-minded but well-rtieaning and affectionate relative with gentle re-
gret rather than with grief. Among I he connections of her young hus-
band, she found several females of a class in life certainly equal to her
own, and somewhat superior to the latter in education and habits. As
for Harry, he very gladly passed the season with his beautiful bride
though a fine ship was laid down for him, by means of Hose s fortune
now much increased by her aunt's dcatit, and he was absent in Europe
when his son was bom, — an event that occurred only two months since.

Tlie Swasli and the shipment of gunpowder were thought of no more
in the good town of Manhattan. This great o-mporium — we beg pardon,
tbis great ojtnmercial emporium — has a trick of forgetting, condensing all
interests into those of the present moment. It Is much addicted to be-
lieving that which never had an existence, and of overlooking that which
i« occurring directly under iU wtse. So marked is this tendency to for-
(^tfulncsi), we should not be surprised to hear some of the Manhattoness
pretend that our legend is nothing but a fiction, and deny the existence
of the Molly, Captain ^plke, and even of Uiddy Moon. Uut we know
them too well to mind what they say, and sbiiU go on and finish our
narrative in our own way, just as if there were no such mven-lhroaled
commentators at all.

Jack Tier, still known by that name, lives in the family of Cap-
tjuo Mulford. She is fast losing the tan on her face and hands, and
every day is improviug in appearance. She now habitually wears her
proper attire, and is dropping gradually into the feelings and habits of
her sex. She never can becouie what she once was, any more than the
blackamoor con become white, or the leopard change his sjMts ; but she
ia no longer revolting ; she has left off chewing and smoking, having
found a refuge in snutf. Her hair is permitted to grow, and is already
turned up with a comb, though constantly concealed beneath a cap.
Tbe heart of Jack alone seems unaltered. The strange tiger-like afTec-
tion that she bore for Spike, during twenty years of abandonment, has
diaappearcd in regrets for his end. It is succeeded by a moat sincere
attachment for Kose, in which the little boy, since his appearance on the
scene, is beconutig a large participator. This child Jack is beginning to
love intensely; and the doubloons, well invested, placing her above the
feeling of dependence, she is likely to end her life, once so errant and
disturbed, in tranquillity and a homelike happiness.

LVK BATTLES OF TUE WORLD.

hmT9 iiiiliiHy

tr.,~jLMMMXKs% Ticrcmv oTEK ras soman legions
mom rAADEL

^e vorid of letters. «t ^.r
eloquent i*nimair Uut ««

the
•f Impcral Bone.

T onoe M. Goixoc ddittni

« Pvis M ea«rar of icctam oo the

years tbe spiriKtf

aoiTctnl, aodtk

«r 31. Gmam'9 wk kat |tf<apafftaooal)jr mcieMwl

«f fte ciHplcx pafitmlaid noa]

otiBmA wwld b andc op, maff

tkfr great crises of

rarterirtics af tW prcMOt ««rr deterviiBBA.

«r OK iTtlnr ervaft crina. of the epoch A. A 9, via

IV. — ARMTNTUS'S VICTORY OVER VARUS.

385

Roman garriiions; and, what was worse, many of the Germans
seemed patiently acquiescent in their atate of bondage. The braver
portion, whose patriotism could be relied on, was ill-armed and un-
disciplined ; while the enemy's troops consisted of veterans in the
highest state of equipment and training, familiarized with victory,
and commanded by officers of proved skili and valour. The re-
sources of Rome seemed boundless; her tenacity of purpose was
believed to be invincible. There was no hope of foreign sympathy
or aid ; for '*the self-governing powers that had filled the old world
had bent one after ahother before the rising power of Rome, and
had vanished. The earth seemed left void of independent na-
tions.""

Tlie German chiedain knew well the gigantic power of the op-
pressor. Arminius was no rude savage, fighting out of mere animal
instinct, or in ignorance of the might of his adversary. He was
familiar with the Roman language and civilization ; he had served
in the Roman armies; he had been adnntted to the Roman citizen-
ships and raised Uj the rank of the equestrian order. It was part of
the subtle policy of Rome to confer rank and privileges on the youth
of the leading families in the nutifms which she wished to enshive.
Among other young German chietbiins, Arminius and his brother,
who were the heads of the noblest houKC in the tribe of the Cherusci,
had been selected as fit objects for the exercise of this insidious sys-
tem. Roman refinements and dignities succeeded in denationalizing
the brother, who assumed the Roman name of Flavins, and adhered
to Rome throughout all her wars against his country. Arminius
remained unbought by honours or wealth, uncorrupted by refine-
ment or luxury. He aspired to and obtained from Roman enmity a
higher title than ever could have been given him by Roman favour.
Tt is in the page of Rome's greatest historian that his name has come
down to us with the proud addition of " Liberator baud dubie Ger-
man! w/'t

Often must the young chieftain, while meditating the exploit
which has thus immortaliy/ed him> have anxiously revolved in his
mind the fate of the many great men who had been crushed in
the attempt which he was about to renew, — the attempt to stay the
chariot-wheels of triumphant Rome. Could he hope to succeed
where Hannibal and Mitnridatca had perished? What had been the
doom of Viriathus? and what warning against vain valour was writ-
ten on the desolate site where Numantia once had flourished.? Nor
was a caution wanting in scenes nearer liome and more recent time^.
The Gauls had fruitlessly struggled for eight years against Cirsar ; and
the gallant Vercingetorix, who in the last year of the war hail roused all
his countrymen to insurrection, who had cut off Roman detachments,
and brought CVsar himself to the extreme of peril at Alesia— he, too,
had finally fluccuuibedj tiad been led captive in Csesflr's triumph^ and
had then been butchered in cold blood in a Roman dungeon.

It was true that Rome was no longer the great military republic,
which for so many ages had shattered the kingdoms of the world.
Her system of government was changed ; and after a century of
revolution and civil war she had placed herself under the despotism
of a single ruler. But the discipline oC her troops was yet unim-
paired, and her warlike spirit seemed unabated. The first years of

• Ranke.

t Tacitui, AnnaU, H. HH,

386

THE SIX nECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

the empire had l>een signalized by conquests as valuable ns iny
gained by the republic in a corresponding periotl. The generals of
Augustus had extendetl the Roman frontier from the Alps to the
Danube, and had reduced into subjection the large and important
ooantries that now form the territories of all Austria, south of thit
river, and of East Switzerland. Lower Wirtemberg, Bavaria, ihf
Valtelline, and the Tyrol. While the progress of the Roman arms
thus pressed the Germans from the south, still more formidable in-
roads had been made by the Imperial legions pn the west. Roman
armies moving from the province of Gnul, established a chain of
fortresses along the right as well as the left bank of the Rhine, and
in a series of victorious campaigns, advanced their eagles as far ai
the Elbej which now 6eeme<l added to the list of vassal rivers, to the
Nile, the Rhine, the Rhone, the Danube, the Tagus, the Seine, and
many mure, that acknowledged the supremacy of the Tiber. Roman
fleets also sailing from the harbours of Gaul along the German coasts
and up the estuaries, co-operated with the land-fi>rces of the empire,
and seemeti to display, even more decisively than her armies, her
overwhelming superiority over the rude Germanic tribe?. Through-
out the territory thus invaded, the Romans had with their usual
military skill established fortiBed posts; and a powerful army of
occupation was kept on foot, ready to move instantly on any spot
where any popular outbreak might be attempted.

Vast however, and admirably organized as the fabric of Roman
power appeared on the frontiers and in the provinces, there wai
rottenness at the core. In Rome's unceasing hostilities with foreign
foes, and still more, in her long series of desolating civil wars,
the free middle classes of Italy had almost wholly disappeared
Above the position which they had occupied an oligarchy of wealth
had reared itself: beneath that position a degraded ma&s of poverty
and misery was fermenting. Slaves, tlie chance sweepings of every
conquereil country, shoals of Africans, Sardinians, Asiatics, lUvriiins,
and others made up the bulk of the population of the Peninsula.
The foulest profligacy of manners was general in all ranks. In uni-
versal weariness of revolution and civil war, and in consciousness of
bang too debftsed for self-government the nation had submitted it-
self to the absolute authority of Augustus. Adulation was now the
chief function of the senate : and the gifu of genius and accomplish-
ments of art were devoted to the elaboration of eloquently false
panegyrics upon the prince and his favourite courtiers. With bitter
indignation must the German chiet\ain have beheld all this, and

contrasted with it the rough worth of his own countrymen; their

bravery, their fidelity to their word, their manly independence of
spirit, their love of their national free institutions, and their loathing
of every pollution and meanness. Above all, he must have thought
o( the domestic virtues that hallowed a German home; of the re-
spect tlu're tihewn to the female character, and of the pure affection
by which that respect was repaid. His soul must have burned
within him at the contemplation of such a race yielding to these de-
based Italians.

Still, to persuade the Germans to combine, in spite of their fir-
quent feuds among themselves, in one sudden outbreak again»t
Rome; — to keep the scheme concealed from the Romans until
the hour for action arrivei] ; and then, without poeiceshig a single

■ARMTNTUS'S VICTORY OVER VAUUB.

rr.

887

walled town, without military storM, without traininjf, to tench
his insurgent countrynieii to dffeat veteran armies^ and storm
fortifications, seemed so perilous an enterprise, that probably Armi-
nius would have receded from it, had not a stronger feeling even
than patriotism urged him on. Among the Germans of high rank,
who had most readily submitted to the invaders, and become zeal-
ous partisans of Roman authority, was a chieftain named Segesies.
His daughter, Thusnelda, was preeminent among the noble maidens
of Germany* Arminiue had sought her hand in marriage; but
Segestes, who probably discerned the young chief's disaffection to
Rome, forbade his suit, and strove to preclude all communication
between him and his daughter. Thusnelda, however, sympathized
far more with the heroic spirit of her lover, than with the time-
serving policy of her father. An elopement bnffled the precautions
of Segeites; who, disappointed in his hope of preventing the mar-
riage, accused Arminius, before the Roman governor, of having car-
ried off Uh daughter, and of planning treason against Rome. Thus
assailed, and dreading to see his bride torn from him by the officials
of the foreign oppressor, Arminius delayed no longer, but bent all
his energies to organize and execute a general insurrection of the
^eat mass of his countrymen, who hitherto had submitted in sullen
hatred to the Roman dominion.

A change of governors had recently taken place, which, while it ma-
terially favoured the ultimate success of the insurgents, served by the
immediate aggravation of the Roman oppressions which it produced,
to make the native population more universally eager to lake arms.
Tiberius, he who was afterwards emperor, had recently been recalled
from the command in (lerniany^ and sent into Pannonia to put down
a dangerous revolt which had broken out against the Romans in that
province. The German patriots were thus delivered from the stem
supervision of one of the most suspicious of mankind, and were also
relieved from having to contend against the high military talents of
a veteran commander, who thoroughly understood their national
character, and also the nature of the country, which he himself had
principally subdued. In the room of Tiberius, Augustus sent into
Germany Quintilius Varus, who had lately returned from the Pro-
consulate of Syria. Varus was a true representative of the higher
classes of the Romans, among whom a general taste for literature, a
keen susceptibility to all intellectual qualifications, a minute ac-
quaintance with the principles and practice of their own national
jurisprudence, a careful training in the schools of the Rhetoricians,
and a fondness for either partaking in or watching the intel-
lectual strife of forensic oratory, had become generally diffused,
without, however, having humanized the old Roman spirit of cruel
indifference for human feelings and human sufferings, and without
acting as the least checks on unprincipled avarice and ambition, or
on habitual and gross profligacy. Accustomed to govern the de-
praved and debased natives of Syria, a country where courage in
man. and virtue in woman, liad fur centuries been unknown, Varus
thought that he might gratify his licentious and rapacious passions
with equal impunity among the high-minded sons and pure-spirited

daughters of Germany.

When the general of an army sets the ex-

ated
The

ample of outrages of this description, he is soon faithfully imitated
by nis officers, and surpassed by his still more brutal soldiery ~"

388

THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

Romans now habitually indulgetl in those violationa of the sanctitj
of the domestic shrine, and those insults upon honour and modnty
by which far less pliant spirits than thoiteof our Teutonic anoestoo
have often been maddened into insurrection.*

Arminius found amont; the other German chiefs many who •yin-
pathiscd with him in his indi^iation at their country's abasetoent,
and many whom private wrongs had stung yK more deeply. There
was little difficulty in collecting bold leaders for an attack on iht
oppressors, and little fear of the population not rising readily it
those leaders' call. But to declare open war against Rome, and to
encounter Varus' army in a pitched battle, would have been merely
rushing upon certain destruction. Varus had three legions under
him> a force which, after allowing for detachments, cannot be e«ti
matetl at less than fourteen thousand Roman infantry. He had al.«o
eight or nine hundred Roman cavalry, and at least an equal number
of horse and foot sent from the allied states, or raised among tboie
provincials that hud not received the Roman franchise.

It was not merely the number but the quality of this force ihii
made them formidable ; and however contemptible Varus might be
as a general, Arminius well knew how admirably the Roman anuie*
were organized and officered, and how perfectly the legionaries under-
stood every mancruvreand every duty which the varying emergencies
of a stricken field might reqiiire. Stratagem was, therefore. indJ«-
pensable; and it was necessary to blind Varus to their schemes uiftil
a favourable opportunity should arrive for striking a decisive blow.

For this purpose, the German confederates frequented the hcsd-
quarters of Varus, which seem to have been near the centre of the
modern country of Westphalia, where the Roman general conductnl
himself with all the arrogant security of the governor of a pcrfectljr
submissive province. There Varus gratified at once his vanity, hu
rhetorical tastes, and his avarice, by holding courts, to which he sum-
moned the Germans for the settlement of all their disputes, whileabsr
of Roman advocates attended to argue the cases before the tribunil
of Varus, who did not omit the opportunity of exacting court-fees and
accepting bribes. Varus trusted implicitly to the respect which the
German? pretended to pay to his abilities ns a judge, and to the in-
terest which they affected to take in the forensic eloquence of their
conquerors. Meanwhile a succession of heavy rains rendered tiie

* I cannot forbear qaoting Miu:aulay*8 beautiful lines, where he dearrihes bov
similu- oitiragi4 in ihe early times of Home goaded the PlebeUnn to rise agsiaM
the Patricians.

^' Heap heavier fitill the fetters , bar clcMer still the grate ;
Patient a» tihoep we yield ua up unto ymir cmel hate.
But hy the fthades Iwneaih us, and by the ^mls above.
Add not unto your cruel hate vour still more cruel love.
• • * • •

Then leave the poor Plebeian hit single tie to life —

The Hweet, sweet love of daughter, (rf^ sister, and of wife,

Tlic ^'enile speech, the biilin for all that his vext soul endures,

Tht? kiss in which he half foi^ets even such a yvke ns yours

Still Ifi the maiden's t>eauty swell the father's breast witli pride ;

Still lei ihii hridefrroom's amis enfold an uupulluted bride.

.Spare us the inexpiable wrong, tlie unutternMi' shame,

'Hiat turns the coward's heart to steel, the sluggardV blood to flame ;

Ijest wli«n nnr latest htipe is fled ye taste of onr despair,

And learn by proof in some wild hour how much the wretched dare."

TV.— ARMINIUS S VICTORY OVER VARUS.

389

"The I

country more ditificiilt for the operations of regular troops, and Armi-
nius, seeing that the infatiirition of Varus was complete, secretly
directed the tribes in Lower Snxony to revolt. This was repre-
sented to Varus as an occasion which required hi;* prompt attend-
mice at the spot ; but he was kept in studied ignorance of its being
ot'a concerted national riding ; and be still looked on Arminius
lii« submissive vasso], whose aid he might rely on in facilitating
e march uf his troops against tlie rebels, and in extinguishing the
local ilisturbance. lie therefore set his army in motion, and marched
eastward in a line parallel to the course of the Lippe. For some
distance, his route lay along a level plaiii ; but on arrivint; at the
tract between the curve of the upper part of that stream and the
sources ol* the Kms, the country assumes a very ditTerent clmracter ;
and here, in the territory of the modern little principality of Lippe,
it was that Arminius had fixed the scene of his enterprise.

A woody and hilly region intervenes between the heads of the two
rivers, and forms the water-shed of their streams. This region still
retains the name (Teutonberger wald = Teutobergiensis saltus) which

it bore in the dnys of Anninius.

The nature uf the ground has pro-

Det-

bablv also remained unaltered. The eastern part of it, round
wolu^ is described by a modern German scholar. Dr. Plate, as being a
" table-land intersected by numerous deej) and narrow valleys, which
in some places form small plains, surrounded by steep mountains ami
rocks, and only accessible by narrow defiles. All the vuUeys arc
traversed by rapid streams, shallow in the dry season, but subject
to sudden swellings in autumn and winter. The vast forests which
cover the summits and slopes uf the hills consist chieHy of oak ;
there is little underwood, and both men and horse would move with
ease in the forests if the ground were not broken b)' guUeya, or ren-
dered impracticable by fallen trees." This is the district to which
Varus is supposed tu have marched ; and Dr. Plate adds, that " the
naunes of several localities on and near tliat spot seem to indicate
that a great battle has once been fought there. We find the names
• doa Winnefeld' (the field of victory), 'die Knochenbahn' (the bone-
lane), 'die Knochenleke* (the bone-brook), 'der Mordkesael," (the
kettle of slaughter), and others."

Contrary to the usual strict principles of Roman discipline Varus
had suffered his army to be accompanied and impeded by an immense
tridn of baggage waggons, and by a rabble of camp followers; as if
his troops had been merely changing their quarters in a friendly
country. When the long array quitted the firm level ground, and
began to wind its way among the woods, the marshes* and the
ravines, the difficulties of the march, even without the intervontion
of an armed foe, became fearfully app:u"ent. In many places the soil,
sodden with rain, was inipructicable for cavalry and even for infantry,
until trees had been felled, and a rude embankment formed through
the morass.

The duties of the engineer were familiar to all who served in the
Roman ranks. But the crowd and confusion uf the cuUnnns em-
barrassed the working parties of the soldiery, and in the midst of
their toil and disorder the word was suddenly passed through their
rank that the rear-guard was attacked by the barbarians. V'arus re-
solved on pressing forward, but a heavy discharge ofi missiles from
the voods on either flank taught him how serious was the |>eril, and

VOL, xxin. V V

IV ARMINias's VICTORY OVER VARUS.

S91

from any hope of success or escape. Varus, after being «evereJy
wounded iu a charge of ihe Germans against his pari of tlie coIuihh,
commitietl suicide to avoid lalfing into ihe hands of those wfiom he
had exasperated by his oppression. One of the lieutenant-generals
of the army fell fightings the other surrendered to the enemy. But
mercy to a fallen foe had never been a Roman virtue, and those
among their ranks wtio now laid down their anus in hope of quarter,
drank deep of the cup of suffering which Rome had held to the lipa
of many a brave but unfortunate enemy. The iDfuriated Germana
slaughtered their oppressors with deliberate ferocity; and those
prisoncra who were not hewn to pieces on the spot, were only pre-
served to perish by a more cruel death in cold blood.

The bulk of the Koman army fought steadily and stubbornly, fre-
quently repelling the masses of the assailants; but gradually losing
the compactness of their array, and becoming weaker and weaker
beneath the incessant shower of darts and the reiterated assaults
of the vigorous and unincumbered Germans, at last, in a series
of desperate attacks, the column was pierced through and tlirough,
two of the eagles captured, and the Roman host, which on the
yester morning hud marched forth in such pride and might, now
broken up into confused fragments, either fell fighting beneath
the overpowering numbers of the enemy, or perished in the swamps
and woods in unavailing efforts at flight. Few, very few, ever
saw again the left bank of the Rhine. One body of brave vete-
rans, arraying thcmaelves in a ring on a little mound, beat off
every charge of the Germans, and prolonged their honourable resist-
ance to the close of that dreadful day. The traces oC a feeble
attempt at forming a ditch and mound attested in aher years the
spot where the last of the Romans passed their night of suffering
and despair. But on the morrow thia remnant also, worn out with
hunger, wounds, and toil, was charged by the victorious Germans,
and either massacred on the spot, or offered up in fearful rites at the
altars of the terrible deities of the old mythology of the North.

Never was victory more dcctgivC} never was the liberation of an
oppressed people more instanlancoua and complete. Throughout
Germany the Roman garrisous were assailed and cut off; and within
a few days after Varus liad fallen the German soil was freed from the
foot of an invader.

The Germans did not pursue their victory beyond their own
territory. But that victory secured at once and for ever the inde-
pendence of the Teutonic race. Rome sent, indeed, her legions again
into Germany, to parade a temporary superiority; but all hopes of
permanent conquests were abandoned by Augustus and his succes-
sors. The blow which Arminius had struck, never was forgotten.
Roman fear disguised itself under the specious title of moderation:
and the Rhine became the acknowledged boundary of the two na-
tions, until tlie fifth century of our era, when the Germans became
again the assailants, and carved with their conquering swords the pro-
vinces of Imperial Rome into the kingdoms of modern Europe.

r r 2

nB^UHR«graI Nova Sootu

•r CaloMl C a Dcrtii^ a eorpi

nCMaAi, BftTchcd to Qaebrc

be BO bngcr requireJ, tbrt

vidi the view of pr»>

wn* TMCtTod Utere» to U

a RBBrkablr fine f HgaU-
of tte right viif

of i« i— ■, wm t^i^U far the
Ao

tht rtiC too koarad mak ond Oe, Ibrtj-e^

7W aUp HAS also pcorided witik

•way far lU

Ualrcd iMliTidMk

WRECK OP THE ARCHDUKE CHARLES.

S93

pilot. How far he waa fitted for his responsible situation subiequcnt
events will develop.

^ Tlie *' Arcbdnku Charles ** left the harbour of Quebec on (he raoming
'of the 2!nh of May, 181(5, with a fresh breeze from the P^.N.E. Nothing
'worthy of particular remark occurred for the first ten days of the voy-

(•«^-

On the evening of the tenth day from the ship's leaving Quebec she

\ cleared the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and, upon making what was deemed a
I suflScicnt offing, the pilot directed the ship's course to be altered to the
I westward, with the intention of making Halifax on the following day.
I About 7 P.M., the atmosphere being at the time remarkably clear, a black
^ circle was observed to windward on the horizon, stretching from north-east
to south-west — tho wi-ll-knowti forerunner of a fog-bank ; and in a short
Ume the ship was surrmindiHl by one of those dense fogs so common on
that coast. Knowing that they were now arrived in the track of the
homeward-bound West India ships, and the fog increasing to a pitchy
blackness, accompanied by heavy rain, with continued squalls, a con*
Puliation was held among the officers of the ship as to the most pru-
dent noeans to adopt ; and it was deemed most advisable, at the
suggestion of the pilot, to continue the course under easy sail. The
consequence was, that look-outs were placed forward^ the drum was
ordered to be kept beating at intervals, and other precautions takon to
revent collision, in case of falling in with any ship during the night.
as also deemed desirable to have a portion of the troops ou deck, to
the watch,
r the arrangements for the night had been concluded, those who
'Wero not appointed to duty retired to their berths; among these waa
Lieutenant Charles Stewart, then commanding the grenadier company,
whose subsequent brave conduct was the means of rescuing from a
ierrible death nearly the whole of the pprsons embarked in this ill-
fated ship. He felt himself extremt'ly fatigued by continuing so
much on deck, as he had already done, at the request of his colonel,
— for he had scarcely been one night in bed during the passage. He
had hardly descended to his cabin, for the purpose of taking some need-
ful repose, when, to his surprise, he was sent for by Colonel Darling, who
stated to him " that it was his particular wish (considering the extreme
danger in which the ship was placed by the density of the fog,) that he
should remain on deck during the nip^ht; as, in fact, his wife could not
re:st in her bed unless he consented to do so. Although Lieutenant
Stewart pointed out the exertion he had already undergone, and the ab-
solute necessity that he should have some rt* laxalion of duty, he was too
ood a soldier to murmur at the request— in truth, it may be said, com-
of his superior officer.
fter the usual courtesies had been exchanged, and Colonel Darling
informed Lieutenant Stewart that some refreshments would be left
lout for his especial use during the night, ten men were ordered under his
kXHumaQd to the forecastle* where he was to take his station ; and ten
jrvn^re^ under Captain Glennie, were ordered to the after part of the ship.
I e rain continued to fall incessantly, sudden squalls of wind, with a
neary sea rising, occasioned the ship to ** work " much ; but it was im-
possible, from the darkness of the night, and the impenetrable density of
the fog, »o see half her length ; however, as it was kuown that the king's
pilot Lad himself taken the wheel, a degree of confideuce was generally

394

NARRATIVB OF THE WUI

I I

created in the minds of all on board, and bopei
not anything of serious nioment would occur bcfoi
anxiously looked for by crew, as well as by passengf
At about 10 r.M. the "look-out" stationed on the
forecastle, and directed Lieutenant Stewart's att
thought was a light a-head ; and by bis looking dir
the horizon, over the ship's bulwark, Lieutenant Ste
alfio observed it ; be itnniediately repaired aft to the
port the same to ihc pilot, vrheo, to bis surprise, he
Darling (who, he supposed, had retired to hie t
majesty's pilot a glass of hot grog. Upon Lieut
ing hi3 report, he was replied to in an uncourtcous ]
and ordered by his colonel back to his station,
returned forward, when the ** look-out" again cal
and Lieutenant Stewart placing his eye in the sami
distinctly saw what he considered a flickering \\g
again prudent to go to the quarter-deck, and to re
the result of his observation. The answer he rei
have beim a king's pilot on this coast for twenty*fiv<
where I aru." The colonel then said, " Mr. Stewj
to your post immediately." To which Lieiitena
♦•Sir, .1 have done what I considered my duty." Af^
Lieutenant Stewart considered it useless to make i
and with a heavy presentiment on his mind, he conti
But a short lime had elapscfl between Lieutenant
the forecastle, the rain still pouring itb torrents witl
and the fog continuing equally thick, when an occ
which had all the attributes of supernatural agei
imaginary vision, for ages "talked of " by sailors,
them as a certain warning of some disaster. It wa
when one of the sailors suddenly called Liouteuaut
to a dark object, which appeared to shoot paat the
with the rapidity of lightning, and the words "take
were distinctly heard. Lieutenant Stewart immei
drum to cease, and although the most profoum
served for some time afterwards by those on tlie
more could be heard, and it was considered to ha
About midnight^ Lieuteniuit Stewart finding hims
from continued watching, and the heavy weight of h
detorniined to leave the deck for a few minutes.
got below, thrown off his cloak, and was about 1
refrcshmonis which his colonel had left for his
dismay he felt the ship strike with a truuieudous
could gain the deck, the sea had struck the ship a
bulwarktt, and with it the whole of the round hou
board with the wreck two women who were sleeping
Ihose only, who have been placed in like circumstai
eye-wituesaes, can form a correct idea of the hori
stantly ensued. It is almost impossible to deac
maniac-like actions which take place in a ship cr
at the moment of a wreck like this. Amidst the
6ea, in tutal diirknesit, iho screams of the women au
io&i, of i\i\ command over the men, husbands

inds U

OF THE ARCHDUKE CHAALES.

895

•eeking only their own preservation, wives rushing for protection
to otlier&. present an awful spectacle. In this instance, an officer of
undoubted courage, hitherto an affectionate husband, heedless of the
inlreaties of his beseeching wife, rushed up the main rigging and left
ber to her fate. The wife of Colonel Darling, catching the sound of
Lieutenant Stewart's voice, Hew towards him and clasping him round
the knees, besought him in the most piteous language " to save ber
life i* with the greatest difficulty he was able to extricate himself from
her death like grasp, and to hasten forward.

The ship appeared to have struck on a sunken rock, the sea making
a clear breach over her, and evidently she was fast filling ; several were
washed away the moment they escaped from their beds, but nearly the
whole of the persons on board, the crew, the troops, the women and
ehildreo, reached the fore part of the ship, where they remained huddled
together in one mass of human despair, watching with intensity for the
coming day. At about 5 a.m. the light was sufficient to enable them to
discover that the ship had struck on one of the Jeddore Rocks, lying
about a mile and a halt' from the coast, and sixty miles east of Halifax.
How she had got ihcrc during the night, still remains a mystery ; it is said
to have been afterwards accounted for by the supposition that, although
the ship's /letid had been kept to her course, the current had gradually
.caused her to near the land.

^^As daylight increased, they could then perceive that at about the
^Bbnce of fifty yards from the ship's bows, was a rock above water,
but Against which the sea lashed itself with terrific violence. To get a
communication with this rock by means of a rope, was now considered
their only hope. One suggestion followed another, and was as quickly
abandoned. Among the crow was a seaman, a ** Trafalgar man,'' and
who had, for that reason, been looked upon with some consideration ;
his advice it was deemed would be of imjiortance. He was sought
for, but alas I notwithstanding the peril of the moment, with death
every instant threatening his existence^ he who had escoped the
bloody battle, was found insensibly drunk. He with other^f, aban-
doning themselves to their fate, it was soon discovered, had forced
the spirit stores ; some of the men had likewise broken open a
chest of specie and loaded themselves with doubloons, the weight of
which afterwards cost them their lives. At length, as if by general in-
stiiict, all eyes were directed towards Lieutenant Srewart, who had
stood with folded anus, calndy surveying the intervening gulf between
him and the rock, to pass which, the mountainous sea every instant
wasting itself in a long line of foam, seemed to bid defiance to all
human power; each man of the crew had declared the attempt as utter-
ly beyond the accomplishment of man^ and the soldiers alike shrunk
from the attempt. Lieutenant Stewart was knovm to be a most expert
swimmer, and at length the silent thought broke into earnest solicita-
tion. Instantly the soldiers, so highly was he held in their estimation,
amid the wild confusion which reigned around them, fell on their knees
and besought him to save their lives. A half inch rope of sufficient
length was soon procured ; divesting himself of clothes, except a pair of
light trowsers and fihirt. and buckling his military cap tightly, with the
rope secured round his body, he dashed from the fore chains into the
boiling surge; he was immediately lost sight of by those on board,
haTing been sucked under the ship, but recovering himself and swim-

ftoilie

W
of waring hb

«■ Ike mie of the rock «]
to crcpp rouAu

Fran the ■omidi be faad
of hk bod J, «Wa prvrioaslj
MO HI ■Bw kfttiB^ booonc ftuT
b» ol irA v» ohIiW to

■■ft MWigrflil StfVtl^tll

oTlbet^ fbrvlMclibe
of dbo ma^ttf of vImA be bad almdy ifrMnpiiBbcd in
Ibe ropcw oakM be cenU five intanotiea of it to tboer on ibe wrrck, he
tbe e#bfti of Us Hcrealen fraae. ooCvrtbstandiDg bis
bvtbe s^btj odvnvary vkh which he «u
trn£Bf . Wben natare bad aeariy reHgncd tbe eoote»t^ aAer
hour'5 straggUag to gaia tbe muiiery of tbe fiMmiaar wairr. he rcacbrd
tb<^ side n«orv*t the thip, eod was agaia tbrowa oa tbe rock oppositr ibe
vrrck : iciKmctiTelv relrhaiy a braoeb of tbe sea-weed, he mms enabled
{p tniiiotaiu his hold uutU the retiriog- wire Wfk him Ijinf^r on hts baek»
ia a sUie ^^''xl^^^^Lsiiou approaGhing to ui5eoeibtluy. He wu now for
the 6rst limp seen from the wreck ; tbcy autioosly wailed for ibe signal;

OF THE AUCHDUKE CHARLES-

397

ibis he was soon enabled to ^ive them, and inntantly all on board raised
a joyful cxclamatioi) at the prospect of cHcape from their awful situa-
lion. They began to haul on the rope, and found it fast ; the ship had
by this time fortunately "forged" considerably ahead, and consequently
her bowa approached nearer to the rock. No time was now lost in
launching the jolly boat, (the only one remaining onboard) which they
&lung from the " cat-head." Having accomplished this, and being able
to keep her by the aid of the rope under the end of the bowsprit, one of
the sailors soon hauled her to the rock, bringing with him another and
Btouter rope ; this was secured like the former one, and as the ship
evidently could not long hold together, it was resolved that the women
and children should be the 6r6t taken off the wreck. As the boat could
now be " kept steady" under the bowsprit, the women were slung two at
a time and lowered into her ; the size of the boat would only admit of
that number each trip, with two men to pull her.

Lieutenant Stewart having partially recovered from the state of al-
most insensibility in which he had been lying, raised himself, for the
purpose of assisting those who might be brought to the rock. He was
now fully convinced that its nigged and slippery surface did not contain
sufficient space to allow of even standing-room for the whole of those on
board ; but, the instant after he saw the boat leave the ship with its 6rst
freight, containing the colonel's wife, her two children, and the assistant'
surgeon of the regiment, the fog suddenly cleared (in the form of a long
vista) towards the coast, and discovered to him another rock, of appa-
rently much larger dimensions, and of considerably more elevation above
the sea. Consequently, as the boat neared him, he directed their atten-
tion by signs, and as those in her now observed it, they pulled towards
the second rock, and, Ending the swell much less than outside, they wore
enabled to land their freight in safety. In this manner they continued
to transport from the wreck the whole of the women and children.

In the meantime a running toggle had been rigged on the ropes, for
hauling the men on the rock where Lieutenant Stewart was, and many
of the soldiers, as well as tbe whole of the officers, had been drawu from
the wreck sonic time before all the women could be got off.

An occurrence here took place, shewing how the love of life will pre-
vail over all other considerations. Still, instances such as the follow-
ing, it ia to be hoped, for the credit of human nature, are rare
indeed. Horrible as the situation of those on board was momentarily
becoming, yet one con scarcely believe that the dearest ties on earth
which man possesses could be severed and forgotten, under any circum-
stances, however dreadful. As Captain W was about to quit the

wreck by the rope, his wife, who had been lashed in the fore-rigging, to
prevent her being washed away, perceiving his intention, raised her in-
fant from her breast^ and, with out-stretched arms and hideous shrieks
implored him not to leave her. She and her child were alike unheeded.
This was seen by the soldiers already landfd ; many of them belonging
to the captain's own company. On his arriving at the rock, Lieutenant
Stewart could not forbear pithily saying to him,

" Ah I my good fellow, you'll never be turned to a pillar of salt, for
looking behind you."

The poor lady and her babe were, however, happily saved, with the
other females. Women arc proverbially said to be of a forgiving dis-
position ; but the writer has not been able to ascertain if tho cap-

nuoATrns or tbm wuck

ilHt pvdoa, to mhitk kia coodsct fo Uufe cnthM

eBOmOKL ThMi

iwptfi, aeilj the

rfM^iiihlH ■^■>^"''i "aJ Aflfaa, which Jad

b* Ml her (ow «f t^ icfls«Ms) had sot done M BOR
«a rtnick her, aheheriea mm,

«M^

«to^

The boaft «M^
oriheioch,andColeB4
W had Mladed, vere abooK M
lo the spol»ni
L}r. Had the boat bcca vft-
Md laM</lKfewiialdhm
BtT Bca were reedr to here

^Heefl Hia Ms^ 4BB ■■■ wvwIk •> cBwrack ■■*« a^oK BeuBujr* "^^H

^^i^efhah^miepenrffchythMr ■■■■■In mmj egcen;. thetO^

Md h^viife MMvad hf the aa^fcgwdaieef an fiitiaeiMiB as le rank;
aa«h VMB anvaiir that W eoBMkfwd hafilecqaalfy dear to him aatfae

■at panril ti— >o kaww the racfc» wImi a potli— rf the mn wara x»-

he hraaal of avarf Ban. The wares vera pn^
er Bf the rack; hat ail power of RaaoBoi^ with
«e« ahead a thii JraadM wiaalina wae totally BKleaa. Tbe boat itaU
laMaaed hv tWm, faaldof mm with diftcahy to the nipea, whiflh w«w
aaaand to 1^ rock.

Aaite this aMH of Irafttie haiags kj LiewtCMOt Stewart* m«|r
aovarad with hh»< fffoB t^ woaadi ha had Rcemd, and it was eaa-
adatad hy the M<a thai ho waa dtad, ar dyiay ; hi<, roawd to aoiaaa
hy the ciMttaliua feiaw oa hitaiaa hit rnai— adiag ngiii aad the
dianw aad tW ydb aal amaM af «th<f«» ha r^ad Im
andWanihtgtheeaaaa^ha iddfitud theaMBDcaergatkj
gm$t wMdi they oouhl not wiiialik Ue rapnatttcd to Uua die
wqaaaca of their rianaiiag loaf when they wata^ witikoat aid ;
(«ffta» death wanld he the reacdt ; ■rtaaalhaawM hk ■miwial bv

fluhiifta^

OP THE ARCHDUKE CHARLES.

399

vincing them that the only comrautiication they could obtain with the
land was by means of the boat ; that if she wero lost, ihcy must all
perish ; that lie knew they would recollect that they were British soldiers ;
and be declared his resolution^ that if they would permit the colonel,
officers, and crow to be takc^n away in the boat, he would stand by them,
and share their fate, and that, should opportunity offer, he would be the
last man to quit the rock ; adding^ that whilst this was his determination,
where was the num among them who would so far forget himself as to
dare to stir one step ?

His address was electric : the rock, which the instant previously to his
raising himself had been one scene of terrible commotion, became at its
cooclufitoD one of comparatively passive tranquillity. Each man drop-
ped, or crossed his arms; their reasoning faculties appeared to have re-
turned simultaneously; order and subordination instantly took the place
of confusion and mutiny. The voice of this brave and heroic man stilled
the raging of the human storm. Dreadful as was the prospect, or the
hope of rcdief, this otTer of self-devotion, by one individual in whom they
could place confidence, and whose previous conduct had already stamped
him in their minds as their saviour, at once restored them to their
senses. They immediately and willingly obeyed his orders, formed
themselves as he commanded, as nearly as was possible into a solid
square, and permitted the colonel, uthcers, and others, to be taken in the
boat to the other rock. As two persons could only be taken at each
trip, the last time it left it contained but one officer, who said to Lieu-
tenant Stewart, —

** Now is the only chance to save your life. This rock will soon be
covered with water. Come with me."

Lieutenant Stewart replied, that he had pledged himself to remain by
the men, and nothing should tempt him to swerve from his resolve;
that he would abide bis fate, be what it might. The consetiuence was,
that the colonel, officers, and crew of the ship, with his majesty's pilot,
were all safely landed on the rock " in shore," and Lieutenant Stewart
■as left, with two hundred and eight soldiers, awaiting the chances of
■D improbable rescue.

And here the writer of these pages will take leave to make a slight
dig^reasion from his narrative, to allude to a subject which has occupied
the attention of some of our most able statesmen, men equally of our
own times, as well as of those past.

With the view of demonstrating the advantages resulting to the
nation, e({ually with the well-being of the army, that its officers should
be selected from the higher classes of society, and pertinently illustrative
how dependant is the effect upon the cause, are introduced the following
ramarks relative to tbe officers of the British army.

That the British army is too excltuiveitf officered has been a question
mooted, generally, by those least acquainted with the subject, be their
rank in society, or their unquestionable knowledge in other matters, what
it might Most usually the arguments advanced, tend to shew that the

Sivate soldier in our service baa not that opportunity or point of emu-
tion within his perception, however great he his exertions, to rise to
tbe rank and station of a commissioned officer, which, in the armies of
most foreign powers, is more * frequently conferred. That it is so
is probably the truth ; but those who adopt this doctrine are invariably
panous who know not what it ia to have that peculiar and onerous

400

NARRATTVE OP THE VBECK

rharge of otbcn* coDdoct, which engmsea the attention of an officer b
the »jmy placed over a body of men whose characters and dispoNtiooi
posaew every degree of shade,

The constitution of the British army is well known ; the private soU
diers arc (perhaps, with the exception of the household brigade), gene-
rally obtained from the least-educated class of the communiiy, conse-
qiimtly they have to be ioMnicteil not only in their military or phvsicol^
duties, but their mental capacities need equal attention, that they ina|H
be tauf^ht gradually to comprehend the advantages which accrue to^
themselves, as well as to their country*, by a strict observance of subor-
dination. He is thus, in time, imperceptibly educated for the station of
society in which, on his entering the army, he is at first placed, and the
great question is, whether he be fitted to be removed to one widely dif-
fering from it. Let it be considered who are his instructors : he owes
the knowledge of his military functions to his corporal and hts sergvaot,
his companions when off duty, his commanders wheu on, nor has he ever
doubted their ability to instruct him thus far; his moral information is
imparted to him progressively from his own observation — it is purely
Ihe result of example — he sees that his officers (with whom he holds no
direct commuuicatioii)^ are equally observant, when on duty, of subor-
dination to their superiors iu rank, as he is compelled to be to those
witli whom he is in daily intercourse; he likewise observes that the
junior officer, however high his station in society mav be, is subsp^
vient to the command of his senior. Thus a peculiar respect for him is
generated in the mind of the private ; but it is a very different feeling
which directs him to obey the orders of those who are his companions.
The one is the resuk of habitual necessity to perform the task allotted
him, the other arises from an appreciation of birth, manners, habits, and
deportment, which he is conscious are superior to his own, and which he
is satisfied that his comrades do not possess. Here is the plain
and incontrovertible cause why a soldier advanced from the ranks
to a commission, is never regarded by the privates with the same re-
spect as the other officers; nor does he receive that cordiality of un*
restrained communication from his newly-acquired companions — he feels
it himself, from the moment he joins the regiment, both with respect to
the men placed under his command, and his equals in grade. Long ac-
quired habits inwardly tell him of his unnatural position, and many men
who have been thus elevated above the sphere in which they have pass(^d
yivirs of happiness and content, have silently yearned for the enjoyment
of byegone days. Of course there have been, are, and will be excep-
tions; some have, from bravery or influence, arrived at the highest
ranks in the service, and time has obliterated the distinction — al lent
amongst the officers ; but if ever known to the men the same feeUng
pervades them, and one time or other is certain to elicit an allusion to
the origin of their commander.

Exactly the same thing exists in the nary; hut advancement from
the forecastle to the quarter-deck was at all times a rare occurreace» and
since tlte peacu, may be looked upon as approximating to an impOMtbt*
lily. 8iill the foremost-man in the nritish navy has always a goal ifl
riew to stimulate to good conduct, and to satisfy his ambition, the arri-
val at which he knows n within his power, and the aocomplishmeot U
it unaocfunpanitHl by an entire change of habits or asaociations,

Aatbow aafuaintcd with the service know, the appointments of the

OF THE ARCHDUKE CHARLES.

401

'" warrant-officers"— the giinner, boatswain, and carpenter — are the
rewards of bravery, ^kill, or good behaviour, incidental to tlu-ir rv-
itpoctivc stations in the ship. When such an appointment is once
obtained, it places thera in situations removed from the actual drudgery
of physical duties, gives thcni an established and permanent com-
mand to a certain extent, a degree of responsibility which flatters
and satisfies their feeling?, amenable only to the same tribunals as
the commissioned officers, an increase of pay adequate to their wants,
without entirely restricting them from customs and habits which have
long been congenial to their avocations. The foremast-man, although
he regards the warrant-officer as his superior, cheerfully obeys his
orders, without a particle of envy or contempt at his elevation above
him, because he knows that the attainment of the same rank is within
bis own g^asp, and freely open to him^ in the course of time or events.
Here there is no room for reflection that ihe officer is raised to a station
to which, from birth and education, he is not 6tted.

It were presumption, perhaps, in any one, and especially in a naval
man, to offer a suggestion for an improvement in our military code,
whilst the Briti:«h army is under the guidance of so distinguished nn in-
dividual as now directs its organisation ; but adopting the simple and
trite moral drawn from the fable of the lion and the mouse, the writer
of these remarks presumes to offer an opinion the consideration of which
he leaves to abler hands.

Could there not be established in the army a grade similar to that of
the warrant-officer in the navy? For example, the sergeant-mnjnr nnd
two or more of the colour-sergeants in each regiment iluriving their ap-
pointment direct from the Horse-Guards, with a rank intermediate of
the commissioned and non-commissioned officer, placed beyond the
caprice of regimental authority* receiving the same external mark of
respect from the privates as if holding a commission from the sovereign,
yet without exciting the envy of promotion or contempt of origin, to
which allusion has before been made. It would open a certain field of emu-
lation to the soldier, and probably be attended with results as beneficial
and pleasing to the private, who, from want and privation, is too fre-
quently coniftelicJ to enlist, as to the educated geutlcinan, who eolunin-
rilj/ enters into the service of his country. In these appointments, the
distinction of class, so obviously preserved, would cease to exist.

The foregoing observations are greatly strengthened, and their apti-
tude is exemplified, perhaps confirmed, by the conduct of the soldiers so
miserably left upon the rock, in the narrative of this shipwreck.

Had Lieutenant Stewart been an officer promoted from the ranks.
it mav be relied on that no such change in the behaviour of the
men would have taken place ; they would have treated his proposition
** to remain by them," with disdain ; they would not have listened to
him for an instaut ; each man would naturally have said within himself
who and what is he? he is no better than ourselves: what can he do
for us ? But when they found that there was one who, by birth and
station, they knew to be superior to themselves, had offered to share
their destiny, a sudden feeling of confidence and respect took jk>b-
session of their minds, all violence instantlv ceased as by magic.
Hence it is obvious that, however invidious it may appear to be, the
officering the British army from the better ranks of society engenders
confidence, even as in this the most desperate of situations, and leads to

TTTK or THK

Id brtfe
^^tWy «« «>«iA «4h iMMtUm, Mdviito the rf%kia«

tkri of tW smAmm «4 pamr of Ifca Alaigfaiy Cniiar of the oaivam
Aaa^pl tb*0MI>BBh*r*f flv^M^* vktcb «cre atevcfjartsDl rin^f
te the wmiimAmk^wneL mi twmm% P«it yfc-H — e rf tW Mgwiiii
■^■i II i* cat, •fcfa^ niwiiMy ■• aUt»her ihiagytw ygmtly Wiag

filBBMl^ ^ ai tb «iM» tiae gste it at kb cfOBOD thift he beliered it
IB W a cMk of riB, which aast han brakea finea the fptiit-ston.
0« kvttx^ thiK lie^ Stevnt, vith a jadgmft worthy of
w&liha caaBafweaeeB vBBldha. pntalclr ariared iha
It hinaeir with the iaram rtoae he caaM find, mmI

that the caak came wichia his rrwch, to atarc io the hcwd of it. Thh
the wi|MMni wa« aooa m wmJBmtm la ^ ; hot wumktfuUy eingite
M it waj apfaar, the caak, ta al aeMwd the twch» waa lifled by aar

so aiMh M>. t^ H kaaehed aevcfal af than att4e^ and the reocdkif
attter kA it f nnly pboed aaa^g than. It ia — Irii to atlaaipt a d»-

OF THE ARCHDUKE CHARLES.

408

scriptioa of the men's feelings under such circumstances. It is tuffi-
cient to assert that it proved to be a bofrshead full of fresh water ! To
open it, and each man to partake of its contcnte by the u»e of his cap,
occupied but a short space of time. Their parched throats were reliev-
ed, and their minds, from the now certainty of the tide's receding, ren-
dered comparatively happy ; so much so, that it was proposed to endea-
vour to obtain some sU-ep, and their first care was to attend to their
fatijnifd and wounded oflScer.

With their hands they soon cleared a space of the sea-weed sufficient
to permit him to lie down on the bare rock, and a man lay down on each
side of him to impart warmth ; others laid themselves across their com-
rades to cover him, and thus formed what might not inaptly be termed
a living pjTamid. The majority of thfe soldiers with their officer were
soon in as sound a sleep as if they had been in the most comfortable
quarters ; care having been taken that a few should alternately watch
for any vessel that might come near them.

It may here be mentioned that the oue of the Jeddorc Kocks, on which
these two hundred men were now quietly reposing, is, when the wind
blows from any other quarter than that which then prevailed, covered to
the depth of fifteen feet of water, and thence called the " sunken rock."
This circumstance was doubtless well known lo the king's pilot, and had
been communicated by him to Colonel Darling, which accounts for his
anxiety to leave his men in the reckless manner in which he did.

The sea still continued to Lhrow^ up articles from the wreck ; but the
only thing which was washed on the rock, save the butt of water, was a
speaking-trumpet, which uUiraately proved of infinite service. The day
was passing fast away, the fog still continued dense in the extreme, the
rain pouring its torrents on these miserable half-clud men, while a
cutting north-easter, although it kept the sea from rising on them^
increased the severity of the cold. It may be said, in truth, that
so hopeless appeared their chance of rescue, at the approach of
nighty that fortitude gave way to despair, and each man looked upon
death as a happy termination to his now terrible state of existence.

An incident now occurred, trifling in itself, but sufficiently indicative of
what had at some previous period been the fate of one or more wretched
beings on the very spot where they were. One of the sergeants ob-
served, wedged in a cleft of the rock, a piece of cloth, which, on draw-
ing out, had attached to it a button of the G9ih regiment of foot. It
told a fearful tale. On his showing it to Lieut. Stewart, he, with a just
diiicrimination and foresight, strictly forbade the sergeant to make the
circumstance known to the men, rightly judging that it would only ag-
gravate the horrors of their situation, and might probably reduce them
to such a depth of despair as to deprive them of all reasoning action;
the consequences of which might have led to acts too horrible to con-
template.

How few men, with such a fearful warning before them, would have
preserved their self-possession! It was an exercise of the most con-
summate prudence ; and a foreboding so awful was sufficient to shake
the Bt^onge^t nerve. Alas ! it was in reality what it seemed to be.
Twenty years before, a dreadful shipwreck had happened on this very
rock, where perished a large portion of the G9th regiment, — thconly
&ad memento of which was this insignificant button.

The darkness of night was already shadowing the horizon, sleep had

r-z -^iiii :t ^ -'= T^^s-s-i ir ai^ «oidie7&. Mtnv bad ben At
-■-■■'_*--"•' -- "-= 'T-z.-..^.^^ ai.^ u«-^ir frranen; cries of " a lUfl
■^ '-- :_ - '•k l;.- z=:-=-zss:" o! insr faipwildertd imiginaaa
_ :.-— T-r^ .-^ -^.- .5.- - isi-^ T-i-uiin* of Taponry mittcr
.Kt' UH^ -- :.r _.-t.:l^ _.=:, j^ t:Ez;c^r ibfT wgT again otihImImJ
■' '•-" • ■— -i-'-:-:-! : ::- ikc-s:;* ant araii. nsiuced to
1. r*^.--;!*:-**- - -..-r. 1...: r_:j =zn>SL'rsc u haid hux liitle coonfli- Ki
•^...- T-:u ur ;r :.- -.: ..:=i hk^- aiecni'C tr i»f absoriwd m dot
•'^'"^ — - '"-i =.-.-i'r i."= urt -oaniAr ff Uit irmcf asd tllf iB]|i||
lt ::*- T-.- r ■: -=■ * .i • — ar.; :— ..-.vt sliiiu; die h; tmih occuf^di

- ■> "-**:.— .n^ -..-sr : T i::7«zii-rT-i. UiiTn araii. *'ni icrrcasii^fflR^
"-:^ » :; . --*r.^ -l.— .^, :; tz-. : ".luiiL ' x: mcfrvard : and ikvtf
t-^.r.: .^-z^- *. ^ • r-.^-. i.c-:iiv^ "a Era»c uk rE;»}div tpproni-
-- T ^ - '~^- ^ ■ ■ *■ - - " '""^- -~=^- "ii -:* -i.r Tx iiir»M It :ar «sime.

• :.. -■ ..■^- -r^i^j- '.'.r-r "T^ii rvA z =:^zx:ih*»» ^: rpfi^nauoc O*
r: -^ - - ::.:.--:.■ . 1,-r -r. ^•. ::.*..; .ii; -fi^-r: of fori. ^-pesedlB
'--■--" ?"*"— :-t: ---.-...- i: i ::r?uj-.:" t.Tiij-¥:a-z4 l fii:; j canned Unagk
■^" -■-■-: ^■- ------r ^ 5i:::-i::- .r i.»- sum £? jicrLipf DererWlR

-.. -.:.:—• .: ; «-. .;r --^.,- r i.-.:-: ruiL n iarL :»f-i»- «^: mith aa«ikff
— ■r-i.'-::i .r "I.:!!. ; .: t :^ Ti.:::" lin:»:-» *»*' surrsis* . iJLzi tie roekn
!-'-- ;:;.:■.- :rf; :; Ui: i «.,;t iii:;. iiui: i> ¥7s^:ii:'C ^^^u;lUl» sdDw^

1" via =;.:-*-;:.:■-.-.- I:>.'^: -a^i-.*:. -."na: tfiir um .'»."'''[ ':»na3 bad Uadei

11 —.1.-*. .r ^.z.- r ^: i-i;^^ :•- r.its-uir '^i-ssa*-? lit: irir^t be pa^-
"^ M-t v_; : . -^:.;. : ■ ^^.•.•:--s>';.. :■» 7j...ux ^ v";'.i linee. oaetf
t: ._ 1:.: .ij.:: .f :-. ;r.-s:> t..zii:. i*:.:, .t:-;-? :•=■■«.:■:. f- aii tbeiw
:"L--- ^-.•.•: ..- :. _*.-.-:;_:i 1: 1 tl 1 ;c :;•: ?•:• _.:r*. ':•-■: «;:i.a*.mosi
T'.*^-. ": :--;.::■- :■: \Zr. ::.*L_:-- :i: j.i.:^ >;. -.zn ;■:•--:•- "C ali beiaff
•.:.!.: :-:.■: :.:.i .m^ ■:-:^'.<^"; :•„- t^ iac :: :;tf:.T K.5*-riri». Ta
.*z.:. ;■.:::: F.v-.r vii: r.^.i:z. Ui*. vui--? —:■- '.•-*' - :.-.iir»-sr. Td*
~"r>^,* :.l: -.-:- ii'-^it-i _^~«? i.: ;isi;r n.L5:-i»TXis^ Lzi :iwa*oneot
"L-;-*-? T : -i^ f "■*: Lir":.."^^*- it-f :::::-:.li;c :>'. iiii i.:i.:i:'^ I: wj^ a? rouci
:. — t ;;:.*; ~;^: :*' "I's itsTs ;f i^i* 'isa*-..? :; ii:-tr Of rrr fr^-a Uie bmb

Ti't --.fs-:".« i.:t ri^'-j :•::•■ " T'*s-"£*i t-Tit rx'k. lt-i -■: iliDe vas lost is
ijta^.-^.ii & ":":ii:- vij-'i :itT :j.i i-r.-'iirl: ».:i ;isc:- :^ zi* Tv^roeof
ti-?w Tr:": : : *£ : -s- " ^iii^i : rriT^r?* . v 'i i-»f ica; :»c-.r:r j*r«ired,
L ■.— -.c.ii.: >:sWL"^- ":t :_•€ ^.i ;c u»i *:»etk-r:£-:r«->rt v-xi^bei jrom tbe
»r^*:t TLf ?T.L:lfi :: Li^ iir-r. s^-^ l* t Trf^rii.i.';.rjjT ^leassire, in-
c--~i'i 'M: ---*•:? :f =.ir *i.-e _-;'— i rurx l: mtv 11— •:. Tnev repliec.
- E'.TTtE.' IZ.Z i:-ivf- -i"-:^ titj =.->'. »i::i. ;rf *mt'.l 0: the «*i and

Thi* Kec »Xf iz. tiir. k^r:^ » li :i.r tirsilUr: --i^rsi-: »h:ch iha
aacrrpid oCcer Lii ciirlijT-i fr:=: the r::-:=*n: he c'^::t-i :ae i'.i-
Aied abipt Tbe rerr Ilk cri-.r "-r ^iTt i>r :i.e r.-<k to ;h«» ::.-»■■ ea^er
•d excited Ben «a» neoe'lTr'i :t :ic=: '•i::h & T^-rZ'i-zif'S^ a::ec:::>c. nhicc
^(•iIt dniKBrtrated cow ii^i'-v tl^j e^hiAU-i his cordurt. On hi*
Bvio^ the repK ^m ihe boat, be :3i:i>eij.:i'.T djvcU'd the n.tr. **:•'
f»'»"*^n a* the iu:urv of the p*.aee :b»T «ere i*n vihjM iiim;:.
I iL 3* o>nierIy. and «hh a; mucb fubordlDatktn a« it' vu ^

OP THE ARCHOUKE CHARLES.

403

pllde. He then quietly told them off in elevens^ informed them of the
ptonner they were to step iuto the boat, caiitioneil them ag-ainst any dis-
play of impetuosity, and warned them of tli<? dimmer attending a " rush.**
hn»ey implicitly obeyed his injuncttoiis. The first eleven stepped into
Mm boat as one man, catching her as she rose to tliu wave, and were
^i^fely taken to the vessel. The others minutely follcfwed their com-
plies example, and in a short time the whole were embarked, in equal
^fivisions. on board the two vessels, — a truly wonderful proof of the mer-
btfol goodness of the all-seeing eye of the divine Disposer of Events ;
Ihnd it may be added, that, under His especial will, the bravery of con-
ktct, coolness of judgment* and discriminatiug powers of Lieutenant
I^Stewart, were the means of preserving to his country the lives of two
patmdred and eight of its defenders.
hp Although it might now be said, that

* " The perils and the dangers of the voyage are past."

|lt U hoped that it will not be the less interesting to the reader to be in-
[ifbimed of events not only relative to the wreck of the " Archduke
kChartes," but to learn in what manner the brave officer, whose actions
Jkftve formed so prominent a feature throughout the preceding pages,
tf^TMB rewarded.

I Lieutenant Stewart and bis men now began to experience extreme
kuuager, as well as thirst ; but the coast on which they were appeared to
mie nearly as desolate, and, with rot^pect to provisions, as inhospitable as
mhe barren rock which they had left. However, after some time occu-
pied in the search, they discovered a pool of water, and also a *' fish-
lake " (a stage on which il is laid to dry) well stored. The soldiera
leized the raw fish, and, without wailing to cook it, devoured it like so
nany ravenous wolves. It should be stated that they hod obtained a
tght from the vessels, and on their first landing had lighted a fire
phich they continued to supply with the logs that lay near the hut

Lieutenant Stewart now seriously felt the effects of the wounds
le had received on the rock. He was terribly bruised in the body,
nd much lacerated about the feet and legs. Surgical oseidtance was
not to be obtained. He therefore philosophically became his own
doctor. With a piece of iron hoop (picked up in the hut), he made some
lint from a portion of his shirt, and with the rest of it bound up his legs.
With the intention of waiting until daylight before he procaeded
vith his men to Cold Harbour, which he understood was about six miles
distant from the place where they were, he lay down before the fire to
lake some rest, which by this lime he fully needed; but, great was his
astouishmeut to be aroused from his slumbers by the uproarious noise of
the soldiers fighting with'each other like maniacs. Whether this was in
■consequence of devouring the raw fish, or other cause, he could not dis-
cover. Ultimately they, as well a3 their officer, went to sleep.

In the morning they began thctr march to Cold Harbour, which they
reached about ti a.m., and were immediately supplied with requisite pro-
Visions. Colonel Darling, the oflicers and females, had already been
taken there the previous night by the vessel in which they had left the
rock. Two schooners were here engaged to carry them to Halifax, whence
they were distant sixty miles ; and the next day they arrived off that porU
On entering the harboor by the eastern passage, they were hailed,
is usual, from the fort on George's Island, and were asked
VOL. xxiiz. G (^

tWlMMT. Otoe
I mif^9 ^h^anjamt4 libe fecial

to tbnvtli^ !■

to *«h«v •#* m^tr tW c^ «f tW

MA tW - ««lfcer«ri^.* &n off the >«r4-««
MvvdUilife. AboUHMlMMraimdlMtkMKi
' ■o* always yrwtMBiin tini bappy eqaOibriiun of

oloQ^de with

trkW

optbeiiiKtt'

UF THE ARCTIDUKE CHARLES.

407

no doubt innocently tliiiiking that he haO p^rfurtned a very praiseworthy
action, he was thus addressed by his captain. '* By G — d, sir, I *ve a
great mind to try you by a court-martial, for leaving hia majesty's ship
without penniasioii !"

The above story has a remarkable bearing upon what follows. There
was a report iu the military circleft at Halifax, and believed to be true,
that Colonel Darling had expressed an intention of bring^ing Lieutenant
Stewart to a court-raartial. The reader may rcaaonably inquire for
what? It was thus stated; for a breach of military discipline, — 'for
leaving the wreck without orders ! / / Whether it was ever seriously
contemplated or not, is of little importance, the result of such an absurd
step was too obvious.

It is proper here to state, that some time previous to the regiment's ar-
riving at Quebec^ a captaincy in the regiment had become vacant, and
Sir Gordon Drummond, the Governor-general of Canada, had recom-
mended Lieutenant Stewart, not only by reason of his being the senior
lieutenant, but for his conduct on the lakes and other services, to fill
the vacancy. As hostiUties with the United States had ceased, and
several regiments were ordered to be disbanded, on his arriving at Hali-
fax, he learned that his promotion had not been confirmed by the home
authorities. Notwithstanding this, there can be no hesitation in be-
lieving that had his brave conduct at and after the wreck beou duly re-
presented, (as it most unquestionably should have been) to his Koyal
Highness the Duke of York, then commander-in-chief, and ever es-
teemed as the " soldier's friend/' Lieutenant Stewart would now have
been an officer of high standing in Her Majesty's service ; as it waa,
the regiment was disbanded at Halifax, the majority of the soldiers be-
came pensioners and settlers in the colony, upon lands granted by the
government; Colonel Darling got his step as major-general, with the
governorship of the Island of Tobago, and Lieutenant Stewart — re-
mained hientenaiii Stewart I [

Possei^sing a mind sensitive to the injustice awarded him, he may be
said to have exiled himself for a period of six or seven years afterwards.
At length, by the advice of his frienda,

'^ So many bold capt&ina (hbd> walked ovvr hii bead/*

he determined personally to make an effort to obtain tlkat rank to which
he was so justly entitled. His royal highness was, it is well known,
urbane in the highest sense to all who had an audience of him. He
was astonished tliat the circumstances had never been brought under his
notice ; but, with the numerous applications from the Peninsula and
other heroes of the day, his royal highness's hands were tolerably fuH of
business, and whatever might have been his intentions, it must be pre-
sumed that Lieutenant Stewart's claims merged into the general mas6
and were forgotten.

It was not until nine years afterwards, and sixteen from the time of
the wreck of the "^^ Archduke Charles," that Lieutenant Stewart in due
course obtained his promotion as a " captain unattached I"

THE EfBA'ltlX DAYS OT ISBaTAKT l&m IS PARIS.

r. tbe
Ifar W dtt aS^OOMM of Fn

C, and fuuiml cbe rcBMO mhj cvcfj Omd mt^ wtn m. cscftn-
gaUhcepMAanraf4bTUsMfe» kaomtkM Mwiy eTcnr kiaA
«rf>bceuF«VKck«tWpA«rth»BiMrtf7.* la Eagbod, CM-
MBics Md iadnridMb teve a raal ii ml of peC^ patjooaga; m
Frmnce, every pbce, frooi tkat o^ a gnavd apaa a r«dv«j lo the df-
nitj of a jiu%e, i» Jiyoafd of bj gOfttBBCttt fimcK-

SercDty of ibcw Imaaea bad |MKd off in kW pcovacM* pramW

crer geoerallj by domtica, nd atteodcd by Hatioaal GvaHa and tltf
niddlios ctena af ^ peapku At ^e fraMma Me at Itogow, «bcc«
M. de I^nartme spolce for tvo hours, tbe coaifMay MtMC'r aad de-
lighted in their lent, under unibrella*, whiUt ctovda ware eottecM
in the pouring rain outside, content to wait in hopes to catch but tbc
fiiintett eclio of his words.

Then came stormy discussions and mmisteria] dtficuldes in the
Chamber, and the announcemenc of tbe reform banquet of tbe
tirelfih arrondissement. For some days the spot on which it vs«
to be held was undecided, but at length it wa« fixed for our near
neighbourhood. Till the Monday afternoon 1 suppose ererjfbodjf
was of opinion that it would go off quietly, that the subecribeft
would assemble, eat noihiug, have a speech from the president, re-
ceive a summons from the Prefct of Police to tbe effect that their
meeting was illegal, and that the affair would be tried in the Inw-
courts, where resistance would t>e made to tbe suppression of llic
banquets in every possible way. Nercrtheless, Paris was crammed

A Ism compvtttion bisIms tbs

in Uw direct pft of the ministry 68.000.

THE EVENTFUL DAYS OF FEBRUAfiY 1848.

409

with troops; the passing of artillery waggons and the entry of regi-
ments, startled us often from sleep for several nights previously ; and
the little barrack opposite our window was as full of soldiers as it
could hold.

It was a beautiful day, that Monday ; the air was Boft and genial,
ibe sky bright, and the Champs Elysc-es were very gay. We remarked,
as we walked through tbcm, that the Paris population seemed to make
the day a sort offt'te — that, except upon the festival days of May and
of July, we had never seen so many workmen there ; and that where-
as, in a walk of half a mile, we had of^cn counted a hundred soldiers,
there was not on that day one uniform abroad.

Scarcely any one was aware at that time that government had pro-
hibited the banquet, and we went to bed in ignorance; disturbed,
however, all night by the unwonted passing of carts and carriages.
In the latter, as we learnt aflerwards, were the opposition members,
going up to the spot where the banquet was to have been held, with
counter orders, whilst carts were engaged in removing all the pre-
parations that had been made previously, and in carrying every loose
paving stone in Paris out of the way.

"Is it a fine morning for the banquet?" was the Brst question,
asked when wc awoke. " There is to be no banquet,'' was the
answer. " See yonder, the proclamation posted up on the door of
the barrack over the way."

We looked, and foun<l a strange change had taken place in that
establishment. Its doors were closed, its lower windows £1led
up with what looked to us a little like a defence of cotton bags, the
sentry was ofFduty — not a soldier's head was to be seen, though we
knew that the place was swarming with them. It looked sly and
mischievous enough, as it stood there so unnaturally still. Our day
passed quietly till about eleven o'clock, when some tradespeople
came up to us. One reported that the Place de la Madeleine was full
of people, most of them well dressed, supporters of the opposition,
who had assembled before Odillon Barrot's house to ask what they
should do. Few national guards in uniform were amongst tliem.
Everything was perfectly quiet and orderly, — people seemed to have
gathered there to see, and were waiting to know what was expected
of them, in the Place de la Concorde, however, which was equally
crowded, more was being done. A party of municij)al guards, sta-
tioned on the bridge before the Deputies, were disposed to deny a
passage to any one who could not shew the medal of a Deputy. A
considerable party of working-men and boys, without apparently any
particular object, or any recognized leaders, broke through this line
of guards, crossed the bridge, and ascended the steps of the Chamber
of Deputies. An American gentleman who wiis upon the spot followed
the party. They demanded an entrance Into the Chamber, which
was denied them, and as they hesitated whether to take " No " for
an answer, two or three men (who our friend declares were mou-
charda, that is government spies set to gauge the disposition of the
people), began breaking some of the windows. Our friend remained
amongst the officers till this part of the business was over, when he
went upon the bridge, which was very much crowded. A party
of dragoons came up and began to clear it, but good-humouredty
and gently, — and the people were retiring as fast as their numbers

FEBRUARY 1848 IN PARIS,

411

•ry unfavourable, being a real April day of gusty storms. But the
National Guards evinced their sympathy witli the people by shouting
by whole battalion* " A bos Guizot," and " Viee la Re/urme," At
half-past ten, the King expressed to M. Guizot his satisfaction at
tlic arrangements made, and his entire confidence. An hour or two
later, on entering the Chamber, a communicutiou was put into the
minister's hand, informing him that he was dismissed from the Uoyul
counsels, and that Count Mole was closeted with the King, Tho»c
who have been admitted into M. Guizot's confidence, Bay that his
resentment at this treatment was digniHed, but extreme.

At five o'clock, we were glad to get out for a walk. The Champs
Elysees were full of promcnadcrs, many of them our Eu;>;lish and
American friends, come out to see the dcbrit of the preceding day*8
proceedings. The l*lace de la Concorde was still full of troops, most
of them dragoons with their tired, mudstained Eittic horses drawn up
on the beautiful asphalt pavement. Before the great gates of the
Tuileries several pieces of artillery were posted, and National Guards
iroed the square towards the Admiralty. The greater part of the
streets leading to the Boulevards were illuminated, and proces-
sions everywhere were formed. Amongst other cries was I't'ee la
liffme, showing that the regulars being considered friendly were
popular; some bands it is said presented themselves in the neigh-
bourhood of the Tuilerifs, with shouts of i'ive If. roi / At nine
o*clock many of our friends who had come out for news or were
returning to their homes, were on the Boulevard at the moment
when a large procession of this kind passed by the Ministry of the
Affaires Etrangtres, singing patriotic songs and preceded by boys
carrying torches and lanterns. Suddenly two separate disclnu*ge8
of musketry took place. One from the infantry of the 14th regi-
ment stationed before Guizot's house, the other from the cavalry.
There was a moment of death-like silence, and then llie fury of the
crowd, the shouts, the yells, the screams that followed no tongue can
describe. The cause of this fatal fumade is still unexplained. The
most probable account, however, Is that the horse of the captain of
infantry having been wounded by the accidental discharge of a gun be-
longing to a soldier, his owner, struck by a panic, fancied it an attack,
and gave the unhappy order. From that moment all was lost. Gather-
ing up their dead, part of the crowd marclied along the Boulevard to
the office of the Wationol; waving their torches, and calling down ven-
geance on the assassins of their brethren. Others Uisperset! tlieniselvea
Uirough the neighbouring streets, shouting, " To arms I to arms ! we are
betrayed ! on nou» asm^tine.'* During the night and the following day
33,000 barricades were thrown up. Some of them in the neighbour-
hood of the Ba.stilc, were as high ai) the second story. Vincenues was
completely cut off from the capital. Everywhere, from an early liour
on Thursday morning, arms were demanded, but I have not heard of
A single instance in which families were put to unnecessary* terror, 1
have heard several beautiful and authentic anecdotes of consideration
for the sick on these occasions; one especially which occurred to a
lady whose name 1 could furnish. Her little child was dying, and
the mother was kneeling absorbe*! in prayer beside its bed. Ucr ser-
vants had dispersed, and she was tou much occupied with her uiAtcr-
nal grief to hoed what was going on without, when suddenly her door

lUTV

B pmrt^ of proplc; aaM^pft i

M-WahlUuM £iMidM tfw ■■iiMi kviiM to*!
•r tbe govoRM; sad np «Be WH Jlov^M
vMrtcntlien. Tfcc %ht ^ Ae Fba «■ Nm
ft ialrwt tweK«v my flraoc. The MvnJfi
At CMltatt d'Eas ^gaiMt the NmmhbI Gnvdi V

1^ TmSHe Gsrvdia. Mdc Ihdr V17M
■att aft amot, and ipave tJie peop''

fur HUldiKifli Mrfiricrjrov^^rfiBdifceaBiaceafev hom^DoUuiigw*
uimUl wivn hii rrowik Wtikaat a vara Lmat Pbilippe drew pea ni
iiMftt^r |.>» ■>«« mtd wfaii Mi iMatm. Embracing the Mt

i'ltMtli* it. .■ mwmH wt, ■?■■■ 10 tW gentletnen around bns,

** TIm* rUU.I u v*tar klaf.* Fwal hwea*>i tbe Pavi/lon tU nimiofi
vmw M |mi(y al' tInfoaM, leadoic their bones down tbe step* cm
llyiit|j liitiu ilitf I'AivtMferl. Tlicti lollofred tiie royal family, slendcHf
net <iiti|iiutiri( Tho fn*t»plc» enieffd the Tuileries as they left it M
llui riiuiii)»ii l'l>»t'^i'«, \yy ■i(U< of the obelinkt the royal party found (•()
lirouj^litiMii l(t Hailiti^, Imr iho property of an Englisli gentJemnn. The
liiiig iiiitl ijuiHi) (jol lull* ill** foicmont, in whicli wt-re several ch
IiMiitlirai'innil^M llu' Durlu'MO (li* Nemours, the Princess Clenu;.: '

mu\ on III lititl. Sotm- t»r the crowd cried as they pnsscd, '^He-

ftpi'd cltl it,!t> I Hr»pci't mi»fortuncI'* And ihe story told in tbe

k4fn't)mpc'ri) in (|uj(i* (rtu\ ihdi when an otKevr cried out to the pcopki

M .t hurt tttr l^*»>je*" • n»«" f" WowA* stepped forward ui

Oil vou l*k.v \t» IW asaawins? Let Hiro get away.** Ji

itrlln^ i>f' ihr nw^l ; AnJ srarorlv aa insult, even in ««i

cd thvm. I )u- v\^« hnn -n « t\iiipc<l ihctr horses funouslj, aid

:>«! in r»oh ha*t« aad oooIosmmi ihai tk

fUBMMir WK M WM tW aide «A

.:H. A"

FEBRUARY 184S TN PARIS.

4IS

Bttg knew lier, and gave her his arm to go in search of her busband'n
ude-dc-camp Genera) Thierry. Several gentlemen who were standing
by escorting them, they went back into the garden, where they fell in
with a member of the Lufayette family, who took her to hiif house*
Meantime the Duchess of Orleans, her children, and the Dukes de
Nemours and Montpensier had gone to the Chamber, departing in
such haste that no orders were left behind swith the faithful Garde
Municipalc to save themselves and retire. Nothing preserved ihera
but the courage of the Notional Guards, who threw themselves into
their arms on entering the Tuiteries, and conducted them into the
interior of the palace, where having dotfed their helmets and put on
over-coats, they cscapeii out of the windows. During the hrst half
hour, before the people had got entire posscbsion, a good deal of
pioney and many valuables were plundered by professional thievesi
who made their way at once to strong boxes and secretaries; but
after that time it was dangerous to appropriate anything of import-
mice.

What a scene was presented near the old palace I Out of all the
windows of the palace the conquerors were throwing livery coats^
fnignients of state furniture, and a perfect suow-storm of all kinds of
papers. The beds stood yet unmade, and all the apparatus of the
ioiUtU was in disorder. At the dressing-table one man was rubbing
pornade with botli hands into his hair, another was drenching himself
with jierfume, a third was scrubbing his teeth furiously with a tooth-
brush that had parted royal lips but an hour or so before. In another
room a Uvuse was seated at a splendid piano, playing the Marseillaise
to an admiring auditory, whilst near by a party ofgamhu were turning
OTer a magnificent scrap-book with considerable care. In the next
room four blon»e^ had token possession of the piano, and were all
thumping together, delighted with the noise. In another room a party
of workmen were dancing a quadrille I whilst a well-dressed gentleman
played for them on a piano. At every chimney-piece, and before all
the works of art, stood a guard to protect them, generally of the most
laitercd and powder-stained description, each bearing a placard *' yiort
uu^ xf^ura^" on the point of his bayonet; whilst at the head of the
l^rand staircase stood others, crying out " Entrez done, mestieurs^
entrezf On n'a }hia dm hilleU d'eiitrie toiu Us Jours ;" whilst the cry
pOMed through the crowd was, ** Keep moving, keep moving, gentle-
men. Look as much as you like, but touch nothing." " Ad jiomma
noits pas mot/nifiijues chez «ow/, ?ntmsieur f" sold a little ^nmin to one
of our friends; whilst another was to be seen parading about in one
of the poor queen's head-dresses. She always wore very original
ones, with a bird-of-paradise feather surmounting them, something hi

' ort like the usual picture-book depictions of the head-dress of a

uecn.

For the first half-hour the crowd destroyed nothing, even the por-
traits of the king we thought would be respected ; but at length the
destruction of the state furniture (it was sad old rubbish) began.
Three men were seen smoking their pipes comfortably in the great
state bed ; some ate up the royal breakfast, and a good many smoked
royal cigars which were freely circulated. A distribution also took

place of all the musketsin the armoury.

Meantime la the Chamber of Deputies the scene was terrible. If

•1«

when thean-

ved royalty,
and pomteA
wbesi
over,
the vcrjr picture of
■ OB the BiMlmrd, found
M.de LMBvtnw
i-g Aoeby
BK kneea, fcb bndi,
Ibe repofftera of At
vaaU
kid his
P^na. The Docheas
m, «W is ntd to atand fire welt, »«
eaak. Sa«e »j be awooaed, bat at
1 aa«e cf Iba doMliea atripped off fak
in. Thtf ummd h$d abeady torn «ff

a«dK

He Dakc de X^
aa vbiie i

«f hialarjr w tbaa bcbig arciianiliiiliwi, our litiU
tbe little ones that were pait-
'a victor V »bicb met our efei
n tbe ha/ooeta or troa
Oik Next passed suco
gtm^m wf peafde^ dad is every TSiietT of costume, and armed
evcty weapOB, yet aB wmtrUm^ in Une, «rith a kind of military
Sa«c wiafyid m tbe vbite ctaaka of the caraby, and wearing h
aad ibere tbe baaaec nmfe, |actedcd tbeai, occasionally daocii
^id asagiD^ tbe ManeObisr, or, oftener, tbe Cbcsur des Girvndinii^
«bicb ia tbe byvai of tbia Terolutioo, as tbe Fartsienne was of 'dO
lad ibc Maffifibiwi of IZfti. Cavalry «breo trailing in tbe dosC
iBfiil a vcnr poMdar veafMn; abaoat att wore a acrap of aonc
dfsctipriaa or waSmrm, a btlaitl, or a cioai htit and eartoacba-
bom, baaidea aron^ 1 saw two general** plumed hats upoo Ilia
lifodi of f&mittSj aod one Httle fellow nearly extinguished under
ibe ample cocked hat awant for soose old admiral Suddenly,
iMiitl party of workmen stopped before the barracls which
partfldly unil<—*d- Tbcy oaaralted together; then one of thom
forward, and denaaded, I fancy, the release of some pri
who had that morning been taken U>erc; but when he came out
again, several of ihc soldiers joined tlie group. Many were alrcadjr
io the street, with their arms reverted, anid a greater number witho'
weapons. Then the door of the guard-liou»e was tlirown open, and
all tike soldiers came out by twos and threes, laughing like boye lot
out of school; and all the people passing pressed around and ahook
them by the hands. Then at last came out the oHicers.

Umbrella.9 were alternating with muskets and nnkcd sabres ; onv of
the latter that we saw had the fresh stam of blood. Hut we were not
afraid. We had not been reasoning; ourselves into confidence, bat
everything we saw inspired it. Is it |>os!fiblc that this armed t>eoplt
had the wealth of this great city in their hands, and yet could hare

under

[*nly. uM
h liadj

laoaefS^H
ui

FEBRUARY 1848 IN PARIS.

been so orderly, so perfectly quiet, so respectful even, and so calm ?
A party of workmen advanced with drums : one man, not having a
drum, was thumping on a tin kettle ! There was another set with
loaves of bread u|K>n their bayonets, some with their muskets
wreathed with flowers. Among the crowd we saw a woman girt
with a sword,

. News was brought us in the evening that the Tuilerics, Palais
Royal, and Madeleine were on fire; and we went up to the upper
windows to witness it. But not being blinded by our fears, like our
informant, we very soon made out that the conflagration of the two
palaces was but a bonflre in the Carousel (the King's statue, state-
carriages, and a few other odd things), whilst '' the Madeleine on fire"
was but an illumination. Indeed, all Paris was radiant for three
nights in tar and tallow : that is, the houses of the rich were so illu-
minated ; the poor made use oC pretty coloured lights in the neigh-
bourhood of the Porte St Martin. Nobody molested us, though we
went quietly to bed without showing a candle. Throughout the
Thursday not a newspaper was to be had ; the Pressf., indeed,
brought out a half-sheet, which began by returning thanks to the two
journeymen, who, " between two combats,'* had been so very consi-
derate as to set up the type. These gentlemen, however, did not
stay long to work out this praise ; for the document ended abruptly
in the middle of a sentence, on the first half-page. Events that day
worked Taster than compositors. Great news was stale before it had
been printed. On the Friday morning, Galignaoi failed us ; and
though in the course of the day some of the French papers made
their appearance, they were printed in scraps, one piece of news at a
time, and sold at famine prices. By noon on Friday the entire popu-
lation of Paris had turned out in the Champs Elysties, before the
Tuileries, or on the Boulevard. The most perfect good order was
maintained. There were no vehicles; and it seemed like one vast
file. The blouseji were all armed, and there was more firing into the
air than was exactly agreeable to weak nerves on the occasion.
Amongst the weapons we observed was a new one, very deadly, about
a foot and a half long^ and the thickness of a man's arm, contrived to
jerk out a sort of pike-head suddenly against an enemy.

From the flags upon the public ofiices the blue and white had been
torn away, and every man wore red ribbon in his button-hole ; for
the rxtpectMes had nut then been made aware that red was the badge
of communism. On the Boulevard all the iron railing had been torn
up, and all the trees (except upon the Boulevard de la Madeleine) cut
down. They have since been planted again, to the sound of the
Marseillaise, with great ceremony and a procession^ The shuttera
of the shops were closed, and on all of them was chalked " Arraes
tioonees/' in every variety of spelling, showing that the leaders of
the bands who had been there for weapons were not Beauclcrks. In
tile Hue de la Paix there was not a single one oi' these announce-
ments that was not spelt wrong. Everywhere a paint-brush had
been paseetl over the words **roi," "reine, "royale;" and royal arms,
which marked the tradesmen of the court, were everywhere removed.
Indeed, the patriots were very zealous on these occasions: two little
^p/tins were observed for two hours patiently hacking to pieces with
their swords a cast iron Austrian eagle.

WIm would iMve dared to prapbcsy m wedu ago tbat there were
flodi depths of boooor, virUae, and gcnerority in a Freacfa mob?
THejr bmve earned lu gkinoutly througfa thii cnssy — who shall now
dare lo say wbai xhey may not yet do in the greater dificulties td
Aocial and poliiical regeneration ? The revolutiou has taught us not
to predict, ami above all kot to dc^paib.

417

A PIPE WITH THE DUTCHMEN.

BY J. MARVEL.

wsfKir.

OLnEHUrRO. — THE DROSKT AND DUTCHMAK.— A DUTCH IVM

— OETfyTEB. — THE OUDE DOELEN. — A DUTCH MEBCUAMT.— AMITEK'
&AH. — XT rirS GOVE OUT.

^Khevbr want to go to Dromon again. There are pretty walks upon
PKttinparts, and there is old hock under the Hotel de Ville in cnor-
jbous casks, and there arc a parcel of mummied bodies lying under the
diarch, that for a silver mark, Hamburg money, the nexton will be de-
gghted to shew one ; but the townspeople, such of thom as happened
fcbout the Lindec-hof, upon the great square, seemed very stupid; and
Hot one could tell me how 1 was to get to Amsterdam. But aiter some
further inquiries, I found my way to a cockloft, where a good-natured
Dutchman received me, and took me to the Exchange, and the wine-cellar,
Uid lefl me at the Poste, with my name booked for Oldenburg the aame
iflemoon. The mail line was the property of the Duke of Oldenburg,
ind a very good one it was, for we went off ia fine style in a sort of
Irosky drawn by two Dutch ponies.

There is a dreamy kind of pleasure in scudding so fast over so
imootli and pretty roads as lay between us that attemoon and the capi-
tal of the duchy of Oldenburg. There wa:i a kindly-looking old man
^t opposite to me in the drosky, who would have talked with me more
i — for we mustered a little of common language — but for a gabbling
DanoiSt who engrossed nearly the whole of his time. I met him again
JB the park of the duke, and, arm-in-arm, the vieillard and I rambled
Direr it together, under the copper-Jeaved Ijeech-trees, and by the stripes
of water that lay in the lawn.

It was in Oldenburg 1 saw first the Dutch taste for ftowers. Erery
bouse had its parterre of roBes and tulips ; and the good old custom of
taking tea in the midst of them, before the door, was zealously main-
tained. And I could see the old ladies lifting their teapotit, and the
girls smirking behind their saucers, as 1 walked before the houses still
chatting with the old gentleman of the drosky.

A little past sunrise, 1 took my first cup of coffee in a true Dutch
inn. The floor wa.s as clean as the white deal table, but made of po-
lished tiles ; the huge chimney was adorned with the some. The walls
were fresh painted and washed; the dishes were set on edge upon the
shelves, and the copper saucepans hung round, as redly bright as in
Bassano's pictures. The clock stood in the comer ; the slate and the
pencil were hanging beside the casement ; a family portrait hung over
one end of the mantel, and the hour-glass and the treasures were ranged
below. A black and white cat was curled up and dozing in a straight-
backed chair, and a weazen-faced landlady was gliding about iu a stiff
white cap.

When we reached Deventer, it was the middle of the morning of a
market day, and the short-gowned women thronging over the great
square, under the shadow of the cathedral, seemed just come out of the
studios of the old Dutch painters. We ate some of the eggs that were
in pyramids among ihero, at the inn of the Crown. Rich enough is the

413 A PIPE WITH THE DUTCHMEN.

of all tkk regioo. Etcd the rude stares tKat met me ul

gsrb m Uw slrtHs, were more pleasing ihan anno^'my.

nrdj eamt mio ibe re^oa merely to look about ihem ; urd

it tWr* vvtB €f local travel, that the small silver coin 1 luJ

tbe e?«Ba|s before, was looked doubtfully upon by the i^ngtr-

of DavcMcr. In every other portion of Europe 1 W

hf U&o^ in viih French and English, in every coad

at rrvrr bm. Here 1 was free from all but natives ; and not i

pott rirriigr bad 1 fallen in with over all the country from Bn^

^ Tbrre was a spice of old habits in every actiod

of Md^ translated a century or two back in li^:

nor taverns, nor hostesses *a» thm

J Mif to bnak tbe Moaiof. Tbe egg« at the inn were served o

I ftj/lm; d» taapol, low smI mawling, was puffing out of a loa^

mkmi aoMi hf M ftrt^ m good old fiuhion ; the maid wore a que^

I «■» MiA alaaMsbvv >ad i^ uid tbe cook peeped through the halP

■■•i 4oor. «b4 gnM al tbe amnge language we were talkmg.

TW AnmbcRsofae narket^womcB wer» many of them as fresh tM

; sad tber« were daughters of genllewooft

aoraing air. out of tbe open casemeot: :— b

1 was bilf Mfiy I bad booked for Amheim ; and what wu mtm

be eoacb «ai aft tbe door of the Crown.

WaU Wre growa venr sulky in the coach, had It not been fur i^f
mjLmtf} we were going liirough. The fields vifff
at Bagfcfc Mds, aad the hedges as trim and bloomiug »
Ei^gWi badgM^ Tbeeettagea were buried in flowers and vinos, and a
aeaaaa aaAaiaated as aB ibe way. A village we passed through vad tlr
lavafiMt g«9> of a WlUge tbal ooald hlcM an old or a young la(J\ '^
bi BatifHk Tbe road was aa ereo and bard as a table, and \^
H^gaa wtn «aeb «de of it, aad palings here and there as ueauj
faattd aa tbe Mlcffior* at hoaie ; and over thtnn, amid a wilderMW at
tbewbile&c«aof|il«aaaut-looking Dutcb ooltaga
tbe nlhge aa tidy as if it had been swepc, tad
tba trees aa boariaal tbat tbey bent over to the coach-tup. 11
IgM^ I aaaU hate aiihid to slop — to stop, by all that is eharmio^l
balfalifcliaie.
Dalcb bidy» a worthy burgoakasler's wife of An>hein]» aonM
>g to B»e tbe beankicB aa they came up, with her firt
10 all of alucb 1 was far more willing in accorduut
of tbe coacb seat, which was surely
bodiM as that of the burgomaster's wife. I
wben we bad finished our ride in the
id set off, in a Itard rain^ by the first
An tbe way dom* through Xaardcn and Utrecht,
faSa was yaaiiag so baid Ibat I bad only glimpses of water and
■aflb. 1 bade my IKead of tbe office in the Amstel good-by,
ibMgb be |»«aused to call al my iuu» I never saw hiro again.

I M not much like the Uitlc back room on tbe first floor wbicii tkft
gave aa al tbe Oude Doeleu, for it seemed I conld aUnost put tbe ni
af By OBbniUa into the canal ; and there was a queer craft, whb a losf
bawsprit, lyiUf elosc by, tbal« for aught I knew, %(ith a change of tidr.

sheeU. I ventured to soy

ajgbt be taaglii^ her jibbocun in my
ba^ tbal tbe roooi migbt be damp.

A PIPE WITH THE DUTCHMEN.

419

7" said my host; and without making fnrthrr reply to my
feftliott, turned round and spoko very briskly with the head-waiter.
11' hat he said 1 do not know ; but when he had tinished, the waiter
c1a.sped his haods^ looked very intently at me, and exclaimed with the
Utmost fervour, — " J/w^k Dieu .'"

I saw I had committed, however innocently, some very grave mis-
lake; so 1 thought to recommend myself to their charities by taking
th« room at once* and sa)dng no more about the dampness.

When I woke up, the sun was reflected off the water in the canal into
my eyes. From the time I had left Florence, four months before, 1 had
not received a letter from home, and my first object was to seek out a
Mr. Van Bercheem, to whom 1 was duly accredited. God-sends,
||ti Teriiy, are letters from liome, to one wandering alone ; and never did
a wine luvcr break the grceu seal off the Hermitage as eagerly as I
jbrokc open the broad red wax, and lay back in the heavy, Dutch chair,
and read, and thought, and dreamed — dreamed that Europe was gone
— utterly vanished ; and a country where the rocks are rough, and the
jhilU high, and the brooks all brawlers* came suddenly around me, —
wbere 1 walked between homely fences, but under glorious old trees,
;and opened gateways that creaked ; and trod pathways that were not
shaven, but tangled and wild ; and said to my dog, as he leaped in his
crazy joy half to my head, ** Good fellow. Carlo I" — and took this

little hand, and kissed that other sofl cheek heigh o t dreaming,

Mrely ; and I nil the while in the Utile back parlour of the Oude Doelen
^B^msterdam I

^Hk rosy young woman came out into the shop that I entered with the
Talet, upon one of the dirty canals, and led mo into a back hall, and up
la dark stairway, and rapped at a door, and Mr. Van Bercheem ap-
ipeared. He was a spare, thin-faced man of forty, — a bachelor, —
l^edded to business. At first, he saw in mc a new connection in trade ;
it was hard to disappoint him, and I half encouraged the idea ; but my
present travel, I assured him, was wholly for observation.

Ah, he had tried it, but it would not do. He was tost,*— withering up,
soul and body, when he was away from his counting-room. He had
tried the countr)', — he bad tried society for a change, but he could find
no peace of mind away from hia books.

He spoke of the great names upoii "Change, — the Van Diepcns, the
Van Huyeros, the Dc Heems; and 1 fancied there had been hours when
be had listened to himself, adding to the roll, — Van Bercheem.

The valet put his head in at the door to ask if I wished him longer ;
1 dismissed him, and the merchant thanked me.

" These fellows are devils, monsieur; he has been keeping his place

I there at the door to know wliat business you and I can have together,

and he will tattle it in the town ; and there are men who disgrace the

profession of a merchant, who will pay such dogs;'* — and he lowered his

! voice, and stepped lightly to the door, and opened it again ; but I was

Kl the valet had gone.
le asked me in with him to breakfast ; it was only across the back
, in a little parlour, heavily curtained, and clean as Dutch parlours
nre always. The breakfast was served, — I knew not by whom,- — per-
haps the rosy woman in the shop below, A cat that wnlked in, and lay
.down on the rug, was the only creature I saw, save my friend, the mer-
to lead him to talk of the wonders, and of the society of

A PfTE

A PIPE WITH THE DUTCHMEM.

421

morv filth in it than in all ihe rest of Amsterdam together.
There tlicy pile old clothes, and ihcy polish diamonds hy the ihonsand.

Walkiiif? nlong under the trees upon the quays beside the canals, one
«ees in little, squure mirrors, that seem to bu set outside the windows of
the houses for the very purpose, the faces of the prettiest of the Dutch
girl?. Old women, fat and gpectacled, are not so busy with iheir knit-
ting but tliey can look into them at (iniea. and see all down the street,
wUboui ever bfinjf observed. It is one of the old Dutch customs, and
ythWe Dutcl) women are gossips, or Dutch girls are pretty, it will pro-
bably never jjo hy. In Rotterdam, at Lcydcn, at Utrecht, and the
Haggle, these same slanthig mirrors will st^re you in the face.

Nowhere arc girls' faces prettier than in Holland ; complexinnsi pearly
white, with just enough of red in them to give a healthy bloom, and
their hands are as fair, soft, and tapering, as their eyes are full of mirth,
witchery, and fire.

I went through the street of the merchant princes of Amsterdam. A
broad canal sweeps through the centre, ful! of every sort of craft, and
the dairy-women land their milk from their barges, on the quay in front
of the proudest doors. The houses and half of the canal are shaded
with dee]>-leaved lindens, and the carriages rattlo under them, with the
tall hnuses one side, and the waters the other.

My boy-guide left me at the steps of the lloyal Gallery. There is in
it a picture of twenty-five of the old city guard, with faces so beer-
loving and real, that one sidles up to it, with his hat hanging low, as if
tie were afraid to look so mauy in the face at once. And opposite are
9ome noble fellows of llembrandt's painting, going out to shoot ; they
jostle along, or look you in the face, as carelessly as if they cared not
one fig for you, or the Dutch burgomaster's family, who were with mc
looking on that morning; and there was a painted candle-light and
beJir-hnnt, — how a tempest of memory scuds over them all, here in ray
quiet chamber, that I can no more control than the wind that is blowing
the last leaves away t

Would to heaven I were gifted with some Aladdin touch, to set be-
fore you — actual — only so niouy quaint things and curious, as tie toge-
ther in the old Dutch capital ; churches, and pictures, and quays, and
dykes, and spreading water, — sluggish and dead within, but raging like a
borse that is goaded without [

Like a load the city sits, squat upon the marshes ; and her people
push out the waters, and pile up the earth against them, and sit down
quietly to smoke. Ships come home from India and ride at anchor
before their doors, — coming in from the sea through paths they have
opened in the sand, and unlading tlieir goods on quays that quiver on
the bogs, Amsterdam is not the most pleasant place in the world, when
■ June sun is shining hot upon the dead water of its canals, and their
green t>urface ia only disturbed by the sluggish barges, or the slops
of the tidy houBC-mnids. I grew tired of its windmills and clumsy
drawbridges, and tired of waiting for Cameron. 1 left him a note at
theOudc Doelen, telling him that we would talk over matters some
il&y — Heaven grant that the day some time come! — upon the green
banks of wild Loch Oicb.

VOL. XXII r.

H n

to takefte^

XV^ md cooRqaoitlr oTife

that there ww now redl;

; for, in tWsr quMt MpaU

by ^'fiLTul nuts''

the *ir. By degrees howercr, the nnr became diuindy lit

of Mwii ; aikI ctcb avtkalate cries m%ht be heard.

As the FUmemr propaaei now prnxapa]] v to sketch such tcentk m

passed beftire his ovn personal ohsenrsUoo^ he tru»ts he will be fm^

given fur the sppsrent egocism of pergonal narratire, as he

pioncef all at once into extracts from his daily journal.

** When I * turned oat ' 1 found my street in a state of oproar ami

* The sbore account reached ihe CMitor to laM m Ui« month, dial he U am-
prflsd %o STiul bimMlf of audi (ruriiuna onJy o« appeaml more |iiirticuUrly i]

FRENCH REVOLUTION.

423

oonfusion. Ttadespeople were closing the shutters of their ihops in
liastc ; troops of the line occupied both ends of the street ; throngs of
curious idlers were pouring hither and thither/'— for the circulation
was not impeded «t any time upon the pavement ; " headu were pro-
truded from every window ; and groups of servants, porters, porter-
esses, and cook-maids, stood wondering and screeching, like frighten-
ed sea-gulls, before every dnor. The tide of curious was pouring
towards the Place Louis XV., whence the nuise of shouting came.
At the further end of it was a crowd of apparently some five or &ix
thousand men, or rather boys, — gamins of the streets, for the most
part,— chiefly attired in blouses ; the salaried agents, probably, of
the chiefs of tlie Oppusitiun. Tiiiu mob was unarmed, and seemed to
be engaged in nothing but shouting, with lungs cleared and strength-
ened with liquor, the cry * Vive la Reforme ! Down with Guizot !'
Presently another body of rioters were seen advancing alon^ the quay
on the further bide of the river leading towards the luvalides. Tlte
ffaarda on the bridge, fearing to be surrounded probubly, retreated
from their position. The mob rushed forward in a body, — the two
Columns met, and the whole mass now stood before the Chamber of
Deputies. A few men in amocks were to be seen climbing the rail-
ings before the building. The shouting continued ; and a thrusting
and tumult were visible from afar. After a time the invaders leapt
back over the palisadings even more quickly than they had climbed
them. Then came the yell of the thousands of voices, and the mob
poured back over the bridge in overflowing tide, filling the Place
Louis XV. A detachment of dragoons followed, galloping. Then
emerged over the bridge a battalion of infantry. For the first time
stones began to fly ; but, after a slight resistance the mob was forced
to retreat. The most part scoured into the Champs Elysees ; some
fled to the Rue des Champs Elysees, from whence screams and
•bricks of distress might be heard mingled with the roaring of the
ahouts.

" In the Champs Elysees the scene of riot became more active,
more serious, and consequently more picturesque. As the troops
•Jowly advanced, the mob retreated, but continued to keep up a sort
of bush-fighting among the trees; rushing forward at intervals to
fling such stones or heavy missiles as lay in their way, then flying
back to the trees and among the spectators, and laughing in hoarse
•creams amidst the shouts of 'Down with Guizot 1 Vive la Re-
forme 1 ' During this more visible demonstration in the front ranks
of the mob, however, active measures were being taken in the rear.
Young trees were cut down, the chains placed for the convenience of
the promenaders caught up. and an omnibus coming down the avenue
from the Barrit're de I'Etoile was seized on : the whole was heaped
together in the road to form a barricade, a system of defence to which
fVequent practice and constant experience have trained the Parisian
population to such a pitch of strategic intelligence, that it is employ-
ed with a rapidity and generally with a tact in the choice of position,
marvellous to see. But, although the first instinct of the Parisian
had been to construct for defence, the second seemed to be to de-
stroy from recklessness. A quantity of wood had been pillaged
from a wood-yard, together with several sacks of nine-wood-apples:
these were flung upon the barricade; fire waa applied. In an incre-
dibly short space of lime the whole, — chairs, omnibus, wood, sacks,

41* SCENES F2CX THE LAST

bl&xc; ind
were iz;ct by doads
And drifting
^-aL-<: ">tZfc= cierr zsoc<c: lo ir.cnease. The bone-
zitsr. zi^'.wi ti:;cx ti* trie-* if:*r rtA'-r c* th* r: yzcn, who fied on*
irr.*i- >*iinl ;c iz* ?j*cifc^;r* c«»a Oo t? retncAt ia alinn.
Iz ^i-i :_. i< .:' vii fzi: :kiz^ zu-'se* tisiz.! rexr. ^zj ^J^^ mob, ibe
rir?^r^ ZiiTse^-er: iht :ccxs::z^ f gbt* o: «t.x:e«. *iid the hunr-
ir^ ::i-:Awiris _■: tl* n;w tcrT:£e%i «pectit^-rs. acr->j« the broai
XT-ii-* i::i-;'--x in* r-r-**. tr:-i :: the :----ti:n«- int-.^ the «nart. Jan-
ii?cnL_-- ';■:_: -T':^ u";-z-i & -ctrc c-t rr:jh;f^! :^nij;t saon duhed
•»:'':« n^ eT*«. lit* i ^ii.i- c-:-:-:*ed. ir^tncied tiream. As yell
iifci r>x r-iiri i sr^le *i :t ire I. The prncipai «cese of &ctioa wu
3;w :-r^«fi fr.ci :i-e C":a:=p* E^vsoe*: c^nfasioc and devastation
«:-;--i2. :i ;= tr.-. -were ?t:l. lisib'.e np-.'a the $ta^ of riot; but the
r.;*r--^ r:» ^t— •* cciefj tr-:<= the Fa.:b>urs St. Hocosv,

- E^irr^iiT* tL= *z;?4 wer«*h.it- all the piada^es closed, all the
ec»-*.-c* ::' tr-= T-il^rleJ ihr^ized with troops ; but the circulatioo
^a» eiiTTwicre free. Ir the Rje St_ Hooore a few boys in blouxs
we*^ aizir- ur«:- £iCTt* arid cab* to form barricade*. Sometimei
ti^fy R:cc!f*'i*i :- zzkzt cftpc^re. fomedme» «Ciiffles endued with the
ttr.-iT*^ K^ciredf L.pcG hjrdred? of spectator* on the pavement
weriff '.-jt/iir^ ■::: : bjt no oce anetcpted to interfere or prevent: rl
wii a *^:w — a scxrii-p'^y. with which they bad no concern, one
w.:»-',i j.rrtse. b-e^ccu thit of arac-re or less interested audience.

r''-:*^ Ittle skimishes jeesceJ to afford much amusement to the
£:f . t'r — sc'.Tes. ari n:-e to the numerous spectators. I wan-
.::•:.■- _':•..: z'lry r.'izn ;:* tjie streets. A. I were ^ilike c^owl!e^l.■
l ■ .. _ . if - ::2 w.-i-.r csc-i s.*:;p5. haJ the ile^olate and iJrearr
" «. v . :' i. :;=■■ ■" i st^te cz s:e^e. On the Boulevarda were the
j;t_:=«: ".'■-.-^4. "_ .: :' .i.er* a::: speirtator* only. Troup* of the
: J. . :■!. \: :\i.l G. '.:.;? .l=:Vr.v:cd the H-'te; of the .Alini^ter i-l'
y. -t z" A ~i r; . i:-: :.~ey werf ^n'.y occupied in tlrivinc back a le*
:"i . * ? - >. -■ =■. =ry r .w ir..: :her. cried " Down with Guizut I"

i" -..-; e-' £■■.:«: /r--» » ere l-^a::rj in a"l directions to call oi^i
tr-f Ni: ■J.. lr..ir*.is Tr-t *■: ■»:;.; came in dreary and rumbling jru?t>
.v'.."'.: : "; JLir: th;\ ser-f.e-J so be t^e-atiiij a tuneral march, whi'.e a
ve I .: ... rk *:.--'y-e "uv; over the d^v-med city; for the night wu$
cv\: A J. :.: i:\y -r..: the sky lifiden. In the further Boulevard? all
».:s ;vi»:k. r.r "r.c ^AS-'.i^h:s had been for the most |>art extinguish-
f.i ; -:-.: y .l:?."* *::" Niticral G::ard9 r.ere now beginuinz their rounds
i : ^:.i:r\:i*s. B.:t the i;:>tast noise of shouting and firini; now cauie
rro::; '.>.£ i.ti^ihcv-.irh'Vx; o: the Ki:e St. Deni>. In the Place Lt»uii
XV :".:e tro^j's hid lighted a great lire, and bivouacked as in a
cai:-p ::: t:tvc ot «ar: but even the heavily smoking fire looked
dar.'ivu. d:*p:r:tt\l. u:?courACed.

■• ^\'ed::e^vUy. February i3rd — Although the efforts of the rioters
h-td ce.i^cd in this part d P..r:i" (the neigh bourhotKl of the Place
Louis XV.ai:dthe Madc^tii-.e - yet theaspect of thelioulevardsaud
the street^ was the same as on the previous day. Bodies of Xatitma]
Guards, however, not vijible the day before, were hurrving hither
and thither : and from far and near came the incessant rolling of the
drums — a heavy, harruwirg, disquieting sound. At intervals, ami
sometimes o\er|>owcring the incessant beating of the drums, came

FRENCH REVOLUTION.

from the far dJstAnce, in the direction of the Rue Monlmartre, the
Rue St. Denis, and the Rue 8t. Martin, the murmur of the constant
shouting, intertniiigleil with occasional firing. I was tolil that a
sort of desultory skirmishing^ was going on in those parts of Paris,
that several persons had been killed by the Municipal Guards, and
that some of that corp!» h:id fallen ; that guard-houses had been
taken, retaken by the Guards, and finally again stormed by the mob,
the prisoners arrested released, and, in fact, all the elements of an
active and even bloody riot still going on at their work.

" But new» more serious was that uf the defection of a great part of
the National Guards. Not only had they refused to act against
the people, but they had * fratcrnixed ' with them, led them on to
drive back the soldiers of the line, and shouted themselves, ' Down
with Guizol ! Long Jive Reform !' This defection was a death-
blow to the ministry.

'* Tumultous as was still llie aspect of the crowded streets and
public places, yet, amidst the waving of rapidly-formed banners, and
the singing of the Marseillaise, the sentiment was one of triumph and
victory rather than of further riot. People embraced, shook hands,
and shouted on the Boulevards. And now as the dusk commenced
to fall over the thronged and moving streets^ and the shouting chorus-
sing masses, n few lights began to appear ut windows and balconies —
now mure — now more: then came the universal shout, ' Light up!
light up!' and with a rapidity which betrayed as much fear of the
mob as of enthusiasm, putcties and pointti of fire ran up and down
the facades of houses, and gleameil Hrst in confusion, then in long and
more regular lines along the Boulevards, — the illumination was in-
stantaneous and general. Now, all at once, the riot wore the air of
a noisy /tie, ' All is over! Long live Reform !' was the general cry.
" Such was the a«ipect of Paris as night fell on the Wednesday
evening — an aspect of rejoicing and noisy satisfaction. But how
soon was the joy to be again replaced by mourning — the shout of
satisfaction, by the yell of vengeance! The caut^e of this sudden
change, when 'all was over," is well known: but which hand fired
the train— what party threw the brand — whether it was desi^-n, or
whether an accident, none, perhaps, will ever now know clearly ;
this little but all. important I'act will probably remain u disputed
mystery of historical truth. The firing of a body of soldiers, guard-
ing the Hutel of the ex-Minister of Foreign Aflairs, upon a crowd
that advanced against it, overthrew a monarchy. The most pjobable
supposition appears to be that the mob, excited by the republicun
party* advanced screaming, * Death to Guizot !* and that the troops
thinking an attack upon the building was intended — which in itself
is not improbable— fired. Whatever be the cause — whatever the
instigation — on that moment depended the destiny of the kingdom
of France.

'* I shall never forget the frantic scene that met my eyes when I
i«sue<l upon the Boulevards. Men were rushing hither and thither
shouting, * Aux amies, citoyens ! aux armes ! on nous egorge ! on
rouK assassiue ! out— out ! to arms! to arras!" * Vengeance for the
blood that has been shed! out — out — to arms!' And now it was no
longer the mob of tiie lower clashes that shouted the shout of ven-
fjcancc: those who cried to arms were well-dressed men, and no
lunger boys— men of all classes and ages, seemingly. Some bore

426

SCICNES FROM TUE LAST

Rticks and ctaves— ^orae tonga and fthovels — some real fire-arm»-*
•ome awords. They knocked at every door, crying for anng, and
calling un the citizens to come out; and from the windows above
streamed down the illumination of joy to light up the scene of
frenzy — yes, of frenzy! The tumult waxed ever more and more,
until the air pealed as with thunder, and the ears were deafened by
incessant shouts. Pickaxes were already employe<l in tearing up
the pavement of the Boulevards — trees were being cut down — bill-
sticking turrets smashed to the ground — benches torn up — and ia
a)i incredibly short sjtace of time more than one powerful barricade
was flung over the whole wide breadth of the Boulevards, by well-
dressed and even elegant young men Torches now began to fly
about — guns weie 6rcd off in the air — anxious faces were at every
illuminated window — armed men hurried out of every door — and
ever and on all sides rose incessantly the screams of the crowd
rushing hither and thither in the wildest confusion like dark denioui
of vengeance, ' out — out to arms ! on nous assassine ! ' A yell of
vengeance now rose more fierce than any yet heard* Along the
Boulevards, from the fatal spot where the soldiers had fire<l, carae
men with torches bearing aloll the bodies of those who had been
killed. Never shall I forget that shout — never that scene of frenaj!
" Thursday, February 24th. — When I went out the shots were to
be heard near in all directions. My own street was filled with
troops, both cavalry and infantry. But all the streets, not imme-
diately occupied by the soldiery, were blocked at either end with
barricades, formed of the stones of the streets, tumbrils, carts, tubs,
and even furniture, and guarded each by two or three men ot
boys as sentinels: but the circulation was otherwise unimpedal
and every one could pass over these quickly-constructed ramparti.
Broken bottles also strewed the streets to prevent the advance of
the cavalry. The Parisians by practice have evidently learnt a trick
or two in strategy.

** 1 proceedefl towards the Place Louis XV. and the Pont dc U
Concorde. When, making my way through the troops, I gained
the Place, the whole great space was almost clear, to rav utter
surprise ; a few persons only were hurrying across. At the mo-
ment, however, that I was about to advance, a disarmed Municipal
Guard rushed from the direction of the Champs Elysees pursued
by three men with axes: before my eyes he was cut down ami
chopped to death. His cries brought up the troops from the Kue
Royale; at the same moment, however, a heavy fire was poured
upon the raob, that followed the foremost murderers, from the
troops stationed behind the gate and pallisading of the Tuilerirs
gardens. Two of the innocent persons passing on the Place fell:
one rushed across for his life, and Hung himself pnle and breath*
less almost into my arms. It was Henri de la J — d'A ■ • • • • n.
The fire continued incessantly from both parties; and consequcntlj'
the attempt to reach the bridge would have been madness. The
Uue de Kivoli was blockaded by troops— the Rue St. Honorc
likewitte — tlic Boulevard before the foreign office also: it vnt
necessary to go round by back streets in order to reach the Boule-
vard d<^]i Italieiis. Wltata scene of tlL'Mjlation it cxhil)ited ! it ltM>ked
like a ma^s of ruin ! the goud trees gone — the posts suiushed down
-the pavement torn up! But here all was comparatively quiet;

FBKNCn RKV0LUT10N.

427

althouf^h men and boys in hUtuses guflnletl the barricailes, forminfr
wil<)ly picturesque ^tuipji — siime stntiJing mi the rug^eti sunmiil
of the temporary r:iiii|>art, waving (lugs in one hand, and siibrcs or
muskets in the other, and occA^iunally giving orders, or haranguing
the National Guards who passed. Bnt still the cry was ever only,
• Five h ReJonneJ' Passing thus into the line Vivicnne with the
hopes of gaining the Flaee du Carousel or the Pont des Arts by the
Louvre, 1 found the same scene of constant barricades, seniinels,
hurrying frightened throngs, and excited Xational Guards. The
work ot insurrection was everywhere g"ing on, although no one
seemed exactly to know with what ultimate intent. Although
every shop and every door was closed^ every window was open
and fitted with heads. The nnise of constant firing in the direction
of the Putais Royal evidently told that this royal residence was
being stormed : several people conjured me not to goon. I went
on, however, and by side-streets reached with <lifficulty the Rue
St. Honore. But here all advance was again im]>osi)ible. On
one tide of me, in the vista to the right, were the smoke, and the
lightnings of incessant firing on the Place du Palais Roynl, where
the people were attacking the post of the Municipal Guards: cries,
^oane, yells, came thence in the midst of the roar of the artillery :
wounded men were being dragged into shops where I stood ; and
now and then was borne off a dead body : the corpse of a fair youth,
his hair hanging down all dabbled with the blood, that streamed
from his shattered forehead, turned me sick with pity ; and around
and about, and at all the windows, were ever the crowd of curious
fipectJitors, looking on the s/torv. On the other side, in the vista to
the left were barricades, crowded with wild figures, from which
shots were being fired in the contrary direction. It was again
necessary to retrace my steps, and seek to gain the Pont Neuf : but
1 was soon lost in a labyrinth of small streets and lanes, wholly un-
known to me, along which I tried to scramble my weary and be-
wildered way over endless barricades — fur no lane was so small that
it did not possess one at each end ; and I must have crossed at least
a hundred in my progress. Everywhere I saw the same excitement
and similar scenes of confusion, although no fighting was g'ung on.
But everywhere the pai^aagc was left free as far as pos.sible : and the
rough guardians of the barricades, in their torn blouses, often laid
down their arms, and gave a polite hand to help me over. I stopped
to talk with many : their language was energetic, sometimea excited,
but chiefly moderate and sensible. They complained of the grind-
ing and exclusive system of the goverment, and stili talked only of
obtaining irom the king a pledge of thorough reform. Certainly,
aa far as their manners were concerned, the people of Paris — the
true people — the labouring man and the artizan — rose more during
this day's ramble, in my esteem, than I could have thought possi-
ble: it would have been the blindest prejudice ami injustice not to
have been struck with the good feeling, the moderation and the po-
liteness of almost all I spoke with, much as I might condemn the
manner in which they were seeking to obtain, what they called, the
reilress of their wrongs, and vengeance for bloml-<ihed.

"After thus toiling on my way, enquiring my direction to the
quays, I found myself, at last, much further eastward than I had
intended in the Rue St. Denis. Here fighting had been going on

FRENCH REVOLUTION.

home ftn<l return to it no more. Toucliing sight! A hoy tfwk up
one of the toys, but un Hrmed artUan, covere<l with the smoke of
battle, forced him to lay it down again. ''Tis but a toy/ expostu-
lated the h'ttle fellow. * But if you take a toy, others would think
they might take a treasure,' eaid the self-installed guard, angrily.
In the bedroom of the poor duchess were the hat oV her ill-timed
husband, his epaulettes, and his whip, under a glass case ; the
crowd walked round these objects curiously, but with respect. I
saw some shed tears. Here was thrown a shawl in the dressing-
room — there a ailk dress, signs of hasty and agitated departure.
Every where stood small objects of value and taste ; but here no
one touched them. My heart was quite wrung with the sight of
these tokens of the domestic life of one, born for high destinies, and
now a fugitive.

"In the state apartments the scene was far otherwise. Here were
the wildest confusion and disorder. The throne had been already
carried away ; the curtains every where torn down ; the candelabras
smashed ! every where thronging, yelling, half-intoxicated crowds.
In the theatre all was broken and torn ; the people seemed to resent
the past pleasures of the royal family. In the chapel the altar had
been respected! but every other object was broken. In the king's
private rooms the scene was, if possible, more disorderly still.
Everything was broken, and papers were flung about. In truth
there seemed not much of value to destroy : and here a few sturdy
men were mounting guard over what appeared to be collected articles
of value, or cassettes of money, A few ruffianly-looking fellows
were devouring, cpiietly seated, the untouched breakfast set out for
the fugitive king.

"I knew not then what I have known since, the scenes that, but
a few hours before, had passed there ; the prostration of the king's
mind at the unnecessary alarm ; the entreaties, the commands al-
most, of some of the deputies of the Opposition for his abdication in
favour of his grandson, little thinking they were playing a game
they were so soon to lose, at the moment they thought to win it.
The supplications of the queen, she generally so calm and so re-
signed, who went from one to the other ' as a lioness,' imploring
them not to counsel such an act of cowardice, urging her bewildered
husband 'rather to mount un horseback, and allow himself tube
killed at the head of hie troops, than thus in coward spirit to throw
down a crown he had taken up agninsi her will, but was now
bound to guard.' And yet these sad scenes of history had passed,
upon that spot of a people's riot in triumph, so uhortly before.

'* In the delicately furnished rooms of the apartments, belonging,

I believe, to the Duchesses of Nemuurs and Montpensicr, the scene

was far different from that on the other side of the palace. Much

had been broken and destroyed ; dresses torn out, articles of value

scattered about ; letters passed from hand to hand. Nothing was

•espected, in spite of the violent efforts made by many of the better

lifiposed. Big bearded men with costly shawls upon their backs,

nu cigars in their mouths, reclined on satin sofas, playing at

uchesses, and begging, in falsetto voice, that curtains might

e drawn because it was cold ; others rolled their dirty smoke-

mcarcd persons in the white beds, with obscene jokes and gestures;

whilst by the side of one stood an old female servant crying at this

VOL. XXIII. I I

430

SCENI

kBT PBBNCU REVOLUTION.

dishonour of her mistress's couch, perhaps the only inmate of the
palace who had remained. The grotesque^ the horrible, the un-
seemly, the wild, and the pathetic, were mingled in a scene of con-
fusion like a hideous nightmare, that none who have witnessed it
ever can forget.

*' In the court, as I came forth, were blazing bonBres made of
royal carriages and fourgons, and piles of broken furniture,
people were rushing about with torn dresses, and strips of cu
on their bayonet-points. One drunken man stopped me lo beg
to feel the satin of Louis Philippe's court breeches, which he
put on over his own pantaloons. The rattling of the breaking
clows, and of the furniture hurled out of them, was constantly
corapanied by the incessant shouts and singing of the ' Marseillaise,'
and the running fire of the discharged muskets.

" Great was my astonishment on returning to the desolate scenes
upon the Boulevards — desolate, although crowded with almost all the
population of Paris, — when the blazing guard-houses shed their rtamci
over rioting men, drunken with wine as well as victory,— -where jkkJi
ol' blood still marked the spot where the fate-fraught shots bad bcco
fired on the previous night before the Hotel of Foreign A^irs, oa
the wulls of which bloody fingers had traced the words, * morl a (w-
zoi /' — where all was ruin and destruction, — to hear die republic
solemnly proclaimed upon these ruins. Written lists, headed * Txr
la RepuUiqiie /' were pasted upon shutters and doors aimotuicing tbe
names of the members of the self-elected Provisional Government
constituted * by voice of the sovereign people,' who had accepted their
awful task of responsibility with other views, probably. Now cane
along, over barricades and fallen trees, an immense procession beariaf
the broken tlirone, — now, again, masses of men bearing rags of ibf
uniforms, of the shirts, of the drawers of the slaughtered Municipil
Guards ; and drums were beat before them ; and the firing and tk
shouting were incessant ; and broken snatches of the Marseillaic
were screamed by thousands of voices, begun and never ended ;
all was still hideous confusion. By night the illumination of joy
enthusiasm, as it was called, illumined the same or similar
That night, and tlie next morning all was anarchy; the troops wi
all disarmed — the people of all classes armed to the teeth : there
no restrictive forccj no police, no government, no laws. The firing
the air was incessant throughout the whole night ; and a thousand oa
jectures were made as to the work of destruction that was going oil

The extraordinarily vigorous measures of the Provisional Go
nieiit in restoring order when wild bands were ravaging, pill
and burning in the country round, and threatening the safety of
capital, and the untiring zeal of the National Guards to the same
after their untoward deed was done, have now restored its i
aspect lo the capital: scarcely anything now remains of the dev
tion and riot but the blackened walls of the Palais Royal and tkr
shattered windows of the Tuileries. With a gloomy and
future the Flaneur has nothing to do: he has attempted
more than give a few vague sketches of some of the most
scenes of those three daj's. that have chaaged the destinies of
and shaken the fabric ot Euro[>ean society.

431

PRINCE AIETTERNICH.

WITH A I'ORTBAIT.

pRiNCB AIkttbrnich was born at Coblenc on the 15th of May>
1773» Like his father, he commenced public life hs a diplomatists
at the CongrcBs of Rnstadt, and crowned his brilliant career in that
capacity at the Congress of Vienna, where he presided over kings,
princes, and statesmen of every cast, and of almost every shade of
character.

Perhaps no statesman ever had a more perverse fate to contend
with than Prince Melternich. At the dawn of his official cfircer he
found a system which the Emperor Francis had been labonring to
construct for twenty years upon the ruins of the great work of
reform which had been commenced by his predecessor, Joseph II.
Anterior to the time of the latter monarch, the authority of the
Austrian Emperors was absolute only in name; it was directed or
restrained at every turn by a dominant aristocracy; and Joseph,
with the same political sagacity as our Henry VII., Endeavoured to
neutralise their influence by creating a rival power to it in the
people. The people, however, were not ripe in his day for a revolt
under the imperial banner against their feudal oppressors, whose
legislative veto was as conclusive as that of the tribunes of Rome;
and the utmost that he could effect was to centralize in his own per-
son the supreme administration of the state. This enabled him to
do much for the amelioration and improvement of his subjects;
but, unhappily, the same machinery which, in his hands, contributed
so largely to the elevation of the masses, was equally available for
their degradation in the hands of his successor. The policy which
Francis pursued with ever- increasing vigour during a reign of more
than forty years, is easily explained by the circumstances which
signalized his accession. He ascended the throne in 175^2, when
the spirit of revolution was in the full fury of its terrible course, and
his reign was inaugurated by a declaration of those principles of
conservatism and reaction, which no defeat could compel him to
abandon, no victory induce him to relax. His policy was not
merely a policy of resistance, but of aggression, as it regarded his
own subjects ; and the co-operation of such discordant spirits in his
service as Alcttcrnich and Kolowrat is n sulhcient proof that he was
in reality the master of both. His uncompromising obstinacy was
Alike deaf to necessity and reason ; and Mettcrnich had little more
to do, while he livetl, than to act as the exponent of his views and
the executor of his designs. It has been justly remarked, that the
reign of Prince Metternich only began on the day of his old master's
death.

It is impossible to say what course Metternich would have chosen
had the initiation of on administrative policy been left to him at first;
but it is quite clear that he must in his heart have condemned the
system in which it was his fate to be involved. He foretold its in-
evitable ruin, though he fondly hoped that it would last as long as
himself. "After me — the delude" he was wont to exclaim; and we
cannot conceive that a man, who was haunted by such a meUncholy

VOL. XXltl. K K.

432

PKINCE METTERNICH.

conviction, would not have retraced his steps, if he could have done
80 with safety. When Francis died, ii must be recollected that the
Prince had been occupied for nearly a quarter of a century in forging
fetters for his country, and that the heavier they became, the more
terrible would be the rebound of the victims when lilwrated from
their pressure. To stand still was impossible, — to recede would have
been instant destruction ; and he had, therefore, no choice but la
postpone the calabtruphe as a legacy for his successor. He never
expected that the .system would survive, and, indeed, after the French
Revolution of 1B30. the same ominous presentiment struck a panic
into the heart of the old Emperor himself. He wandered about the
custle of Schi'jnbrun groaning " Alles ist verturen," — all is lost ; and
for the last three years of his life trembled at the thought of signing
a decree ! And yet, the ruling passion for enslaving his people was
strong in death. When his will was opened, it was found that he
had left four hundred thousand Rorins for the re-establishment of
the order of Jesuits throughout the empire.

The power of Metternich was now uncontrolled ; and it is from
this date that his undivided responsibility begins. Hitherto he had
been only the unscrupulous minister of another's will ; now he was
to originate everytliing svo propria motu. But, unfortunately, he was
too deeply pledged to the old policy of repression to be a free agent
in this crisis of his destiny. By his Machiavelian arts he had eiuj
slaved, nut only his own country, but the whole German familyifl
The Germanic Confederation, which had held out constitutional^
liberty to the people, was, under his auspices, perverted into a con-
federacy of sovereign powers to oppress them. If Hungary, or tbej
Tyrol, were enfranchised, every state, from the Rhine to the froutier^^
of Russia would ri&e, and demand to participate in the boon. Thirty-
five princes were bound by a solemn covenant to assist each other in
withholding from their subjects the liberty of free discussion, s"*^
the privilege of popular representation ; and the slightest concessiovf
by llie great head of that confederacy of }>otenLates would be \\\t
signal for universal innovation. In fact, Metternich clearly saw thai
matters had been carried too far to admit of ituy endurable comproj
niise between the people and their rulers^ and that reform, instead 4^
conciliating the former, would only be the first step to a general
revolution.

Under a di0*erent monarch. Prince Metternich would probably
have been a very diflerent statesman. No diplomatist has uisplaycd
in modern times more tact and address in accomplishing his objects
but the utmost prai.^e we can bestow upon him is, that few have sui9
passed him in executing the conceptions of his employer. Fronds
was a king who rarely consulted, and tiever trusted, any one. Th^
functions of his servants were purely ministerial ; and he seldom IlH
dulged them in the exercise of the higher prerogative of ndviier^B
Under Joseph the Second, Prince Metternich would have been lh«

ablest houune du progret of his time, and even under the present Ei
peror Ferdinand, he might have been a conciliating reformer, if
had not found it impossible to abandon the svsU'ni which be h

ipossible to aOandon the syste
been so long engaged in maturing to a fatal perfection. How stron
ly he felt the necessity of adhering to it is evident from the line
conduct he adopted respecting Francis's legacy to the Jesuits. Fer-
dinand, as well as the Archdukes Charles and John, detest«d the

PRINCE METTERNICH.

433

k Order, and the people, and the regular clerg^^ also, held them in
ikiiTersion. But Aletternich, although there was ver^ little bigotry in
^^pls composition, felt that the Jesuits would be of important service
^^TO the state policy, which had been persevered in so long that it was
m impracticable to substitute for it any other principle of guvernioent,
1^ without risking a convulsion; and, with the support of the emprebs-
|g mother, he compelled his reluctant sovereign toe&tabliah thebrother-
p hood, in confurmity with the will of his deceased parent. It was to
^ them that tie entrusted the education of the people, in the hope of
^ their checking the liberal tendencies of the age, and counteracting

tthe prupagandism of liberty by the propagandism of superstition.
He cared little, nideed, for the religious doctrines which they
preached, and even went so far as to consent to their banishment
from court ; but the political doctrine of Divine rights which they
drew as a corollary from obedience to God, as esscntiat and indispen-
sable to the popular enduraitce of a desputism, was the keystone of
his policy. And hence, while the cabinet of Vienna repudiated all
allegiance to Rome, the people of Austria were more roughly ridden
by her priests than any other country in Europe, not excepting Ire-
land itself.

In short, it was the misfortune of Metternich, that in the early
part of his career an arbitrary government was the only government
%vhlch the head of the state would permit ; and, in his later years,
the only government which was possible without entirely revolution-
izing the empire. The fetters, too, which it cost the prince years of
deliberation, and debate, and intrigue, to rivet upon the communi-
ties of Germany, under the false pretences of binding them together
in a bond of national unity, crippled his own motions as well as
theirs, and the Austrian government was compelled to sacrifice the
same popular attachment and support which it persuaded others to
repudjate. It was a monstrous error, too, on the part of Aletternich,
to create a sympathy between the Austrian provinces and the Ger-
man states, by subjecting them to a common oppression ; for the
latter were far more combustible than the former, and should the
flames burst out in the one, they would be sure to extend to tfie
other. When, by the final act of the Confederation, it was resolved
that, *' since the German Confederation consists of sovereign princes,
it follows, from the very nature of the case, that the whole power of
the state must remain undivided in the head of the state; and that
no representative constitution can be allowed to bind the sovereign
to the co-operation of the estatea/'^when Austria succeeded in thus
assimilating the condition of every German community to her own
naked despotism, she procured thirty millions of allies for her own
discontented subjects at home. And yet she could not avoid this
step ; it had been rendered inevitable by the measures which had
preceded it since the peace of 1G15, and retreat became daily more
diflicuJt, until it was entirely out of the question. Metternich, in
short, from the first day he entered into the service of Francis, waa
involved in a war against the natural tcndeuctf of things, and we have
seen that he was himself sensible of the hopeless struggle in which
was engaged.

It has been said, that the fallen statesman should have recognized
in the final overthrow of Na]>oleon the advent of a critical epoch,
and that, when he abandoned the obsolete fiction of the Hapsburghs

K K ^

434

PRINCE METTRRNTCB,

representing the ImperUl dynasty of the Cvsars, he should have
given to the substantive empire which still remained to the Iloiufi
of Austria an organization which would have harmonized with the
ideas of the new era which waa then dawning upon Kurope. Bu
8uppa&in^ him to have possesiicd the ^catness of mind required fuf
the conception of such u plan, what power did he possess over the
tliscordant elements of the empire for its execution ? What were
the materials with which he was to reconstruct, what the found*-
tion upon wliich he wa.s to base, a regenerated empire? Austria,
Bohemia, Hungary, Italy, — the very catalogue of it* parts suggcaU
at once the impossibility of tlieir assimilation. Separated from eadi
other by ditfiTenccs in hmgungef manners, traditions, and all tt
constitutes the moral character and force of nations, by vrhut
would it have been practicable to amalgamate thera permanen
together ? Their discordance^ which rendered it just possible
vem them by an imperial despotism, like that of Austria,
same time rendered it impossible to govern them bv an imperi
stitution like that of Great Britain, The tact of a Metternich mig
be able to keep all in subjection for a time by the jNlachiavelii
prescription, — gouvcnicr Vune par Ics autres, — but the Abbe Siey
himself could not have invented a plausible scheme for cmbradnf
them all within the pale of a constitution which should have t
merits of centralization and unity. We in England have
taught what a diflficult problem this is to solve satisfactorily, hy o
own experience of Ireland ; and how much more difficult must
have been for Austria, with not one Ireland, but half a dozen Ire*
lands, to reconcile, not only with the central power of the empire^
but with each other !

We should not, perhaps, blame Prince Metternich so severely, i(S
we candidly considered the circumstances of which he was tlie crea*
ture. The ordre actuel to which a man \a born, be it what it may,
has some claim upon his respect and attachment ; and the imme*
diate mischief which is inseparable from every change, it
apology for conservatism under every regime. AJoreover, men have
not the same opportunities of free action under despotic, as und
constitutional governments; under the former there is no medium
between loyalty and disaffection ; where there is no rcpresentatiott
there is no merely political opposition ; and he who would serve hit
country at all, must be content to serve it in the spirit of its ruling
power. Afaking these allowances for his position, Prince Metter^
nich must be considered as a finished specimen of the statesmanship
and diplomacy of an Rge which has passed away. His bearing was
always noble, without hauiehr^ and courteous, without servility;
and while his dexterity in negotiation is universally admitted, no
one has ever charged him with chicanery. Above all, he was ft
man oi* peace, and never endangered tlie repose of the world by
encroaching upon the weakness of his neighbours, like too many ofifl
the Russian school, nor by unworthy intrigues, like loo tuauy of UmS
French.

Of his qualities as a statesman, let our readers judge ; we have
endeavoured to supply them with the best of materials for so doing.

THE CAREER OF M. GUIZOT.

BV JMUBi WARD.

Thr career of M, Guixot, the komme tTHat, has cloned. A deluge
has swept him away, and left not a wreck behind of the state of
things with which he was associated. He belongs to another era—
to a former age of the world-^as much as Wolsey, Sully, or Scjanus.
He and hia system are alike extinct. The workman and his work
have disappeared together ; and, therefore, in giving n study of his
life, we shall not be charged with prematurely intruding into the
province of posthumous hibtory.

Francois Pierre Gillaumc Gnixot, the last'prime-rainister of Louis,
ex-king of the French, was born ut Nimes, on October 4th, I787.
His father, Andre-Francois Guizot. was a distinguished member of
the bar at Ximes, and, like nearly the whole body of the legal pro-
fession throughout France, entertained a bitter hostility to the old
rrgimc, which denied them the social rank and political influence to
which they were entitled by their intelligence and wealth. When,
therefore, the revolutionary spirit broke loose in 17BJ>, the elder
Guieot threw himself into the stream which, instead of bearing him
to the new Utopia of " Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity," was only
to land him, like so many other patriots and adventurers, visionaries
and charlatans, at the foot of the scaffold. He was guillotined on
the Hlh of April, IJi*^. ■when the subject of this memoir was only six
years and six months old.

The Guizots were a protestnnt family, and in ]71^ Afadamc
Guizot* retired to Geneva for the purpose of affording her sons — for
she had two— a sound religious and learned education. Of the
elder (M. Guizot), we learn, th»t he not only displayed a rare pre*
cocity of talent, but that his powers of application were most extra-
ordinary. Abf»orl>ed in the study of some favourite or difficult work,
we are told by Af. Lorain that he was not only imperturbable to or-
dinary interruptions, but as insensible to even the practical tortures
inflicteil upon him by his schoolfellows, as if he had been actually
mesmerieed by the authors before him. At thirteen years of age
he was well-grounded in Greek, Latin, English, German, and Italian,
and, after having completed the usual courses of philosophy,
history, and literature, he bade adieu to Geneva in 1815 to study the
law at Paris.

Many prophecies (as is generally the lot of precocious school.
boys), were hazarded by the dons of Geneva about young Guizot
hecoraing ** inj a lliblmiertt k plus marquant de son ^pttque:" but in

* Thia r^iiarkable woman lias juat pai<) Hiv debt of nature, baring atuined her
eigbty-iliirJ year. Froin the conuncnceiuent to the c\ow of hiT vvLntfiil life, the
IB uid to have exhibited the tmme rarr qtioJiiies uf mind — ririniiMt) o( })ur|HJiie, a
refined trnM of the beautiful and good in human diaracter, combined with a
souimIucw of judgment, which never failed brr in the raauy critical ppoclw of her
lif«w Her iiSrvr.tinn for her «on, and ber solioitudi* for his welfare — from his first
entrance in the arena of Uenera lu his Iniit i>tntggle« to regenerate his country —
w«rr unbroken mid unceaiing^, and »he died with the conviction that, moraltjf, he
was fi^ht, liiiwevcr jmliticaily he tuigbl haro been wrong in the cunrM of policy
which, be atlupted for his country.

*3C

THE CAREER OF M. GUIZOT.

Paris he found himself suddenly thrown into an element altogether
uncongenial, and even revollinp Kiliis principles and tastes. To the
Reign of Terror had succeeded the Reipn of Pleasure — or rather of
the most abandoned debauchery — and society had not yet passed
through this Ust phase of its moral revolution, which must have
been more frightful to the austere and religious student than even
the horrible internecine struggles which preceded it. He fell into a
deep melancholy, with which he struggled for some time in v«n ;
but, at last, by a strong effort of the will, he forced himself into the
world of letters and science, where he fortunately contracted an in-
timacy with the venerable M. Staffer, who had formerly represented
the Swiss Confederation in France- At the country-house of this J
gentleman, M. Guisot probably passed the two happiest years oC hitf
life (J8O7 and 1808), extending the range of his former philosophi-
cal studies under the guidance of his able and amiable host. It was
here, too, that he formed an acquaintance with M. Seward (the pro-
prietor of the ** Publiciate"), which led to his odd romance, and
eventual marriage, with the clever Pauline de Meulan, Mademoi-
selle i^Ieulan was an important contributor to the " Publiciste," and
in I8O7 was suffering under Intense uneasiness from the conscious-
ness that her declining health peremptorily required at least a sus-
pension of her literary labours. In this dilemma she received an
offer from " u» talent inconnu, mats plein de denouement," to supply
her place fur a season ; and the rare ability of the articles forwarded
by the mysterious •' friend in need " secured their ready acceptance.
Great was the curiosity amongst M. Seward's coterie as to who the
unknown contributor could be : every artifice was tried to strip him
of bis incognito, but in vain, until at last, Alademoiselle iVieulan threat-
ened to include him amongst the vulgar herd of correspondents whose m
contributions are rejected, ** unless accompanied by a real name andfl
address." This extorted the soft confession from the grave young 1
gentleman — M. Guizot — who, with a grave and demure countenance,
had all along affected to have been as much nuzzled, and to havf.
been as anxious (perhaps he was), for an tclatrcistement as the lad^
herself. From that time M. Guizot made love after the fashion
ordinary men, and, at the age of twenty-five, he married Mademoi
Belle Meulan, who was fourteen years his senior. The marri
proved a happy one. Alluding to it nine years after, he writes to
friend — " Je remercie Dieu de mon bonheur \ je tuts du petit nomh
de ceujc (fue la vie n'a livint tromp^ !" Alas! can he say this ttow
In after life M. Guizot owed much of his ambition to the support he
found in this really fldnurable woman. She died in lfi27, and we
hardlv know a more pleasing picture of a death-bed than the bri
sketch of Madame Ouizot's by Pascallct. "On the 30th of Julyj
•he bade a tranquil and tender farewell to her husband and family
The next day she requested M. Guizot to read to her. He first read'
10 her a letter from Fenelon to a sick person. He then began the
sermon of Bossuet on the immortality of the soul — as he finished it
she breathed lier last ! "

It was in 18()i) that M. Guizot made his first appearance as an
author, in the course of which he published bis " New Universal
Dictionary of French Synonymcs/' and the preface to the first volume
of " The Lives of Uie French Poets of the age of Louis XIV." In
1811 he produced "The Slate of the Fine Arts in France " &c.

THE CAREER OP M. GUIZOT.

487

the first number of" The Annals of Education," which he continued
until 3815; in addition to which he contributed largely to the
«' Publiciste," to the "Archives Litteraires," and the "Journal de
TEmpire," and other periodical works. In the meanwhile. M. de
Fontane procured for him the professorship of history to the Faculty
of Letters, and this appointment letl to the lasting friendship which
Bubsisted between himself and M. Royer Collard, who had been
selected professor of philosophy some lime earlier.

Although M. Guizot took little or no interest in public affairs
under the Empire, he never attempted to conceal his politicAl
opinions. His "family connection," if it may be so termed, with the
revolution waa well known, and, throughout all his philosophical
and literary works, although there was no declamatory liberalism,
there breathed a spirit which was quite as hostile to Imperial a* to
Democratic oppression. When he was appointed to the chair of
history, his patron, De Fontane, suggested to him the necessity of
introducing something complimentary to Napoleon in his inaugural
address; but this was a necessity to which he would not consent to
nacHAee his convictions in favour of a constitutional monarchy.
Napoleon took no notice of the slight ; but tlie legitimists did not
fail to remember it afterwards, and to attribute it to a sour efferves-
cence of the old revolutionary leaven.

After the first Restoration, the Abbe de Montesquieu became Mi-
nister of the Interior, and AI. Guizot, by the recommendation of his
friend Royer Col lard, was appointed secretary-general to that im-
portant department. History will certainly record of him, as a pub-
lic man, that he always laboured under the disadvantage of being
misuTiderstood — a disadvantage whicli would seem to be an inevitable
incident to such a double game as " Progri's et en mcme temps re-
tistance*' From the firtt to the last scene of his public life, he has
uniformly found himself in this unfortunate position^ and in every
instance he has chosen the posiiiou himself, with the view of illus-
trating an administrative principle which neither party would en-
deavour to comprehend. This is the secret key to his policy. The
first political character in which he appeared was as a liberal, Pro-
testant secretiiry to a counter-revolutionary, Catholic member of the
cabinet. How could he expect that the counter-revolutionary party
would regard him as anything better than an interloper.* or the li-
beral party as anything better than a deserter? And yet he wa«
neither. The government sought him with the intention of con-
ciliating the liberals, and he, on the other hand, consented to attach
himself to the government with the hope of retarding the retro-
grade policy of the royalists. In short, M. Guizot has always con-
trived to place himself in an ambigiwux situation, and to ado]>t prin-
ciples of action which he always found it a difficult, or delicate
matter to explain.

On the return of Napoleon from Elba, M. Guizot withdrew alto-
gether from public affairs, and devoted himself to the duties of his
professorship. His retirement, however, was not doomed to be a
long one. Towards the end of Alay the solution that would be
given to the great problem of the re-establishment of the Empire
was obvious. That Napoleon should be able to. resist the gigantic
forces that were about to rush upon him from every quarter of Eu-
rope, was almost a physical impossibility ; and the moral certainty

'rflE CAREER OF M. UUIZOT.

tietnocracy, 04 well m to the old aristocracy. This law at once
tkrew the representation of the country into Uie hands of the middle
riaiTir, and was therefore as little palatable to the one extreme
party as to ttie oilier. So great indeed wns tht'lr combined clamour
against it, that M. Laisne, Minister of the Interior, was persuaded
that the mere presentation of the law to the Chambers would be the
downfall of the Miui!>try. M. Guizot was called in, and defended
the project of the law with such ability, that M. Laisne engaged to
prot>oae it if M. Guixot would indite a speech for him to accompany
iu M. Guizot did so, and the law was carried.

]V1. Sarraiis assures us, that the revolution of 1830 had been con-
templated many years before, and that Iia6tte had seriously enter.
Uioed it in \Sl7t the year when M. Guizot's electoral law was
proposed. Be this as it may, the seeds of that revolution were cer-
tainly sown then in this law, for it rendered it impossible for the
government to be carried on with any degree of comfort by a Mi-
nistry subservient only to the Court, and it was the violation of this
law by the Polignac Ministry which at last precipitated the down-
fall of the King. The Court, in fact, soon discovered the inconre-
nicMce of the law, and longed for some reaction which would justify
reprisals upon its authors. The assassination of the Due de Berri
in February 1820, afforded the wished-for opportunity. Camille
Jourdain, Koyer Cullard, De Barante, &c. were disgraced by being
dismissed from the Council of State^ and M. Guizot followed thero^
very prudently declining to carry along with him the additional
insult of a pension.

At this time M. Guizot seems to have set to work in right earnest,
to write the ulira-royaU^ts down. In 1821, in his brochure " Des
Conspirations et de la Justice Publiqne," he exposed the atrocious
policy of a government, ''qui suscitait des eoiiitpirations pour ex-
ploiter ;" and this he followed by a very able explanation of the true
policy of the opposition, " des Moyens de Gouvernement et d'Oppo-
sitian dans I'etat actuel de la France." Afterwards, he came to
CtiU closer quarters with the Government, in the brochure *' Du
Gouvernement de U France et du Ministere actuel."

The political pamphleteering, however, of M. Guizot, — fortunately
for genuine literature, — was abruptly brought to a close. In 1822,
the government removed him from his chair at the Sorbonne^ under
the pretence that he maile his lectures a vehicle for HberaHsm. So
Car i'roni resenting this tyrannical act, to the astonishment of every

e, M. Guizot retired altogether from the field of political dis-

ssion.

The long absence of M. Guizot from political polemics, which
followed his expulsion from the Sorbonnc, has been attributed by
many to a prophetic forecast of the storm which was in a few years
to sweep away the dyna^ty of the Bourbons, and to the anxiety with
which thinpretientimeut inspired him for the completion of those great
historicjtl works upon which his mind had been long engaged, while
tiie temporary calm still permitted him leisure and repose. But
nowhere in his writings up to tltiit time, and btill less in any part of
his public policy, do we find a warrant fur this compliment to his
powers of penetration. When M. Guizot perceived a revolution
stealing upon the country, his conduct during the last five years can
leave ui in no doubt as to tlie direction iu which the "double ac-

440

THE CAREER OF M. OUIZOT.

tion'* of his principles, — proves el en meme temps resistance, — would
have been exertpfl. But it i« evident, moreover, that not only Ad
M. Guizot in 1822 not anticipate a revolution, but that he felt as-
sured that France no longer presented the social antagonism neces-
sary to produce one. Contrasting the then state of society in France
with that which rendered a revolution not only poiwible, but inevi.
table and irresistible, in 17^*9, he says in his hnx-hure '• Du Gou-
vernenient de la France et du Ministere actuel." '* I^a Revolution
de '81) a trouve en France deux peuples; la France nouvelle n'en
vaut plus qu'un."

But, whatever might have been the motive which withdrew SI.
Ouisot for six years from the arena of pulitics, the world has no
reason to complain of the manner in which his seclusion was em-
ployed. His collection of" Memoirs relating to the History of the
English Revolution," and his history of that Revolution from the
accession of Charles I. to the Restoration of Charles IT., are noble
works, for which France owes him every honour, and England no
small gratitude, as among the first, if not the very first, of the his-
torians whose names will themselves become identified with the
history of their own age. The former work alone occupies twenty-
six octavo volumes; and yet at the same time he was at work upon
his •* Collections of Memoirs relating to the History of France from
the Foundation of the Monarchv to the Thirteenth Century," which
was completed in thirty-one volumes; upon his "Essays upon the
History of France from the Fifth to the Tenth Century ;** and a new
edition of Mably's History, with a Critical Review. In short, ii
these six short years he accomplished as much as would ha%'e been]
the work of a life-time for an ordinary author even in the days ofj
folios ; and every page bears the stamp, not only of indefatigabU
research, but of a power of analysis ana comprehension surpassed,,
perhaps, by no one, except the nigh-priest of history, — the unap-
proachable Niebuhr.

It was in the year 1828 that M. Guizot once more resumed hit
political action, by some able contributions to the "Globe." This
journal, which then exercised considerable influence upon the risinjM
generation in France, was supported by the associated talents of ftl
nnmber of young men, the disciples of M. Guizot,— MM. Remusat,
Diichatcl, Duvergier de Hauranne, Dubois, Alontalivet, Armand
Carrel, and others. It is superfluous to add, that in such hand^^ J
directed by Huch a head as 5l. Guizot's — then in one of his progr^^^
phases — it proved a formidable opponent to the Polignac party, who
were intriguing with unscrupulous activity to restore the system of
ruling with " the strong hand." The semt-libcral minister, Martig-
nac, restored M. Guixotto his professor's chair at the Sorbonne, and
in the beginning of the following year to his scat in the council of
«tate. Everything, in short, indicated his speedy advancement to a
aeat in the cabinet, when Martignac himself fell, undermined by the
intrigues we have alluded to, and Polignac seized the reins of power,
resolvefl. to use his own exulting declaration, ** gouvcrner d /a WtU
linffton.''^

From this moment M. Guizot undertook the task of organizing an
efleclivc Opposition. The constituency of Lisieux (Calvados) rc-^

• *• Lc Globe," Augu»t 3Ut, 1830.

THE CAREER OF M. GUIZOT.

441

turned him to the Chamber, and he at once took his seat among the
centre gauc/ic. The Martipnac party joined the anti-ministerial
party, and Guizot carried the memorable address or2*J] in all its
original l>oldness, even against the wishes of many of his friends.
There can be no doubt that he was anxious that the demonstration
should be, in the first instance, as strong as the spirit of the consti-
tution would admit, lest it should fail to produce the desire<l im-
pression upon the Court. " Let us take care," he warned the com-
mittee, **not to weaken the force of our words, not to take the pith
out of our expressions. // is our duiif to take care that they are
respectful, but not timid or doubtful. Truth has hitherto found it
too difficult to penetrate into the cabinet of kings, that she should
now be presented at court trembling and pale. All that we ought
to guanl against is the possibilitvof //r<'/('f/ri////o/'o//r scfitimenls ftehtg
misconstrued." It is evident that M.Guizut at this crisis did not
ffieculate npon the alternative of a revolution.

The Court, however, was obstinate. The Chambers were again
dissolved, but with worse results for the government than before.
Then came the memorable ordinances — the emeutr — the barricades —
the bombardment — the king's flight — the provisional government —
and — Louis Philippe.

M. Guizot appropriated the portfolio of Public Instruction as his
share in the Provisional Government; and there can be little doubt
that he supported Lafitte in advocating the reconstruction of a new
constitutional monarchy, in opposition to the republican tendencies
of their colleagues. Fortunately, a compromise was discovered by
Lafayette in the •' citizen king," one of those happy mots by which
the destiny of France has for a time been so frequently decided.
Did not the paternity of it belong, past all question, to the spiritud
old Alarquis Lafayette, we might have supposed that M. Guizut had
created this hybrid personifiwition of sovereign power to match his
own h}'hrid personincation of statesmanship. How well the idea of
a " citizen king " harmonises with that of a Minister *' de progres ct
en meme tevips de resh/ance ! " Any one might have foretold, that,
barring accident, M. Guizot would be the man for Louis Philippe
in the end.

Hitherto M. Guizot had only filled a subordinate part in the
government; but now the chief direction and respooMbility of it
were virtually assigned to him. The movement of July had not yet
abated; the pressure was all still en progrds, and our hommc (tetat
of course became i' hommc dc resislnnce, while, in admirable unison,
Philippe the citizen was merged into Philippe the ^i'lg. The stream,
however, was for the present too strong for them ; M. Guizot's
resistance only broke the torrent without staying it, and aggravated
its brawling without diminishing its force. He was swept away,
and ]M. Lafitte took the helm ; but in less than three months he
proved that he was as incapable of controlling the movement as M.
Guizot had been of arresting it. Then stepped forward Cnsimir
Perier, the only man, if any, in France, who could at that time have
succeeded in a policy of repression. Courteous, and yet decisive ; a
scholar and a gentleman, and yet surrounded (as the French have
it) " with a host of popular antecedents," much more would have
been endured at his hands by the ultra-liberal anfl republican
parties than at M. Guizot's. The latter, indeed, had matle bitter

<luciplei, wbo, vhh
what tlie^ duBBwd

■ able.Mdte

dw ■obMH|Beiit cai-

JC« Pflrier ssfiefiencly

tadie

fistit

M. Fcncr «vtd

flf

efihe

daring hb dwt

Ac NatiouJ

frm

tbe puMtk'^ prepoo-

tfae imlk of tlidr

kt WW taanted ia tW

of a kwtocTMh bvchtiw

^^■■tJlaieuMui of cImw

."he rrplitti, ••tkt

n. woaid ramk ia tb« tvi-

« the M|iiwi of the di^wigct^
DdoTthesMikitsdCL At Uwt
of the gori
* oOcMlr. AS tb«
I dcfioid iC BOW, and eomt th*
it ia tnie that thia b« bos nsolted ib
ofthewddke
» bo. and that it ia
of the CBOHljy that it shoolci be so."
as tfaeae in mind, not
led to the down&U afX^ouis Phil
the crc^ of it fiuriy between the
Cor it. The kir|: -«ras ocrer slow to take
sjatem rfr rtwimncr to himself;
lor a van tn pick up an idea dropped
it for an original one of his
Aan poanUe that be was imdoc^n/iied by M.
hii ffiil Aihoiniiliaiiiwi We have seen that ihe i<
probably soggested to M. Guiiot by tbe wcral of his
fi^^ : and the sjmpotiries between ifae monarch and his minister,
4Biaiog froaa their pcrsooal experience, must therefore hare lO
IHiifiilJ^ ocosrded, that it ia do wonder if Louis Philippe aecepi*
«d tbe condosions which had been early formed in M. Guiiroi'aij
Bund for the natural cundusions of his own. At any rate, they
were made for each other, and the palm may be divic^ed between
them.

Wc iiavesaid that M- Perier was well supported by M. GuixtH,as
he was by J\IM. Thiers and Dupin ; and gaUaotly, ably» did ha

THE CAREER OF M. OUIZOT.

449

stand his ground amidst diflicultips at home and pmbarrassmenta
abroad. With respect to the latter, it must not be conccalod thnt
Jil.Guizot ond Itis friends bad, at the outset, reversed the apoplithegm
of Fouche by committing worse than a blunder — a crime. Appre-
hensive of the interference of the oilier great powers, they souglit
by every art to cut out work for them elseuhere. At their secret
invitation the Spanish refugees in England were invitetl to France.
Valdez, Lafro, Navarelle, Inglndu, and other revolutionary chiefs,
were provided with the means of crossing the Pyrenees into 8pain:
the French government contributed largely to the million franca
collectetl for the Spanibh committee, and another five hundred thou-
Mod francjj were raised on their security from the Spanish banker,
CalA2. Guizot, with his own hnml, presented Inglailu, the aidc-du-
camp of Torrijos, with one hundred and ninety four-guinea pieces
for Colonel Valdez ; and, lastly, Louis Philippe himself gave one
hundred thouf»and francs towards the Spanish revolutionary expe-
dition. The Spaiiibh patriots, however, were thought no more of
when they had answered the purpose of creating a diversion ; and
to this selfiih and perfidious policy may be charged the untimely
end of the unfortunate Torrijos and his friends.*

The accomplished Casimir Perier was suddenly struck down, a
victim to the cholera; and his death was the signal for legitimacy
and Democracy to rally and reanimate their forces Hgainst the com-
mon enemy. The latter again began to dream of a republic; and
this the Carlists were not unwilling to promote, as a stepping-stone
to another Restoration. Of the two, the republican party ceruinly
evinced the greatest discretion, and it was probably the fanatic
valour of the Carlists alone which originated the ^matte at the fu-
neral of Genera] Lamarque. This time, however, resistanrc carried
the day with a strong hand and a high heaul; the National
Guards were firm and loyal, and the troops numerous and e0ectu-
ally em|)loyed ; and for once t/ie snake wai jfcofcfted.

On the death of M. Perier, Al. Montalivet was accepted as a sort of
minister ad interiwj until some combination could be formed by the
king for the continuance of the system of resistance, which he waa
resolved not to abandon. Negotiations were opened between the
king and M. Dupin. But, although there were irreconcilable differ-
ences between them, as to the line of domestic policy to be pursuetl,
the king's idea of making hU foreign policy subservient to it was one
which M. Dupin rejected in lolo. The king conceived that abjtiinence
abroad was absolutely necessary to ejj'cciive repression at home; but
M. Dupin was ambitious ; he aspired to a higher distinction than that
of merely ruling the Faubourgs of Paris; his dreams were of
European fame, wliich un inipoMng foreign policy alone could com-
mand for him ; and, while he was waiting with confidence for the re*
suit, the wily king deployed Soult as president of the Council, with an
oSer of the Presidency ui the Chamber to M. Dupin, to soothe his
disappointment, and disarm his opposition.

Under M. Soult (llthOctolwr. 18;V2) the Due de Broglic became
Minister of Foreign Affairs, M. Thiers of the Intc'riur, and M.
llumann of Finance, while M. Guiaot accepted the secondary office
of Public Instructor. It must not, houevcr, be supposed that an ex-
cess of modesty, or a lack of courage, induced AI. Guizot to put up

• M. iMrrans. j

«• tte adMntanaaten » oar if

Uck af Ottibcr (vitb « brief HUMim if
The fOoCa oTtbe
rfthgrutM^—J tW Bcerti— apcaa of thepw^
far penevcnon in the rcprcasivc potic^*
waaajxar fM acw of the exjado^ order
JLGataot. He netcr aMaok fron ftroving ibe Uvt
Ua own work, nor h^ he ever
10 rwftriliate the maaaoMj wkiA thot atovsI exdtcd annC
it ia» that tfae laws of Scflteaibn' were tuceeMfuribr a
A Hole More qakf to Pmier ; and the Mioiitry wai
daQj gaina^ strength, when it was biokai
ap OQ the queitMNi of ipterreolioD in Spain.
After anothrr intsiai Mimilry of nx wioculit, M. Mole's modtf

wms constrocted (Seplenkbcr 6th, 1836). in which M. Guit«t.
the portfolio of the Interior, re«umed that of Public Id-
•tmction. It was. however, imposftible thjit such heteroj^eneoiu
materials should long cohere. The Strasburgh affair, and other dif-
ficnltieSy sprung up; and though M. Guizot, by the ^de force of hi*
character and will, carried his col]ea|;ues with him at first, bis uncom-
promising policy of resistance was one which they had neither the
energy nor the courage to continue. M. Guizot partetl from them in
the following April, after a short connexion of six months; and M.
Mole, released from the master-spirit which had befure overawed
him into courses which were repugnant to his gentle disposition,
announced a Ministry "of conciliation." He was joined by M. iU\'
vandy and M. Monulivet; and the Ministry of the 15th of April,
thanks to the stringent measures with which M. Guixot had fore^
armed them in 182.5, enjoyed smooth water for a while. M. Gutiot,
too, under a severe dumestic affiiciiuu — the death of his son— 4iad
temporarily retired from public life; but the calm was soon to be
followed by a storm which would have broken up a far stronger
cabinet than a^^y which such a man as M. Mole could possibly have

^K put to^eiiier.

^V The two extreme parties in opposition — the men." </e prc^r^^ "uid

THE CAREER OF M. GUIZOT.

the trimming policv of the Alinititry. Each uf them (mw their party
daily thinne<l by deserters to " conciliation ;" and yet in iheir state
of division they were utterly powerless to arrest this fatal absorption
of their forces by dealing a death-blow at the " conciliation " niinis»try
itself. In this state of things JSI. Mole must imprudently provoked
M- Guizot from the indulgence of his private sorrows, by throwing
upon him all the obloquy of the obnoxious measures which he had
submitted to during their brief association in power. M, Guizot at
once rushed forth to avenge this mean attack upon his policy, and
the famous Coalition was formed, of which, with Thiers, Odillon
Barrot, Berryer, Gamier Padres, he was the head. Dreadful, indeed,
was the storm which M. Mole had to encounter. It bowed him to
the earth ; but, like the pliant osier, he recovered himself. Again
it swept down upon him ; again he bent to it, ami still he was un-
broken. The third and last time it rushed upon him with renewed

tl concentrated fury ; he was torn up by the roots, and another
«nfrri/n ministry was formed, to give the lately confederated factions
of the coalition time to re-marshal themselves under their proper
itandards, and to recover their breath for a renewal of their ancient
quarrels amongst themselves.

From the course which M. Guizot pursued at this period, it ia
manifest that he thought the time was come when the assertion of
his great principle of resistance might be de6nitively established in
his OAvn pertton. lie thought that the country, worn out with tliese
party contentions, as M. Pascallet says, *' senlit le besoin d'etre gou~
vrme ;" and he also, no doubt, conceived that it was further necessary
to his plans that it should feel *' le besoin de M. Guizot." The
course, therefore, he pursued was to lend the government his vote«
without affording it the assistance of his talents and — ** to bide his
time."

While M. Guizot was calmly expecting the day when "the pear
would be ripe," extraordinary events occurred, which uOorded most
advantageous employment for hiii leisurej and in the end contributed
a few accidents to the firm estjibli»hnieiit of his power. In February^
1840, he replaced Marshal Sebaistiani ua ambassador in London, to
concert with the representatives of the other great European courts,
the solution of the important questions which had arisen in the KasC.
The arrangements, which were afterwards embodied in the Conven-
tion of July, had been settled by the other high contracting parties
before the arrival of M* Guizot; but, nevertheless, he, by his talent
and address, obtained many important modifications in favour of the
Facha of Egypt, with whose interests he was especially charged. !M.
Ouixot, however, had scarcely left France, when the Administration
which had appointed him was dissolved, and M, Tiiiers succeeded to
the Presidency of the Council. Without recalling M, Guizot, M.
Thiers annulled all that he had done, and the consequence was, that
the Convention was signed as originally agreed upon, while France
was placed in a galling state of " isolation," which rendered her aa
object of apprehension, if not of danger, to her neighbours.

Tliis was the tide in the affairs of France, which, taken on the
turn, was to lead M. Guizot to — the object of his ambition. M.
Thiers had for some years been a ribing man, but he had gradually
Adopted more extreme opinions than those which he professed when
he first served as Minibter of the Interior under Marshal .Soult. On

THE CAREER OF M. GUIZOT.

4*7

re more easily combined here, and an opposition would have
forme<l, agaiiiBt which even the favour of the Crown would
ve been no pruteclioii. But in France there arc no materials for
irresistible oppobiiion. Party is there so split into factions, and
h pursuca its own crotcliet with such violent nntagonisra. that it
\ difficult to amalgamate them, and, under ordinary circumstances,
lapofl»ible to make them cohere. At the present moment, nothing
eeps such men as Ledru HoUin, Louis Blanc, and Lamartine to-
lethcr, but the monstrous pressure upon them from without. l{ that
ras reraovedj they would fly off from each other as wide as the poles
under.

One of the elements, therefore, of AI. Guizot's strength consisted
the incongruous and repulsive nature of the raateriaU arrayed
*nfit him. This was the fault of the opposition themselves; but
hat shall we say of the means which he employed to keep around
itn his majorit)-? Those mcans^-corruption in every department
f the state — could not be justified even by the end ; for, though we
y admit tliat a government is one of the 6rst necessities of a state*
government could be worth such an enormous price as the
estruction of all private honesty and political morality. When
orruplion became so common that it ceased to be regarded as a
rinie — when the upper classes thrust their hands into the public
eaaury without blushing — the masses would not be slow to improve
n the example of their betters, and regard private property, as
as public, their legitimate spoil.

en the enemies of AI. Guizot admit that he was incorruptible

self, though he was so unscrupulous in the foul workofcorruptinfr

Others. How are we to explain this inconsistency in hia character?

it that after all every man has his price, if you know in what coin

offer it? Was the ambition uf his lofty and imperious mind so

satiable for influence and power, that he would condescend to a

volting traffic in pensions and places rather than submit to the

orti6cation of defeat? Or was it that he saw that the throne

his master had been based on corruption, and could only be

(tipported by corruption, and that he, llicrcfore, sacrificed his

better principles to his loyalty? The last supposition is the

^ore charitable one. But what becomes of the statesman and the

Patriot if we admit it?

■ Political mercenaries are infinitely more ungrateful and treacbcr-
t»us than even military mercenaries. About the latter there is som*
^nse of honour, and some sympathy for the cause to which they
•ell themselves for a campaign ; but a political mercenary is not to
pe depended upon for a day. " Of every man in this assembly," said
Bir Robert Walpole, speaking of the House of Commons, as he
teas leaving it in disgust for ever, " of every man in this assem-
bly have I houghl golden opinions^ and in the moment of trial they
desert me." The fall of M. Guiasot is a terrible affirmation of the
Rnorn) of this anecdote ; and it will not be without its uses to man-
kin<l if it operates as a warning to future statesmen that, a^i honesty
the best policy for an individual, so corruption is the very worst
licy for a government !

>l.. XXI IT.

L U

44d

THE THREE NUNS.

BY ALFRBO CBOWQUILL.

A COUNTRY invitation I There always has been a charm in thow
three words ihat has spread a thrill of happiness through vay heart
from the very earliest duys of my childhood, when my visits were in-
terregnums to the starchiness of London life; when J could get u
muddy as I pleased and as ragged aa a colt amidst the dark woods
and the thorny hrakes. returning laden like a waggon with all sort« of
wild flowers and rubbish. Blessings on that simple little villag^
where every door stood open to welcome the little London gentl«-
mao, who was always '* hail fellow well met,** with all the chubby
inmates. Then I knew of no distinction but that winch happiness
gave, and felt no reverence for any king except the king of good
fellows.

The many shadows that fall between us and those sunny dayi
make them appear more golden in the distance, and he who tnistt
himself with a reminiscence would fain return, and therefore hafll
with delight a country invitation from any of his rustic friends.

My old friend Thornycltffe, who had only seen London once in hit
life, when some law business forced him for a few weeks to lire
amidst streets and houses, wrote to mc in his kind blunt manner a
refresher, in the shape of an invitation, pressing me to spend my
Christmas with him and bis girls, for he had been a widower for some
years. A snug little circle was promised me, and plenty of sporU

I accepted his frank and kind offer with heartfelt pleasure, for vat
travels and occupation had divided me from him for five years; &(•
though I had promised, in the most tantalizing manner, to treat my-
self by a visit to him every two or tliree months, but as of^en found
myself disappointed and compelled to forego my resolve.

But now I made a strong and powerfully binding vow that I would
assert my independence, bully the demon of business, cut him, and
let him see that one of his overworked slaves could tind rcsulutioo
enough to break his golden fetters. Clear away I was the word. [
was indeed indefatigable. Stout office candles sank and expired under
the work of late hours. The thunder oC my opening and shutting
ponderous ledgers startled the office mice, and they scuttled back
again into their holes, from which they were issuing, as waa their
nightly wont, to gambol and disport themselves. I worked like a
man under contracL Hey I for the country ; the snug chimney-
corner, the wassail bowl, the misletoe, and the lips to be pressed
under it How tliey all flitted bofore me, causing many a colnmn to
be cast up twice. Kisses and sixpences were sadly intermingled
and he must be a better arithmetician than I am who can make a sum
out of them combined, except the sum of human happiness; but
that 's a sum we must not calculate upon, especially if we reckon
upon a satisfactory balance.

At last a Bnish, shewing a splendid year's business, and a most
ntisfactory return. The darling old ledgers, so full of golden pro-
mise, were wrapped in their morocco great-coats, and their brM

THE THREE NUK8.

449

iclasps snapped with a merry sound, as rhe^ were put to bed in an

'old iron chest.

Then came that puzzling packing. Pet waistcoats were doubted

over; files of boots were reviewed; which to take and which to

leave was the question ; always a puzzler lo a man halfway between

.twenty and thirty. This kept me up until a late hour. Vanity at

{last crammed my portmanteau to that extent of plethora, that an

; actual divorce was efTected between the lock and the hasp thereof.
I only got over this difficulty by calling up the stout porter o^ my

! chambers to sit upon the lid, and, as he weighed sixteen stone, the
instant compression of boots, hairbrushes, and apparel was astonish-

'ing. Portmanteaus and carpet-bags have always been an amusing

(mystery to me, for no man living has ever bad the luck to see one
full. What man blest with either has not at the end of his journey
found a vacuum that would hold all thnt he had vainly endeavoured

' to get in, and which he left behind him with regret ? 1 firmly believe
that it is OS impossible to completely 611 these travelling companions
as to find the grand arcanum,

J, however, at last went to bed to dream that I was continually

I going my journey and shaking hands with everybody. I awoke
every quarter to feel that 1 was too late : looked at my watch ;
shook it in a savage manner, under tlie impression that it had stopped.

I Ko f it was all right, and not to be hurried.

i The dark six o'clock of a December's morning found me shaving
under great difficulties ; but at last that most troublesome operation

. was achieved, after shedding my own blood in the most ruthless man-
ner. Great-coat, comforter, and cigar-case (for I confess I smoke),
were all ready. I looked out in the gloom, not to be called daylight,
for the cab ordered the night before. No appearance of that respect-
able conveyance. Forgotten, perhaps, thought I. The distant
rumbling of market-carts tantalised me dreadfully. A desperate
tliought crossed my brain of attempting to walk to the coach-office,

I but one glance at my portmanteau warned me of the impossibility;
•o I sat down upon it with a sigh of nervous irritability. I no sooner

' seated myself than I was up again. A sharp pull-up, and a sprawl-
ing, clattering struggle from a horse proclaimed the arrival of the cab.
I was soon rattling over the stones through the deserted streets.
It was just that hour thought night by comfortable, respectable
people, and daylight by the miserable, outcast wretches who shrink
back at its approach into their dens, from out the streets that their
weary feet have trodden in those hours of darkness, alone fitted to
cover their miseries or their crimes.

The office was soon reached, and the coach, full of merry faccs^
packed high with multifarious presents from London friends, rattled
out into the country with a cheering sound. The sun> which, through
the fog, looked like a magnificent egg that was poached for Aurora's
breakfast, soon dispelled the gauzy veil, and showed us the full splen-
dour of a winter's morning. The glittering lace-work of the hedges,
from which the towering trees rose like frosted silver, sparkled bril-
liantly as the sun first saluted them ; and the little cottages, peeping
from under the drifted snow, looked snug in their downy, winter
coats. The brooks alone stopped in their gambols by stern winter,

' looked dark and sullen,

■ vva

Bmca.

wkk ibccff «Wg^ at Ittviag left ihordariLci^
lo ny * We dbOTii Wke te ^ the vl
to: naij yoa are ■• ««ipbt beWod ■■ ; we sMke BMlHag of joa."
TW firu««vct odov ef ch« j«le W^ «dttted «ar DoUrilt
■«^ tfe fiufe vahce*. The
cfce «ye cxMMe, vaU eT the cmmI cMtle ami i»-

ic fesve fteco CMca Mr a
Mtlkejb^erihe
oi of tliH wori^

ftttfe wmg old com[^ too, nd tlial

■I a wckaae fo aB wmyhrm firom in

Ife red, goad^ oU-tehiooed cor-

dnva ao ooe side^ idwoing caoqgli of the iandt

ID ccB|it alt to catter ood copjr ila ftil louvj t Hov naay

fiegera daiped the tail giiim of ajethat wooM afanae aoy

sbcrry, and which, itinoeh cold at the 6raK appraoiih, vanacd

yoo to the heart Idee ao aU ftiad ! The rattle af pluBes and mm

" ' t»-
bOMcet the
6crce attadis erprrted mt ererj comer, allHengh die Dovicca

iato the firv helief that it was noch milder than whco «c
Bat I knew better; ftor I coold hear old vinter pitimg aad
uutfiiir» aod ihitiwg the thaftcTa with angry petolaoce at
from him ibr ao loog a tioie ; and omM surel/ did be
have bis fcicagE when he got oa upoo the next bleak nuiomm
Kardy did be ^li OS with the hardest sao«r aest pott
wmd, fooo fanlug OS Tcry Gttle dtidaguishahle from the

AtlaataihnrppoO-qp>Bod"HcfewoarevBir!''aiMiiBaul to oiehf
the coachman, made me bring out m)r head from the felds of mj
comforter. Turning my eye rooxM), I fe!t that I dftocdd not hare
been nwre bewildered had they put me orer the side of a vesigl ia
the bnoad Atlantic; and toM me to fiod ror waj to Dover. AH
aecmcd boned beneath the deep white snow-wreaths of winter. M;
mind was, howerer, quicklj relieved by seeing a email chaise
labouring through the iotricacies of a neighbouring lone towards (if
the loud " Ilalio T of the driver sounding cheerily in the distance.

My loggage was soon deposited in my new conveyance, and after
wishing my late companions a meiry Chriktmas, 1 mounted beside
my conductor. A few cracks of the whip, sounding sharply In the
frosty air, parted us. My new coachman disco%ered liinmlf to be
an old acquaintance, when he emerged from his wotuininous cmo-
furter. which had entirely hidden his weIl*kno«n face up to the ey^
brows. Though waxiog rather old, bis brown fjice was full orafiii-
cipatory glee ot the fun to come off* at the Hall, where all was coo-
ducted in the (rue old English $ly1e; where the season made e^od
the miister and the man ; good things being prepared fi>r the beg^
at the gate, as well as for ibe gentles in the dining-halt ; for the oU
squire aUays said that '*he who left uilfull^ one heart sad at suc&
a glorious time, deserved to liave liie shadow fall on hi« own mifch.**

THE THREE NUNS.

451

ari

PI,

I wish you could have seen the welcome he gave me at his own
gate, where he stood surrounded by liis quickly arriving friends, uiul
seen him kiss the ladies, young or old ; a tine old fashion very nuicli
on the decline; but when he introduced tliree fine-grown^ eleguitt
giria, as his litllc daughters, my astoni^thrnent was unbounded. TIichc
the children who used to eit upon my knee to listen to fairy tales?
Nonsense! I was obliged to kiss them to convince mysi-lf. Ati !
bless sucli merry meetings. The world is a pleasant world at such
times, for the heart seems unlocked and to stand wide open, that
every one may walk in and find an nfTcctionate welcome.

Dinner, the next charming tlting, when we confess to mortality,

arrived ; and such a dinner ! Had we been besieged we could not

ve been starved out under a month. Fowls us large as geese; geese

large as turkeys, and turkeys as large as swans ; and the pudding !
the pride of the day, made two servants red in the face us they bore
it to the table. The burning brandy danced round its huge dark
bulk, licking the rich ontKide with its blue tongues in the most pro*
Toking manner. Reared on its summit stood the branch of holly, to
mark it as a present to his votaries from jolly King Christmas.

The golden sherry and the russet port vanished in the most cx-
bilorating manner. Everybody seemed to want an excuse to smile
at his neighbour; healths were hobnobbed over twice, rather in doubt
whether it had been done before. The gentlemen grew red in the
face, and bright scintillations came into downcast eyes. The talking
was charming, but boisterous ; every soul seemed to remember some-
thing funny ; and as the laugh was sure, it was quite a harvest for
story-tellers.

The yule log sparkled in the broad cliimney as we made the cozy
after-dinner circle, in which I managed to place myself next to one
of my old playfellows, my host's eldest daughter. It was astonishing
how much we had to say to cacli other, and how delightful it was.
The*' don't you remembers?" took us back to our clkildhood's daySj
and we soon forgot that we had been parted for so long.

In looking round the quaintly pantiellcd and carved chamber, a
large escutcheon, rudely cut in bold relief, caught my view. It soon
came to rny memory as an old acquaintance. The subject «as, three
nuns kneeling beside each other, with three deatli's heads inter-
woven with the foliage of tlie framework.

"Well," said I, " do I remember thai curious subject, whicli I used
lo wonder at on my visits here as a child^ for it always attracted my
attention from its quaint and lugubrious character. What could in-
duce them to put such a miserable subject in any room intended for
constant occupation?"

" Do you not know the legend attached to that picture?" said my
fair companion.

" Indeed I do not," replied I -, " but I should be delighted to hear
it from you."

" The legend I the legend I by all means," cried the company
unanimously. *' Everybody must tell one at Christmas time, so you
are fairly caught."

After some ihint refusals, and some very becoming baahfulness, my
charming playfellow wus prevailed uponj and she commenced.

452

THE THREE NUNS.

*' This mansion was occupied, in the reign of the bigot Mary» by a
thriving, but hard nian^ named Mortimer. He was n widower, led
with four daughters. The eldest was his favourite, on account of
her disposition being so like his own, both being penurious and
grasping, yet ambitious to a degree. She looked with little kirhincifc^
or affection upon her three younger sisters; for she beheld io them
only spoilers of her inheritance, and scatterers of the substance wbidf
she loved above all earthly things.

" Day af^er day was one continued manceuvring struggle kept up bv
her, and well seconded by her father, to seek alliances for tlieni ia
quarters where their portions would be no object ; so that her dowry
might secure the hand of some neighbouring man of note, whose
name would aggrandize the family. Young, joyous, and unsuspocl-
ing« the sisters were unconscious of the deep art of their eldest sister,
or the absence of natural aBection in the bosom of their only
maining parent Too soon were they startled from their confidi
security, when the hand of their sister was sought by a gentleman of
noble family in the neighbourhood. Poor though noble; who looked
for an equivalent for hia wife's want of rank in the magnificence af
her dowry.

" Long and anxious were the communings between tlie father and
daughter, so well Htted to each other in their views and hear
ness. But no management could scrape together a suHicient Fum
meet the demand of the noble suitor's family, who thought thai
they did stoop, picking up money was the only palliation. Her tU-
tern, being single, must be provided for after some fashion ; but, alas!
the family purse needed to be emptied of its last coin, if she hoped to
become a bride.

*'At last a resolve, frequent in those times, was taken by the bb-
bitious pair ; — to immure the three younger sisters in a neighbour-
ing convent. This announcement drove the young blood back to the
hearts of the youthful sisters; hearts open to all the tenderest affec-
tions, and beating with love for the beautiful world in which they
dwelt. The eldest of the three felt most deeply the blow which
would separate her from one who in secret had whispered that she
was beautiful. He was far away, and unconscious of the sacritio.'
about to be made oi one so fit to ornament the world witJi her
virtues.

"In those times the will of the father was a law incoDtrovertible;
therefore they looked forward ivith little hope to a favourable chaagc
in their fate. They drooped with grief, for they were most fbndiv
attached, and sought in each other the sympathy and aifection denicxJ
to them by their stern and politic sister.

" Tears and entreaties were unavailing. They were committed w
the walls of the gloomy convent. The proud heart of the efeilcst
sisler expanded with joy as she beheld the broad lands now all to bv
her own dowry, and the noble suitor at her feet, who praised he*
charms, which he alone beheld in the broad pieces of her ambitioai
parent.

"The day at last arrived which was to give to her the great gaw-
don of her ambition, and she stood prou'lty beside the altar to bf

THE THilEE NUNS.

453

made noble, but not happy ; for, amidst the clustering groups of
priests and nuns stood three pale blighted figureSi — her sacrificed
sisters. In vain did she strive to avoid their fascinating gaze. The
proud Aush of triumph left her cheek as they stood before her in
their grave-like habiliments. Eloquently did their pale lips speak
to her of their wrongs and of her utter heartlessness. That moment
revenged them I for their melancholy eyes turned her proud heart
to stone. Her ambition became stripped of its delusions, and she
left her peace where she had immolated theirs.

" That night the three sisters slept beneath the waters of the con-
vent lake^ and the melancholy wail stilled the music in the bridal
hall.

" Where now was tlte triumph of that selBsh-hearted sister? She
cowered and fled from ihe festive hall to seek her too dearly-bought
bridal chamber. As she hurried through the long corridor, a bright
light dimmed her flickering lamp. Her three sisters stood before
her as slie last had seen them, beckoning her on to her apartment.
She fell senseless upon the Hoor» where she was found by her bride-
groom and her father. Upon returning consciousness she had only
power enough to tell them of the harrowing sight that she had seen,
and expired in their arms.

" Moodily the father traversed* from that night, the halls of hia
berefi house. In one of his half-mad whims, lie had that escutcheon
carved, as if to keep before his eyes a lasting memento of his own
misguided ambition.

" Some sliort time af\er, an old retainer of the family, in pai»sing
through the corridor, beheld to his horror the weeping forms o( the
three sisters issue noiselessly from the door of his master's chamber.
His alarm brought the rest of the servants to his aid, when, on enter-
iog, tliey found their stern old master dead.

** From that time ever after, the appearance of the three nuna was a
aure precursor of the death of some of that fanuly."

'* I '11 trouble you for another glass of port," said an old russet-
faced gentleman, whose features had elongated considerably under
the infliction of the foregoing ghostly legend. " I beg," continued
he, after he had fortified himself^with a bumper, "that that dose may
not be repeated ; for, of all the unmitigated bundle of stupid ghosts
sure I never met with the like : so, push back the chairs, and hey I
for a glorious dance ; for that undertakering story has chilled every
drop of blood in my veins."

No sooner proposed than done, everybody being more than wil-
ling; so we soon kicked the ghosts into the red sea with a hearty
double shuffle. None of your stately quadrilles, but country dances,
every one with kissing partners, and Utile trilling introductions of
that kind.

" Fast and furious," grew the fun. The dust flew, and the good
old wine laid it, and many of its votaries as well. I remember,
albeit I am a sober man, endeavouring to kiss a dozen ladies at once,
and, somehow, embracing the door-post, which was confoundedly
hard.

By some curious magic, the next thing I remember is, that I was
wending my way up the wide old staircase with a chamber-candle-

THE TEHtEE NUNS.

stick in my hand, and with a particular affectioD for the balu^t
I kncHT uiy chamber. It was one well known to me in the
corridor. The old corridor t Egad, that was not so pleasant to
remember just then. 1 felt a strange stirt ol' chill come over mc.
Hang the thing, that that stupid legend should at that moment come
into my head.

1 endeavoured to baffle the evil spirit — but no ; it would stick 14
me, as if it were nailed to my brain. The long, low, arched corridor
gaped before mc, black as a modern tunnel. Hight or left? I was
puzzled which was my road to turn. I took a resolution and tunied
to the left; but a closet-door standing a-jar knocked my candle
from my hand, and I was in utter darkness. Horrible I I groped
my way to a window-seat to collect my scattered tenses, but in
vain — my head went round like a humming-top ; the dre!idful phce
was as dark as pitch. 1 believe I slept; for I was awakened
by a loud shrill scream. Dewildercd and alarmed, I opened my
eyes ; judge my horror, when, n few paces from me, I beheld
three figures in white with their eyes fi.xcd upon me ! — the Three
Nuns 1 I believe, in my moment of terror, I cried out, and attempt-
ed to bolt down the staircase, and in doing so had nearly disabled my
friend's worthy butler by sending my head into his stomach, and pre-
cipitating him down a short angle of the aforesaid staircase. Ht!
quickly recovered himself, and helped me to my feet. I incoberenll^r
explained to him the cause of my terror; but he only put his hand to
his forelock, and ** Yces, stir,'* as coolly as if the first floor had been
legally let to the ghosts. He soon piloted mc to my chamber, and
got nie, with some difficulty, out of my boots, all the time only re-
turning a quiet "Ah !" or " Oh I** to my hurried narration. Thick-
headed brute! — he had no faith, and 1 had decidedly seen them. [
sat up in bed. I was sober, although lying down did not seem to suit
my head ; for the moment I did so the bed appeared to do something
very like '* hands across and down the middle, turn your partner^'*
&c. Yet, somehow or other, I must have slept, for I awoke with a
gleam of sun shining into my room, my tongue dry, my water-j)ig
nearly empty, and shaving undecided.

I po)>pcd my head out into the frosty air through my little case-
ment, which greatly invigorated me. A laughing group were trot-
ting towards the Hall as if returning from a morning's walk. I hur-
ried down to the broakfast-roora ; there I found them all assembled,
and was greeted with most mysterious looks; the guests all seemed
endeavouring to smother a latigh, whilst my friend's daughters ap-
peared afraid of meeting my looks, and the butler looked with a
most provoking leer out of the corner of his eye. My old friend was
worse than the rest ; for he asked me bow I felt niyseUj in a tone u$
if I had been confined to my bed for a month.

1 at last became rather tetchy at being apparently the object of
some mysterious joke. "Zounds, squire ! what arc you all about r"
at last I exclaimed ; " there appears to be some joke going on that I
do not understand^ so pray let me into it, for by your looks I seem lo
be intimately connected with the jest."

" No, no, young gentleman," replied the old squire ; " we nam the
explaiintton from you, as to why you chose lo wander about my houK-
In the dark, nnd assault my butter, whose lutxicty for tlie spouns liad

THE ISLES OF THE BLEST.

4d<)

kept hiiu up nearly the last in the house. 1 assure you he coin-
pluhieU grievously of his ribs this morning."

"Then, squire/' said I, " if I did not fear being laughed at — for,
remember, I never believed in ghosts myself — I would say, most
solL-mnly, that I saw the — " I hesitated.

** What t" exclaimed the whole group with one voice.

*' Tlie Three Nuns, in the corridor. Old James heard the scream
as they vnnishcd, which brought him to my aid.'*

At this avowal 1 was greeted with buch a loud simultaneous laugh
that 1 felt ray very face and ears tingle with the rushing crimson of
my blood.

*' Oh, Charley, my boy/' exclaimed the squire, al\er he had reco-
vered from an almost apoplectic fit of laughter, **you'll be the death
of us all. You dog, you didn't retire until you had done lull justice
to Christmas Eve; in facit we hardly dared trust you with a candle,
which you seem to have extinguished rather prematurely, as you touk
the corridor for your bedchamber, which improper disposal of your
person alarmed my three girls, who, like good housewives, had sat up
to see all right, and who certainly screamed front surprise and the
horror ut your geeing them in their curl-papers and dressing-gowns/'

As he conchuied, the laugh again burst forth, and I stood looking
very like a fool. I, however, soon recovered myself, and laughed
with the rest at the droll Christmas frolic which my brain had chosen
to play. liappy was that glorious Christmas-day, joyous was our
evening, tempered, however, by the warning of the over-night's ex-
cess. They trusted me that night wiih the chamber-candlestick
without risk. One of the three ghosts haunted my dreams; and al-
though this may In? immaterial to the reader, it became very maferlnl
to me, for I found, on quitting the Hall, that I lost all my spirits ; so
1 returned and married my favourite ghost, and took her home with
Die.

THE ISLES OK THE BLEST.

I UA,VX heard ofUetsL'd ialeft, in & aea nf glory 5cl,
M'berc we ihall ccane from wcoping^, and o»r miieries fitrgpt ;
M'lierfi iihining hmndx, with gotdi^n har[M, will m«t us ou wir wuy,
Dnide the crystal rircrs nf crcrljtstlng day!

Think not that pleasure, wealth, or eai)«, will gain ttiii gloriouB ml.
Hut tnkini; up it " daily cross," our tiarimir'ft own l>equcitti
The cross that lirings a sinner home, to Ho at Jesus' fee
And trusting in Uis love alone, find coDsolatlon sweet.

The loM ur health, — the ht-art's own y^t'w^y unshnrcd hy huinitn kind,
I* Minclitied hy proyurful fnith, if iclf-will he retilgnud \
With Mi* 9Uppurtinf{ anus houeaih, u|Hin life^i stifrtny scfu,
Tho Islands of the BU-al will pruve a haven suru lu mo t

CwA.M.W.

456

LITERARY STATISTICS OF FRAXCE FOR PIFTEEX

TEARS.*

Thb coodhitR axtd citaracscr c^ FrenrSi liaenSBre hcf for bbt

vcsTff pBSt ben sa iiitrrecdar rabject of iaqoiTy, eiej far tfaoM* vlit

are ax msch ic the hahit of joakri^ to h f3r kst coBcfdrrsble par-

tioo of their i»eBtaI tLimctti. XovbfTv e^. periup« . kt nae af

the ^rtMt proouDest fntvret of the iiierstvre of t£>e pieicui 4>r m

rtrikinv-'r exhfbiie-i ; novhere t^it if tbe cs^Tifrdsc betveea the

btentore anJ the life of a xuiion m c&of« dd iatzmrte ; in ao o^ff

titeratare i* ^ the a^ azkl bodj of tike time. h« form and |«<wii,"

■> Tiii£j reflected ; novbere cue djet the vritxra vord m warn

|*f*— »* inearoaxe in deed as in the apizjH c^ Frazice. Tbe Sna

and moit poverfoi zoflocnce of tbe prcM in tbe fonnatifla of pafafic

opisicn, i« a lad ereri vbere obrioot eaoagrb. bnt betome* a aib-

jeet of more anxKNu observation tbere.iroa tbe tet^der cj oi ofmim

to expiode intrantancoufcly into acdoB ; there, too. xv^< mtf^v aew

papers, bat a}moftt erenr pablication that iameft from the fnm,

grave or ^t, beavr or ligbt, is more or }ea§ goimz^j imbued vilfc

tbe popular feeling of the passing hour, asi if representatifc if

•osne tbeorr that has taken pouc&Eaan, fcr tbe time, of tbe popiv

T«^^^ Tbe biitorj of literature in France ifc. therefore, ercs mmt

tban in my oiber ooantry, indifpensable to the hissorr of tocacrr.

Since the foontains of the great deep of Kcial exisience hare htm
broken cp. and tbe profoundest qncftioDft of gorenuncnt mA
huxue: '.:fe bare been brought to the surface. a::>d made the ssbJMb
of zffDfT^ aod dtL.y dUcuf-sion, the Uuraiure of France, if it hiK
losz. fi^netiiiifi in refinement, ha* gilncd iii'-ci: :- p<j.fioi£a:e earnoi-
ntii. c?c=pa2^». ard strersgih of tc»ae. Her writers do not uspbt V>
dwel* apar: :s a •'* pnracr of giOriou* light-"" or lcK>k to the diitiDt
rewari c4 fjtarc ftznt: iher take their subjen* froca the erenls rf
the pa&&:n^ day, throw thems^ives headlong into tbe arer^ where
the E255« afitatiiig coccicu are carried on. ar.J cstf h tbe ferrid
breath of e7:0i-$ia«n a£ :: ri*es wam frc»in the p&jsioss of tbenuJ-
titude.

It if nc^hir; new tc* find that the importarice of any branch of
literature, eftfmated in its e0ect on the public mind, may be takm
at nearer the inTcrse ratio of its bibliographical dignity ; and io
taking, under the guidance of M. Loaandre, a glance at some fiKti
ooDceming tbe inteijectoa] prodnction of France for the last 6ftfeii
yean;, we pass orer tbe department of theology and abstruse philo-
aopfay, for this reason, as well as because it wouM lead us into
too high and difficult of access for our present purpose.
Ae»e, we come next to where tbe prospect is, in maoj
l^gUy ntistfacCorT — to those departments of literature
H if to assist and record Use triumphs of phycical
Ib Xataral History, we find, that though production hit
tin^ tibe writers, far frotn frharing in the inordinately
spirit, *o painfaliy conspicuoos in many casej,

» LMnov 4r la yawdnaBoaa iaatLlacxaciQr en France def^u*

456

LITERARY STATISTICS OF PRANCE FOR FIFTEEN

YEARS. •

The condtlion and character of French literature has for many
years p:i9t been an interesting subject of inquiry, even for those who
are not much in the habit of looking to it for any considerable por-
tion of their mental aliment. Nowhere ebe, perhaps, are some of
the most prominent features of the literature of the present day so
strikingly exhibited ; nowhere else is the connection between the
literature and the life of a nation so close and intimate ; in no other
literature is "the age and body of the time, ita form and pressure,"
80 vividly reflected; nowjiere else docs the written word so »oon
become incarnate in deed as in the capital of France. The direct
and most powerful influence of the presi in the formation of public
opinion^ is a fact everywhere obvious enough, but becomes a sub*
ject of more anxious observation therefrom the tendency of opinion
to explode instantaneously into action ; there, too, not merely newt,
papers, but almost every publication that issues from the pretf,
grave or gay, heavy or light, is more or less strongly imbue^l with
the popular feeling of the passing hour, and is representative of
some theory that has taken possession, for the lime, of the popular
mind. The history of literature in France is. therefore, even more
than in any other country, indispensable to the history of society.

Since the fountains of the great deep of social existence have been
broken up, and the profoundest questions of government and
human life have been brought to the surface, and made the subjectt^
of general and daily discussion, the literature of France, if it have
lost something in reflnement, has gained much in passionate earnes
ness, compass, and strength of tone. Her writers do not aspire toi
dwell apart in a "privacy of glorious light," or look to the di&tau
reward of future fame : they take their subjects from the eventa o
the passing day, throw themselves headlong into the arena, where
the most agitating conflicts are carried on, and catch the fervid
breath of enthusiasm as it rises warm from the passions of the mul-
titude.

It is nothing new to find that the importance of any branch of
literature, estimated in its effect on the public mind, may be taken
at nearly the inverse ratio of its bibliographical dignity ; and in
taking, under the guidance of AI, Louandre, a glance at some facti
concerning the intellectual production of France for the last fifteen
years, we pass over the department of theology and abstruse philo-
sophy, for this reason, as well as because it would lead us into
regions too high and difficult of access for our present purpose.

Passing these^ we come next to where the prospect is, in many
respects, highly satisfactory — to those departments of literature
whose business it is to assist and record the triumphs of physical
science. In Natural History, we find, that though production h
been very active, the writers, far from sharing in the inordinately
eager money-getting spirit, so painfully conspicuous in many cases,

* " SutiBtiqtiv Lit6rair« do ta prmluclJon Intellectuaile en France de|itu«
QuinM ana. Par M. Charles Louandre.**

LITERARY STATISTICS OF FRANCE.

457

tare often imposed on themselves heavy sacrificea, and devoted
ibemselves tu their pursuit with a disinterested passion.

In Geography, we have abundance ot* great works, relations of
iToyagea, undertaken at the expense of the state, for the observation
}f astronomical phenomena, and the advancement of science and
HviLizatiou, to which France has made, or endeavoured to mnke,
!ven her military conquesti* subservient ; and the efforts of indivi-
luals have been joined to those of government. Travels, econo-
nical, political, archieological, &c., have increased to an unparulleled
extent ; and the li(;ht troops of " Residences/' " Rccollcction.s/' and
' Imprcaaions de Voyage," to the number of about eighty works a
/ear, have helped to dilute the less wholesome ingredients of the
drculating libraries. Sacred and ecclehiastical hibtory, the lives of
aints, the histories of religious orders, of popes and councils, reach
1 hij^her figure thnn might have been anticipated. In the year
845 tbey amounted to no fewer than a hundred and twenty-one
rorks, besides a very large number of religious books of smaller
>ulk, in the publication of which the convents and religious associ-
tions have entered into active competition with " the trade."

Of Historical works we find an imposing mass, some even which
rere begun under the old monarchy, and which — interrupted by the
evolution of 1793 — have since ltt30 been recommenced. One of
hese, the " Recueil des Ordonnances," was undertaken by order of
x>uiE XIV. Besides great collections of historical papers, such
8 the "Collection dea Uocumens inedits relatifs a THistoire de
■"rrnnce," published under the auspices and at the expense of guvern-
nent, we have historical works by Messrs. Guizot, Thierry^ SaU
'andy, Mignet, &c., and other less celebrated names.

Unfortunately, the success of these and of various compilations
amongst which the *• Tableaux Synoptiques de I'Hisloire de
Trance," sold 6fty thousand copies in a few months), has attracted
he attention of speculators, in whose calculations the interests of
iterature and science had very little share. Workshops have been
irganized fur the fabrication of histories, general and special, the
work being, in the first instance, undertaken by some man of note.
If perhaps in an official position, who was to receive a certain
tmount per sheet, and who then immediately engaged a subordinate
o perform the duty for about sixty francs a-sheet less. There are
nstances even of the latter acting as middle-man, and sub-letting
lis jab, at, of course, a still further reduction of payment. How
he M'urk was done on such a system as this may easily be imagined.

Under the ancient monarchy, most of the provinces had their his-
orians, u&ually Benedictine monks, who wrote vast books, bristling
with names and dates, and of which the affairs of the church, of
course, occupied the largest portion, The^e had been long discon-
inued, but m U]32 a provincial history, entitled " L'Ancien Uour-
lonnais," was begun by ^I. Charles Allier, at Moulins ; and this
[ave the signal for the appearance of various works of a similar cha-
acter, in different parts of the kingdom, winch, it is »aid, rival, in
)oint of material execution, some of the finest productions of the
Parisian press.

Paris, however, could not neglect to work what proved bo profit-
.ble a vein as that of picturesque illustration; and at one time no
ess than three •' Brittanics Illustrated" were in the market. But the

UmtART ffTATlSTTCS OF PRAKCE

of tihbkiadever nmlertakexi in

k lUH be finUbed^ thookl
, or hU heir, no less a

fraoc* {Jii^aoy

re belonging AimoAtexcluKiv

a groa scasBrep lallcn to decay

of btaw except ma an qiiileiiiic arooog «n6

ooteirortfaT is, Uut they

dK boaawe oC tbe Emperors NaipoltoB

«t tbe raie of aboai tm

fiA^ a-^var, of «bkb ■HOy bare been pomphUt-

tnngfi, bowewr, the fruji

bot by m fmrklj of Asai^ af

of wmtik, «d of c^ery abode of poHtkd mi

saibfccU ore crften mfinhcsmally ■anil

~ preoocaoaa children.

•f coonc oven too vide « 6eld co br

ntioQ. thM the taial

tbefoodvea with politics,

Sndostfj, and aratidal, ia^ cim

i tbe iMe dian, oboot ih« boacbed, of which a bv|i

«^ fiocdj rcyabfiaai ; bot of late the word rqioMr

by^ ibat of dcBOoracj. Daring the fint vtan

Jaly rmlaCnD, tbe agHitinm of paitjr ^iritl tht

cbe iomW, tbe nwarinawf in that the ma e^

to aMtain tbe tone of tbe PrcDC*

iMpoatant priBcnlBilB

gave vaj to eonaideratiaDa of

laacorad^caaod tbmnrWea to the coairtctaooa, M

of Uhe vabfi^ and cserted tbenaclvca attCcessfoBy u

m lam addJlbi to tbcir anbocribeni, hj

I of vbtJauMetam roaHBccL to vdiichwt

for tbe laat twcoty^-avt

bv a iiBiiiiiaa cvp* of saaall papcra, whose aBadb

1 Mwars leas faraidaUe for bong made with lich

tbe aaaae rebtioo to the De«-»papcr. Ivt

doca to tbe rcgabr bigb eomedx. Tbcre arc dm a

pMJnii on ibe K^fiab pbn. and aaotber Maar.

«f tbe ChafMwi, tbe wnttrasad pwn. wiUk

in wbat M. Loaidre mpdy calk '« the BB^

.' Fktarea, h haa been said, are the hodii

tbaae, tberc are periodic&ls apeciaUy atf*

to ranona claaara, agc% and aexea, — C4ii1dren'a Joonnb^

Giria*, I^dfteaT Mai Bachrbaa' ditto ; and othera for laaryam

gnarda, pticiUr tradeanwa sa

particniar. not to mratioti thaafrifaJ

fertb, whoae cdhora are more nomeroua than tbcir

EdocatMtul bcK>k» appear to hare been exdoairclr produced bf

tbe voembers of the cdocatiiig bodr, and prodaclkio in this depart^

baa ben ao actire, that we find in a single year (1840) no laa

than fire bondred and one worka on tbeae subjccu prt-

FOR FIFTEEN YEARS.

459

senled to the university. Grammars have muUiplie<] from day to
liny, but are chiefly distinguished by the barbarisms and solecisms,
from Mtiich even their titles are often iiol free. Not a few unnatu-
ral professors of lang^uages have shewn u disposition to attack the
syntax on which they have been nurtured ; other innovators have
wished to abolish orthography (perhaps to save the trouble of learn-
ing it) ; but, in abandoning regular government, it appears they fell
into anarchy, and having split into two hostile factions, one of which
insisted on writing tnoi with an i, another with an a — moa— the sys-
tem h&h fallen to the ground.

Ancient literature, against which, towards 1830, there was a
strong re-action, has more recently recovered some favour ; exten«
eive collections of classical authors, Latin and Greek, have been
well received, and the character of translations has been greatly
improved.

In Foreign literature, the Parisians have made great progress.
Scarcely twenty-five years ago. it would have been thought beneath
iheir dignity to admire the chef d'cpuvres of other nations; they
upplied ti) intellectual productions the prohibitive system in all its
rigour. They have now proclaimed free trade, "having at lenf^'th
understood that a nation without intellectual commerce, is a link
broken from the great chain/* Thia branch of literature divides
itself into two; the one erudite and historical, comprising the works
of the oriental nations, the other those of modem Europe. The
former works have issued first from the royal presses, and their
editors, besides filling that office, have, by translations, made their
countrymen acquainted with the poetry of China, Persia, Arabia,
and Hindostan, and have, it is said, studied in their minutest details
the religion, philosophy, sciences, arts, and manners of those nations.
*' Let what may be said of German erutlition," says M. Louandre,
*« that of France has shewn itself no less exact, patient, and inven-
tive. Silvestre dc Sacy and Abel Remusat have shewn themselves
true encyclopscdists ; M. tiurnouf has reconstructed languages, as
Cuvier reconstructed a world."

Whilst Oriental scholars have been traversing Asia, others have
been no less busy with their European neighbours. The writers,
ancient and mmlern, of Italy, have long been cordially welcomed ;
of Dante, there have been published in Paris nine Italian editions,
and ten French translations. The literature of Spain has also re-
cently attracted attention, and not only have the heroes of Castile
and Andalusia furnished subjects for l^arisian dramatists, and her
lyrical writers been inspired by the romaucero, but works pre-
viiiubly known in France only hy imitations more or less unfjithful,
have been familiarised to general readers by accurate translations.

German literature has been also the object of copious criticism
and translation, and tliese peaceful conquests beyond the Rhine
have had a marked influence on the intellectual progress of France.
Of all foreign literature, however, the English makes the most
important figure in the catalogue. In fifteen years there have been
publidied in Paris, seven editions of the complete works of Byron,
and ten of French translations of them ; Alilton has been reprinted
four times in six years. As for the novelists, the appetite of the
Parisians for this kind of fodder is, it appears, so insatiable that, in
(ipilc of the inces&aut activity of their native production, they have

460

LITERARY STATTSTTCS OF FRANCE

Still, within the period under consideration, devoured of Cooper,
thirty-one English, And forty-two French editions ; of Bulner, fifty-
nine French and English;' and of Hoffman, Cervantes, Fielding,
Sterne, Richardson, quantum tuff'. : as to Walter Scott, people have
left off counting.

A considerable number of persons subsist entirely on the transli-H
tion of foreign novels ; and of these benefactors to their counlrfJH
one lately dead, a M. de Fauconpret, had translated no less than 800
volumes.

Next to England in the novel market, comes America, then Ger-
many, Italy, Russia, and lastly, Holland and Sweden. Spain standi
on about the same footing as China^ each of them having fumisfaed
four or five romances in Bfleen years.

The poetical harvest in France during the eleven years from IKW
to 1841, appears to have been enormous. Four thousand three hun-
dred and eighty-three volumes, or pamphlets of poetry, made their
appearance, of course without counting fugitive versea scattered
through newspapers, &-c.

Most of the literary men of Paris have, it seems, made their
dt'^but by poetry, more or less successful, but the majority have sub-
sequently found their way to prose ; and the sentiments of the youth-
ful verses oHen form an amusing contrast to the prose of more
mature age. Thus the fir^it performance of M. Berryer, was a sort
of cpithalamium on the entrance of Napoleon and Maria l«ouisa into
Paris, which terminates with —

'' VireK, princv ! riven, poor faire de« heureux
Tige en hferos fccondc, arbre inajesnieux,
Deployrs vos r&roeaux, et croissant d*sg« en a^r,
Prut^g«K riinivers >cnis votre august« ombntge.**

Oh Phccbus Apollo ! you have much to answer for.

To M. Louis Blanc the world, it seems, is indebted for verses
the Hospital of the Invalides, and for a poem on Mirabeau, in four
hundred and twenty vers libres ; to M. Orlolon, professor, now at
the school of law. for a c»illection of poems entitled " Lcs Rnfantines.'
M. Fulchiron has been found guilty of several tragedies and poems,-
" Saul." *'Thc Siege of Paris," "Argillon," " Pi2arro,"&c. M. Guerai
one of the most eminent representatives of French erudition, obtain*
admission to the Academy by a poem called " La ^tort de Bayard ;'
M. Genoud, a political allegory called " The Delivrance d'I».rael /
M. I'Abbe de Veypiere, by a volume of sentimental poetry, '* Uu
might have been written by one of tlie elegant abl>os of the sevci
teenth century." But while the prose writers have thus mosth
tried the ascent of Parnassus at least once in their lives, the pi
who have gained for themselves a permanent settlement at the
of tlie mountain, have scarcely established themselves there befor
they aspire to descend, and trace their furrow on the humbler 6el<
of prose.

Among the above-named poetical productions we find usually
every year three or four epics, whose authnrn, however, show them-,
selves rather erudite tlian inventive, and deal more with the fads
history than with the creations of the imaf?irialion. Didactic poeti^
yields annually six or eight volumes ; idyls, allegories, and heroi!
poems, and the grand odea, once so much admired, " beginning wil

FOR FIFTEEN YEARS.

An invocation^ and ending with enthusiaflm,** have departed this life,
and are no more seen, even at the Academy. In many of the ohU
fashioned branches of poetical man n fact u re, also, such as the epics
aforesaid, the producers are sup]>o*4ed to be more numerous than the
consumers, anil the tonner may, we are told, e&teem themselve? for-
tunate if they sell a dozen copies, after having printed and published
at their own expense. Verily great must be the faith of tnese mar-
tyrs in what they sometimes call their mission. Of political poems,
such as the " Epitre a Sidi Mahmoud," and the " Villetinde," eighty
thousand copies have been sold in three years. Personal and violent
Mtires have also been very successful; some of these were secretly
printed, and dated from Marathon, the firjit t/ear of thr republic.

Most of the trades have in France their poetical representatives.
For the hair-dressers, for instance, there are MIM. Jasmin Daveaa
and Corsal ; and carpenters and the cabinet-makers, bakers and shoe-
makers^ gardeners and omnibus-owners, masons and embroiderers,
all send deputies to the poetical assembly.

The quality and the aspects presented by this poetry have been, of
course, very various, and ideas and views the most opposite and in-
consistent have come into continual collision. The horixon changes
every moment, and the reader is carried, as on the wings of the
wind, through antiquity, the middle a^es, and the rmaijmartce, to the
present day. When the revolution of 1830 broke out, the revolution
in literature was already at its height, and in 1834 there was perfect
anarchy. Each day brought forth new theories and verses trans-
gressing all known rules. All kinds of whims, extravagances, and
barbarisms were by turns erected into systems, and temples were
raised to all sorts of literary deformities, as by the ancients to all the
vices. The once-worshipped names of the past were torn down
without mercy, and others, hitherto unknown, resuscitated to receive
their apotheosis, and " At it /tapprns in all hneuleSj people fv/io desired
oultf wise, enlightened, necessary reforms, could not make themselves
heard." The old classics, we are told, looked down on the hosts of
innovators with a terror like that of the old emigrants of '02 looking
down from tlie heights of Coblentz on the triumphant march of the
revolution, and proclaimed the chiefs of the new school to be literary
Antichrists, whose coming foretold the last day. Four or five years
later, however, for things move quickly in France, the partisans of
the ancient regime had become in a great measure reconciled to the
revolutionists, and they on their parts had lightened their vessel of
extravagances that might have caused it to founder.

As for the poets themselves, in 1825, they were melancholy and
Byronian ; in 183f>, political, devoted to the cause of humanity, am-
bitious of ruling the world, and comparing themselves to the pillar
of fire that guided the Israelites across the Desert; in 1834, they
sung despair and death ; in 1838 they sought refuge in " the ancient
faith;" in 1844 both despair and religious consolation were forgot-
ten, and they chanted the seductive charms of life, *' of the world,
the flesh, and the devil."

From the poets, following the bibliographical arrangement, we
oome to romancists. These form a group of about a hundred writers,
of whom about fifteen are women. The average number of their
productions, as stated by M. Louandre, falls short of what, from
tbeir known fertility, might have been anticipated. But the two

- ".:- .,i:'. ■ •■',■_= i. ^ ;•< r -rz t-?* i.o^t of
.r .■ .... — .: -:..i_:-_i :• r r.i--re iif the
— -_ r- .T r-.iT.-T i_ : - - z - -=-1. K'.erT div
._---- ".. i.vi_i.T- _:= ;.-.:•*.:; : :' th :»?e » ho read

- :.T :•-.-.- ' r -.-.zz:^^ ■ T* •.:• inink. :f ihey

- -rr: -r- .'. i .■ z-i^.-z r :z\:tz- Tne idle
- - :- -^- : -1 i^Ti-:* : .— =rr:-^« :n Fr*r.cf,

^w-.-. »:--* ■_:=•= tr: :_i.-t wi.^ e^^ecln ihem-
-.. :. --.-.i. : z ^rr »i: *.-r i>:- r- or to take put
•~ L.'-.-vi '..'z': ■it-t- re^i'-rce ijaiiiit «ii«

T . ■ r - — 'r . :' :: .--^ ':•*«" r=.:scly :ai:tation$of

--Z-T T --j^T rii^ ".. -I't :.rz>"t= that lo revive

.-*- -' — < '^ t := t; .etsC s*cessirT tj know the

-rz.-= - -wiu- vxj »:^u-2 to the di»c:ple» of the

t ' »!■:- Ti/ec ti-rT C'ir'M to hare seized the

: ..T::iii'i£!i •LL-£fzz.*c.--t* with copvinj their out-

iti: r:^t-r 7 "'i^ tVw of thtr*e productions—

. - - 1 — -. 3Ix.- J " ir i 1 few others, have uken

-i :

^i mntime i^rvei

J also, of

-.1*

re; .1 :r.n rovel.

bom in

".:.r

"i:Cj... tr.e rt-.::r^"':

;p-lfpiti-

V -. .

:- '^hiih the Je^i

uits plav

I^s.

Ar.i there := ai?o the ro

:.— ■ : V. .— -_-.: 7 -.1 :r 1 1 C!^ " _" .?t. tie TOTiiince corjugal— in
» :_ . L- -. — .. - .1 " — i ~ iK . ...T :r :"cr.:::i"::'.e pen. a husband i«
-_,.: ■ . _ -. ■ : • s.-- r 1 »-"= ".-.^ \::*.:ri *.:' ht-r hjsband. French
:• ■ I z c I- .z it : iTt" *.'._; tr.e ?t-jy if character lor the
-..T^ ■^-5 --iicr.-t.: :. tr.e -.ery i---we-t Meps of the
r... - --_ : I ': - z .. J -. ! V.;-.-. ■/c.z we.ri.ied. the dan^rerou^,

V: ."t- -.• . '. f- - r :.-• .-:. i kir.i -f g'.ilterin^ gauze over

:: . • -^- -.:;:;-= ..■ : -.-..z :.. i-.rJi.i.- htivz^ ari:u:v.t:us toju<lifv

• . * :. ,- -. ;- i.'-i ."-.i'.t \ '."HZ'.' -ry ar.u ir/.po.-^sible Fieur8-de>

.' . -.:? -T .1 .i-iT : --Te- '.f j:;::cty they h.ive pr^'duced /t*™wM

, . 1' i ".' ' '. R- j;l;c?j. biiliicf. *h:.rperj, thieves.

i--^-*-- :.!■ r i-iiT. J.— :r;Lc.i, : !cu.:zcd. ai^d deft-ndeil against so-

- t"._: •*':-:.: : . -r.::.r-. j.:?:? a:.(i eccnvmirtj wore occupied

.: ::.= :e:.:r.: ::' ;"> : *- 'he r. vti-writtT& mcic ilcting their be^i

: - -. : -; : - ■ t*::.cr } :. .;i.ct:'r* there arc who>e mere titles are

.". : T.'r.e Ptc:.t^c^*e.■" " I':.e Si'duclip!^" " Vn Flagr.-int Dt'-

.: r. . .. \':-.rjc :.e .; it \\:€," \c. : but of this mournful and

..' ; ..r".;:.t: : -f '.itcraturc JittU' mure need be >aid. as a

_ ;.-.r.! :::.-: ha- ;.ri-in ag<i.:n>t it. M. LcHiandrc nici:tions a

■ : t-vl-s . T '.h> „c:.u?. '.vhuh he call? ll*c ph/xioloi^ical^ a revival frtnn

'.!:i: *-\'-i.;.iii c<-:.:':rv. and "worthx of its audacious ]iredeccPsors.''

\V\.^'. ;• ir.i'it rtmark-ible, he snys, in these productions is. that not-

with-tandhijT their defiance of decency, the writers would lain take

oti themselves the character of social reformers.

From the physiology of individuals, the same writers have parsed
Iri that of cities, and obli^rcd the world with "Paris at Ni^ht,"
" Paris at Table," " Paris on Horseback/' '• Literary Paris," " Mar-
ried Paris/' &€.; and thence to that of nations, with ** The Kn<rli$h

FOR FIFTEEN YEARS.

46^

InteA by themselves," and so on ; and, lastly, '* The Physiology of
lysiologisls." Passing these, we come upon a crowd of ambiguous
oUuctions, — pictures of manners, and books of the rose-coloured
der, — keepsakes and tales, interlaced with verses, and illustrated
1th vignettes, and others to which the " Livre de Cent et un " has
rved as a model.

But Uiere was yet another branch of the manufacture which it
&a thought might be more worked to greater profit. The literature

the nursery might be turned to better account than heretofore,
d no sooner was this discovery made than there sprung up a great
op of little books "destined for the amusement and instruction of
lildhood and youth." Fashionable novelists, and writers of vnufh"
^Um, even Messrs. De Balzac, Janin, and Dumas, did not disdain

address an infantine audience, and the book-trade speculated on
e small public as it had done on the great one. Juvenile Keepsakes,
idgaily-decorated works, in which illustration overflowed and almost
raUowe<l up the text — these descended in a golden shower. The
-called religious houses of education have entered into competition
ith lay-writers in this department, and have sent forth a crowd of
istorieites, published under episcopal authority. They have even
[mitted into their "Little Catholic Libraries," writers pitilessly
oscribed some years ago, and expurgated, for this purpose, not
dy Walter Scott, but, what is rather a more difficult matter. Oil
la»! M. I'Abbe Pinard, who has performed many of these literary
orcisms, has even presented his countrymen with an "Arabian
ights' Entertainments/' in which the Sultana Schchezerade is
ansformed into the teacher of a ladies' boarding-school.
The literati of Paris have seized on the principles of association
id co-operation, which have been rightly extolled as so advanta-
!OU8 in industrial undertakings connected with the labour of the
tndsj and applied them also to those of the mind. Companies
ive been formed among men and women of letters, for the produc-
in of works in which the gentlemen charged themselves with the
rrible passions, and the ladies with the subtle observations and de-
rate emotions of the heart ; and these companies have taken into
eir service editorial clerks, who have been allowed a share in the
ncern. One writer (M. Alexandre Dumas), has sometimes era-
oyed no less than sixty-three journeymen, or collaborators, as
ey are politely called; so that the bibliographers have been at
eir wits' end to know to whom a work was to be attributed, and
iblishers have sometimes stipulated that the whole of a manuscript
ould be in the author's own hand-writing.

In 11:J36, the novel-writers made their great irruption into the
!Wspapers, an invasion which has created a disastrous epoch in the
erary history of France ; disastrous, first to those who adopted the
stem, as imposing on them ruinous expenses to secure the co-ope-
tion of this or that writer most in fashion ut the moment ; dis-
trouB in a literary point of view, as usurping the place of sc-
>u» criticism ; disastrous, also, in a moral point of view, for the
rfi/Zt'/u/i-romance has attacked and degraded all that is worthy of
spect — the family, women, religious faith— it has calumniated
iman nature, and cast on society the responsibility of the perversity
id vices of the individual ; disastrous to the national honour of the
rench, for it has represented them in the eyes of Europe as a de-

VOL. XXXIl. M »

E WHO READ THE FUTURE ?"

-^ OP ITRANOB COINCIDENCES.

^ " EXPERIENCES OF A GAOL CUAPLAIN."

Agreeable person: for in society her malu afm wu to
-^loxTAou*s opinion 0/ Madame la ConUeue de V — iL

'^ «=)us. Anil the more because Lady NeUon reso-
,^^a of the foreigner's conversation.
^*^r sole comment ; " the import of the interview
^^t not even to my son* will 1 disclose iLi bearing.
* t sacred."

vared Miss Starke, »otio voce, " I will f&tbom il;

tooy riddle as she k to mTself and others. When

^ ^ masculine ladies of a certain age, in the path of

incredible. Miss Starlie's indignation had not

« speedily aroused by another transaction. A

^ «^ro«gh Sunny Bay that Widow Hussey had sua-

^ck r the information given by the *• Wise Lady "

— "■: •* had almost been the death of her 1 "

^ at this information, and speedily acted upon it,

'^'inkling of an eve, her riding-hat and blue habit;

on her way to the widow's domicile.

^^ a confectioner on a small scale; but among the

^^blo reputation, iier husband was a Hsherman,

^ful ; so that the joint produce of the 6nger» of

^ %^ale — brought in a very respectable income. They

*>. this wicked world I

-^ l.ng, Hussey, the male, was missing. He had been
^~^s day with a comrado, fishiog. There was a light
*^1 were reported to have been seen off Sunny-bay
^^ and his companion hastened. Some hours aftcr-
^ discovered floating keel upwards ; but no trace of
^^Toen could be found. Tlie common belief was, that
^i^apsized by some sudden squall, and that its occu-
^^* ry grave,

incouBolablc. 8hc deplored "the death of the

She avowed that "life was a burden to her."

^he "anxiously looked forward to the time when

^ niled 10 her faithful partner." She maintained

^~*inB If ft uuou this earth to live fori" She re-

>*it, K. N.

Lady Nel»nD'» mui by her first huvtmnd, a vcnr
^^ Lord NelMQ was indebl«d for the preservaiiou of hi» li^
]^^nis, in the island of Teaeriffe. Tlier«, severely wounded,
pain and Ims of blood, his scrvioea would unquescion»bly
' t>rKve tiepfton, who, by ui act of the must gmlbint daring
*■* personal haxard conveyed Uiin to a boat. Ah ! could he
*^-*jq»erlef»ce of neglect and indiflfvronce which his mother
*^*Cfreifully \% the future veiled from us !

THOSE

ikalt ^timot the loM of ber angel

tmi «■■ hafifj ■OBOEt." She stood

tmi tlHt wtikia^ could cheer h«r;

boOdia^ *' Tie Liak

' pait cnre, part hope,

Her grief was deicriM

tODOur to ber lex.'

wm h^iy iiMMHiklli ," ShewucaUed^i

«lfe ■MMAaftclkiBtte-heufted wtnBu* in the

dT DuuMi «De tkrt " tkjmcd marked and liberal eaooo-

Aad tlii Ac fwjciicd.

Hamtft dJMfifWMiace, Uio jMdnws of the

by ntalGgCBoe Uiat tbeir^?ntf^J^ was again

HymcB's bnili hf r partner a smart yoang

Bay ««■ tcaadalixed I What a dreadful la*

MTbat frigbtfdl fickleness ! >Miat a violaiioa

;«lfiidiicn of the dead I The married ladies

tbay eonU aot forgive her.** The single Udies

soch vaclUauoD possible."

lenible Asgiace. But the culprit was not pre-

she fiittUy fiftcd tbe day for her second nuptials, she

with Hortensc; and begged ha

abarply, crowding a
I 've a mind,

"Ob wbot poiDt?" nid « the Wise Woman,*
wmm of papers into ber writiB^-deak.

" Ob my p^juig a lecood yiai to Littleham Churcb.
marm. to beoMiie a wedded wife once more."

" \Miai! would you belong to two husbands? ** said Uortense, quickly*

The enqmrer was startled in her turn.

" I 'm thinking," she began after a pause — " I 'm thinking of bciiy
married again."

" Yon bad better entertain no thoughts of the kind I" was tbe brosqn^
reply.

** Oh goodness gracious ! Oh [ gracious goodness I Why ? pray
speak : why ?"

*' You Ml be tried for bigamy if you do."

The candidate for poligamy looked reproachfully towards ber lor^
mentor, and exclaimed :

" Heaven forbid I I never was brought before judge or jury in ny
life ! And as to my dear first husband — "

"First husband!*' interrupted Horiease; "your present busbtodi
Ho 's alive I "

** He 's dead t *' replied the other with decided and desperate firtDDflss;
*' he 's quite dead— dead to a certainty — dead months ago. Why, Mc
Cogbody preached his funeral sermon at ' The Little Revenge/ "

"He's alive 1" reiterated Hortense; **and will return and dahs
you I "

" Never iu this world I Never I The sea holds him loo fast.
free ; quite free I Aud as for the young man who has offered
I *m vastly disposed " —

" To marry him, and take your chance of transportallonr intcrpoHd,
the furoiifuer, finishing off the sentence iu her own way.

At the mention of transportation, the perplexed confectioner, lo
her own words, " sviouwded. vjWtc %\\o stood I"

WnO READ THE FUTURE?

467

To these various details, Miss Starke listened with an omtnous and
condemnatory frown. When concluded, she tapped her riding hat with
a decided air, and gave her long blue habit a violent twitch — unerring
indications of severe displeasure. " The natural," exclaimed she, ** I
love ! But the supernatural 1 abhor. Now mark me : this system of
terror shall be put down ; and this woman De Crespigiiy silenced.'*

" But as to my wedding, marm ?" cried Mrs. Hussey, ** as to my wed-
ding, marm, how would you advise me V*

" Marry I" said Miss Starke, oracularly. " Marry,"

** But my man *s afeard now I He seems shy and timid like t Talks
of transportation and consequences ! **

*' Then spurn him I "

And with another twitch and another tap, Miss Starke sailed indig-
nantly away.

Miss Starke was resolved on a cottp d'ttat! Averse to appear per-
sonally in the affair, more particularly as the topic of marriage was mixed
up with it, she prevailed on Dr. Cave to assume the guise of her cham-
pioii« and to start as a "redresaer of grievances." Dr. Cave^he lived
in North-street, and had no slight impediment in his speech — would
in these days have been styled a Whig, and something more. Ho
was an ardent politician: ana viewed all public events with a jaundiced
eye.

"The nation was on the eve of bankruptcy. Napoleon would in six
months be in England. We had no longer a fragment of our boasted
constitution. Pitt had frittered it away, piecemeal. Our army on the
continent would be sacrificed. Sir Arthur Welleslcy was no general —
of that he was quite convinced t Spain was lost— irredeemably. There
could be no doubt on the point. Three months hence and the whole
British force would we driven by French bayonets into the sea. The
sun of England had set : and she would soon be a byword among
nations." Such were Dr. Cave's oracular assertions. There never
was a more determined croaker.

Such was the party who, at Miss Starke's bidding, called on Mr.
Hull of Marpool, the acting magistrate of the district, to disclose to him
Hortense de Crespigny's iniquities, and to press for some magisterial
notice of them.

The justice listened with admirable patience to the doctor's confused
and tedious narrative, closed with the prayer that he would act forth-
wirth.

** Against whom ? "

"This pretender.**

*• Certainly, if you make out a case for my interference ; as far, how-
ever, as present appearances go, I ought to act against you and the other
simpletons of Sunny Bay."

The doctor looked surpassingly irate.

'* This woman is a talker, flighty I sliould imagine, and you eucourage
her. She takes no fee, uses no artificej there is no invoking of Zaroiel
or Mephiiilophiles, nu recourse to any nonsense of that kind. You ask
her a question. She looks you steadily in the face, and answers it. If
you choose to regard her replies as gospel, yours is the folly, and her*a
the hearty laugh, which she must enjoy over and over again at your
credulity. '

The doctor's colour rose ; and he bcgau to stutter most surprisingly.

WHO READ THE FUTURE?

469

street, who he could swear was no olher than Miss de Crespigny. He
fecogni^ed her at once. But she was on this occasion attired as a man.
And from this slran|;c and startling assertion he never varied.

Meanwhile marvellous changes took place. The Emperor was driven
l^om his throne, The Bourbons were restored. Peace again visited
|£urope. The prison gave up its captives, and among those who re-
turned was the long lost Hussey I

The account he gave of himself was simple and straightforward. The
(beauty of the day* and the excellent sport they met with had tempted
bim and his companion far beyond Sunny Bay bar. A French privateer
IcBpied Ihem, lowered a boat, manned it, and captured them. They
krere plundered of all they had, and lodged in a French prison. His
ifare had been hard enough, and his treatment worse. His fellow-
bufferer had sunk under it, but he, sustained by hope, lived on. He
had never been able to find means of communicating with his friends in
England, but he had never despaired of reaching her shores once more.

There he wast sompwhat thinned, and aged, and worn, and grey;
l>at still the real, rerifabU Hussey I And there, to greet him, sat his
dame — happily yet unprovided with another mate.

All this was speedily communicated to Dr. Cave. He grunted and
groaned most awfully. And when his informant asked him his opinion,
l^ave this most unexpected answer: "All he could say was, it was ez-
tremc/i/ vron^ /"

^ Time sped on. The Bourbons were restored, and expelled. At
Jeast the elder branch of that dynasty was driven from the throne of
^France. The three frightful days of July drew on I and the horrors of
a revolution were once more rife in the streets of Paris. And Lady
fNelson was present, and in the very thick of it. The son of the
InittreBs of the hotel where she resided was shot almost in her pre-
|»ence. The rifles of the combatants penetrated the room where the
lyouthful members of her family were sitting. The servant who was
^raiting on them was shot dead by their side. The gensdarmerie searched
the house with extraordinary keenness and rigour, because they were
assured some member of the Pnlignac ministry was concealed in it, and
because they knew full well the intimacy that had subsisted between
■*«tbe Duchess de Berri and Miladt Nelson."

Searched it was repeatedly, minutely, distressingly ; but no Poliguac
-had, or was likely t^en to have, made it his place of refuge, Gnef
•poMeMed the hoxtiiefujUi. It was as had been foretold her, one of the
most wretched days of the widowed peeress's chequered life. She had
j«8t buried her son, her only child, him who had been so true to her in
lall her trials, whoso dutiful attachment to her had never wavered, and
in whose affection she found a balm for much of her past sorrow and
^eglect. It was a bitter hour, for she had never deemed it possible she
^should survive him ; and quenchless sorrow for his loss soon brought

rer to the grave.
She died, generous and aelf-deoying woman 1 truly and literally of a
ibrokeii heart.

I But the question still remains unanswered — where was Miss de
jCrespigny ? and who was she ? An enigma to this hour I *

«rhM Ahb.* nd he rrtonwd to Iid^
m Ifac
ikc ^^nctKMHe pn^ect nv

arr— oning ■hd to
beMcUBC bat ibe plunta^ of «*a niol
m4 M hooae be hsd notie tt
bat A fiev of tbe lowest of the citana.
pikes, and amy at ibc rabble
to netiwe iben^ bit mHA expecuiiooi mt-
a pofiucml MipevmtnKtore imited oo makHer foood-
ibao in rrtaaace on an Uiah BKtb.
Eaom for aame time bad been under the $MrtfiSam€t of tbe
tynliun pbtict, and ooDWc^ueckU^ hod lived in ctoie coaccalincttt.

KOBERT EMMETT AND AUTHUR AYLMER*

471

His days were passed in the malt-house, superintending his military
preparations, and in the evening he retired to the house of a deluded
tradesman, wliich, from its immediate vicinity to his dep6t, was to
one circumstanced as he was particularly convenient

That a discovery of his plot against the government might hourly
be expected, Enmiett had good reason to conclude; and the only
desperate alternative left to the mad adventurer was, to draw the
sword at once, and precipitate tl)c outbreak.

I said that Emmett's associates were confined to the lowest classes
of society ; but there was a solitary exception. A young gentleman^
of ruined fortunes, had desperately entered inio the conspiracy; and
while Emmett saw nothing but what was brilliunt in the distance,
Arthur Aylmer felt assured that success was altogether hopeless.

Aylmer was a man of ancient family. His father, after dissipating
a goodly inheritance in horse-racing and electioneering, left his only
son an orphan; and an unmarried uncle, a gentlenian of large proper-
ty, adopted him, and announced him to be his heir. With Emmett
Aylmer had been a student tn the Dublin university; and, while his
friend cultivated a fine taste and inculcated his dangerous doctrines,
Aylmer wasted neither time nor thought on political theories, but led
a gay and careless life in evening revelries and morning amusements.
Fine as the college youth were then, none in the manlier exercises
could compete with Arthur Aylmer. He was the best Hurler of his
dayi threw the sledge farther than any of his compeers, and, in a
running leap, was held to he unrivalled. By a singular coincidence,
Ayimer and Emmett on the same morning had obtained an unfortu-
nate notoriety; the former was expelled for Bghting a duel, the latter
upon charges of sedition.

Pardonable as the first offence was, at a period when duelling was
so much the order of the day that even the judges of the land would
send and accept a chailenge, Aylmer's expulsion was never forgiven
by his uncle, and time, instead of healing, appeared to enlarge the
breach. At last the old man, by an insane marriage with a girl who
might have been taken rather for a grand-daughter than a wife, anni-
hilated every hope his nephew might have still indulged of succeeding
to his uncle's fortune. Debts, contracted when he considered him-
self about to inherit a fine estate, now pressed heavily on the unfor-
tunate young gentleman. His creditors^ as his prospects became
more overclouded, became in turn more urgent; writs were issued,
which he could only avoid by personal concealment. Literally with-
out n guinea, a mad attempt or a debtor's prison was the only alter-
native left him ; and, reckless of a life, which he now regarded as
worse than valueless, Aylmer sheltered himself in the depr>t, and
agreed to take part in a wild enwuti', which he knew would consign
its leaders to the scaffold.

It was five o'clock in the afternoon, and on that night an outbreak,
once postponed, was to be attempted at every hazard- AH the mu-
Uriel within the arsenal of the conspirators was now being placed in
readiness; and the mad enthusiast who had devised the conspiracy,
and the reckless man who had joined it, were personally superintend-
ing the preparations for the intended insurrection. Against the walls
of a large and desolate-looking loft hundreds of pikes were resting —
fire-arms, grenades, and cartridges were spread loosely over the Hoor;

with
to spe4e eamkj, were piboeJ

tW flueet. AB «m bnUe, and ».

ifaB wTBtchadWiU.

lA « tlie gcneffil,' »

tiMe. two cnzy chairs, and •

after & burried mr«l, the

B perfect kecfiuig with llie

■BdecBOtcd bouk of port-

tbc«,

u Are of lite

k» comaamkaed lopltjac

tbc ■Ktr»>

B cokM he mm of BtHmm, who wcr« half
A jlacr. M he brtke ta opoa the

"IfjM thiok tbeattoapCw
Yea are vtiB a free agent, aad natd
vme lo recede. Yo«
aimr wiB bali^ U; and, exccpciag njaell^ bm>

1 bare nerer copccafad froca jroa the focf . iWl
■at baef, have OMde me jrour partoi
"there are secret sprn^ which iaAoraee htM^^t^
aad aMtae they their yaidmrr: atteed to me a atoment. You kaoe
the cfuel dii^Mwatmeat which itieikhrd aMurautea of wealth, aori
all that i» alWDfimH ao it. iatfirn an hha who was tao^^t frotn infincy
la look la a oabfe iaharitaace as fai% attd at maahood finds his draa

dwowB oo the worid, worse ercfi ihn
^otfld jou believe aie when I tell you, that, even aftsr
the datardTs maniage, some whisperiags of hope SHsfaincd ane ; Ina
this dajr the fiaal blow hsa beca deUTeffed, aad there is oothiag ia thb
world now, as iar as I am eoncemed, to occasion either hope or laar.*
He look a newspaper Urom hu pocket, pointed oui a paiagriph ■•
he hsiwtrd it across the table lo his compauton, and then cootmaed.
** Beady mjr &iend« aad tbeo say whether wy ruin is not fully can-

Eauneit loak the paper, and, in an under tone, rapidly repeated the
paragraph: —

** Yesterday, at AyloMr Caatle, the lady of Reginald Aylmer was
safety detiTcred of a son and heir. The universal joy vhicb Um
happy event occasioned was evidenced hy a general demoosiracioa of
deJtgfat; when dsrkness came, on every height bonBres were blazhii^'*

** Nay, stop, ray dear Emmett; these agreeable details are iwt par-
tkuUH^r gratifying to mv. Whatever doubu I enCeriained befora of
fining iu the iniciuled outbreak ore now removed, and for a thott-

t»d potinds, by hcuven, I wouM not now hold back '*'

'* 1 do not L'Xjctly sec how far this occurrence can have
tr previous acru(»lcs," wa« the remark.

OR, DUBLIN IN 1803.

473

very few words will explain it,** replied Aylmer. " You are,
my aear Emniett, a polilical enthusiast — forgive me, I mean you no
ofi'crce — and bo also is my uncle, although you differ in opinion widely
as the poles are apart. Seek Ireland over, you will not Bnd a more
bigoted Orangeman than he; he might feel some regret at seeing a
mad dog hangctl, but he would be particularly gratitied in assisting
to string up a rebel. He prides himself on the loyalty of his name,
And, as I am well convinced, would much rather that any of his
lineage were accused of highway-robbery than sedition. Were I
thrown into a jail he would treat the matter with indifference, and
probably dole out through the keeper enough to prevent the prodigal
from starving. A ruined nephew has caused him no regret — a
rebel nephew will wring his withers to the quick ! Yes, old dotard 1
I "II mar your festivities when you least expect it; and while you
pride yourself on a youthful heir, the paper that records his birth
will recall to memory your traitor kinsman. What hour is this atfair
to commence?"

"At twilight,** was the reply.

"Then shall I be with you punctually; one visit must be paid, and
then the sooner the world and I shake hands and part, the belter."

Aylmer rose from the table — was cautiously let out of the build-
ing into the narrow lane, the door was jealously secured, and, pro-
cee<ling by the most private and unfrequented streets, he left the
wretched locality for one of the chosen resorts of fashion.

Arthur Aylmer we have described as combining what arc generally
found to be physically opposite, uncommon strength and great acti-
vity. When nature is liberal in some gifts, she often plays the nig-
gard regarding others; but in Aylmcr's case the fickle dame had
made a generous exception. No ponderous outlines marred the sym-
metry of his figure while they marked its strength; no meagre and
sinewy frame-work promised a remarkable agility. His appearance
was, at the same time, graceful and commanding ; while in a face,
whose expression was exceedingly prepossessing, not a feature could
have been objected to.

As a student, Arthur Aylmer was an idler; but who could have
waded through the stupid reading which a university course then im-
posed but some dull mortal, to whose heavy intellect Pope and Shak-
speare were incomprehensible? But Aylmer was a man oC better
taste; and while De Lolme and Burlemaqui were thrown aside, the
old dramatists and u!l the lighter literature of the day were more
pleasantly and profitably substituted.

Never had a brilliant career closed more sadly and unexpectedly ;
one short year before, men envied and women worshipped Reginald
Aylmcr's then acknowledged heir. All that could intoxicate youth-
ful vanity had assailed him, and whether he hurled in the park, or
danced in the gny assembly, on him admiring looks were centred.
To personal advantages, others which inAuence society were super-
added. Aylmer had birth, position, and prospective fortune, and for
him many a beauty sighed, and on biro many a mother speculated;
but he was love-proof — his heart was already preoccupied. With
Irish gallantry, Aylmer returned the flattering incense abundantly
offered him by the fair; and while all praised his agrecability, none
a&seried that a sentence had ever passed his lips which indicated a

474

nofErr A9n> axtbvm atuor;

AvlMCff' loved — •SI vwd^Tj Imk tM well — iW bcaablU ampler cf
llij^ kgil ^KSMMry, iHio iMa fe^teUi mj lo the j«%e'« cr-
bcL Lcs dw reader aat start at the ahraae ay, fimgtt; fcr ia
d^fib>traa0e as it BMiiy aeand la ffa^Tiih ean^ the
tkc aareM paMport la liK boK^ Md bj petaoaal
A^ faaaaHc tokai^ a fiieadkw h«7cr had thaa aude hk way
faftian The liaMa woe aaft af )aiac d«iag «aa better thaa

far the prieettaod, at fifty aav a I
arigjaany caaifened apoa a pease's aea, ceoetded proodly in

otfaen vottid be

he angbt hare wiectcd* ia it Lord
u eiajamrr; the head waa adaiinifaly gifte<
It h«a into the world witbcwt a heart. He

with a cotwcience that ovnetl do acmplct ;
the whole abiecti of his griatmce seeaied ccsitred in despotic pe
To ready and eft
be vac ever

were showered apes wmimm whoai he eecredy and heartily
But it WM the tooir aad aac the man that he rewarded.

Such was the celebrated Lord . There wac but one

upon earth he aas ia|niiMid to lore, aad that lore was

bis all-cngrossBig •^"■**'» The world did oot hesitate to

that, had pride denaaded tha Mcrificc, Uke aaother Jephtha, Lord

woutd Dot have scrupled to find the rictim In his dsugbter.

In every leading point of character, nerer was child so like a
parent as Lady Cardine was like the judge. Sumptuously beaaufu^
could report be trusted, Ireland did not produce her peer. Uadff
&scinating manners she concealed a masculine and imperious
sition ; and, while she exacted homage, she despised it. Cold ta
the feelings i^ all beside, she trifled with those who worshipped at
the shrine of beauty until she tired o^ the incense prolu^Iy offered^
aod then her delight appeared to lie in rudely crushing the hopes her
amflca had fostered. But. cold as her worthless heart was» it owaed
a solitary impression ; and, so far as a being like herself could knov
what love was, she felt that passion for Arthur Aylmer.

Never was man better fitted to become the dupe of dangerous
beauty than Reginald Aylmer's discarded heir. In him every thought
and act were open and impulsive; and when Lady Caroline listened with
brilliant smiles to his tale of ardent love, and told him in return that

M AU vhich his lips imf— iwisri iwon,*'
was faithfully reciprocated, had an angel whispered a doubt agaiort
the fair one's constancy, Aylmer would have repudiated the suspi-
cion. From personal observation, as well as the private admisaioBf

of his daughter, Lord was perfectly aware of the existing lia^stm^

and, in the fashionable circles, a speedy union between the partias
was spoken of as a settled affair. The very morning which preceded
the fatal duel^ Aylmer was engaged in writing a letter to his uncle,
announcing the engagement and soliciting his approval.

When the old man's angry feelings towards bis rash nephew be-
came generally known, an evident coldnetis in Lord 's manner
irofl remarked, and Anhut fancied Uiat a change had come over the

OB, DUBLIN IN 1803.

475

bearing even of the lady of his love. But, when it was reported that
the irritated uncle talked of disinheritance, increasing formality on
the father's part and frequent " oot-at- homes" by the daughter, con-
firmed what before had been mere suspicion. Too soon the coup de
tannerre descended ; and the old man's marriage^ by the same blow,
ftDoihilated every hope of pardon and extinguished the torch of love.

When brooding over loss uf fortune one morning, a letter enveloped
officially, and sealed with an earl's coronet, was delivered to the dis-
inherited youth. It was from Lord , and worded in the

coldest language. It mentioned that, as idle reports had crept into
circulation touching a non-existent engagement, and that as these
must be particularly disagreeable to himself, and annoying to Lady
Caroline, it was desirable that such idle gossip should be ended. Of
course the means were in a nutshell. It was imperative tliat there
should be a total cessation of visiting at his house ; while in public,
Lady Caroline and Mr. Aylmer should meet as strangers. Such, he
continued, were his decided opinions, and in these, his daughter en-
treated him to say that she altogether coincided.

Before the next moon waned, a paragraph ran the rounds of the
newspapers stating ttiat a marriage in high life was decided on, and

that the union would be immediate. The Earl of was the

successful suitor, the beautiful Lady Caroline the fairyf^^nrr^.

At last the long-expected announcement, that the happy day was
fixed for the 23rd of June, appeared in the courtly column of the
morning papers. "The happy day I **— and would the false fair one
feel it one,

" Whose morning rose
To promise rapinre in iu clote ?'*

No; all her love for Aylmer had returned; and, in secret bitterness
of soul, she cursed the hour when she had consented to barter youth
and beauty for titled wealth. And who was he who claimed her
hand and fealty? The contrast between him and the rejected one
was fearful, Aylmer, gifted by nature to exuberance — the earl —
** A dwarf in perion, and in mind a dole."

A strong presentiment that the bridal day of his faithless mistress
should be the last that he would pass in the metropolis, haunted
Aylmer's fancy, and some freakifih impulse induced him to repair to
Merrion Square.

" Yes," he muttered, as he buttoned his coat collar to prevent re-
cognition, " I 'U view the spot once more^ where I wooed and won the
lost one."

The square was crowded when he reached it, for the bridal
dSjeuftdr had been delayed by waiting for the Viceroy, who honoured
it with his company, and hence, the departure of the liappy pair had
been made later than was customary. The tlagways were crowded
with lookers-on ; the drive nearly choked with carriages ; while con-
spicuous by the white favors woni by the postilions, the travelling
chariot of the noble bridegroom divided popular attention with the
vice-regal statc-cuach and its escort of light dragoons.

" Not yet departed !" muttered Aylmer: ** I must not risk a pass-
ing glance at her, or by heaven I I think 'twould madden me.*" And
pressing through the crowd, he hurried from the square.

his
flf fraii'^ He
iMk ai vfaot l» Mce hiilit 1 1 13 to be
. His ttop wBi BOBMktHj, for in mider-j
m kn csr, " Ah ! Mr. Ajlocr, it ii yoa f
tuned «Dd kraked
£ «bo wfti ooce a ikv<
•f Wr who l«d nrfea hi* bMft-
T««hve,KathfeeiDe?*

Tcs, 3fr. AtIbct,* to the rrplx- ** ^^ ^* ^eiter
gsre toe, azid whidi 1 delivered %m Ladj Caroline, wai hsoded
e>ri laimnf d ia ■/ pfiwcih and is lev than half an

She

*Gfli ai^ KjftUeciDe; vhat dken?

"^ Why. I wm dttcarded like yoonelt

" And bare 1 iajarcd thee, teow poor gtH ? I faocted that fare had
ittauiwJ her maJkr Ar myteif.'^

** Think nethiD^ of it, sir. Were atight thai coald serre 50a
be dooe again, trust me, that Katbleeiae woulJ not fail }-ou. Have
forgotten the many limes I brooght my lady's billets, how you wou
wrap the antver in a bank-note, give me a kiss, and tell me to pay
the postage?**

.Aylnier smiled bhterty, while his hand impulsirely sought h
pocket. "By heaven!" he muttered, "not one solitary shilling
And pushing roughly throagh the crowd, he hurried from the spot

477

THE HOSPITAL OF THE SAN' SPIRITO AT ROME,
■ A NARRATIVE OF FACTS.

B BY B. V. BIPFINGILLB.

It is in March, and^ I think, upon the first day of the month,
that a somewhat curious ceremony is observed at this f^reat and
useful institution in the Eternal City. This ia an annual and a public
anatomical deinonbtratiun. The Locak is an old-fashioned saloon,
surrounded by a kind of balustrade, or railing. It is overlooked by
a small gallery, and around the saloon and outside the railings are
raised seats and standing-places for the visitors. It is not, like one of
the ceremonies of the church in Easter week, attended by thou-
sands oV natives and strangers ; on the contrary, it ia but little
known, and is attended ahnost entirely by the inhabitants of the
quarter in which the San' Snirito is situated, and by a few whom
curiosity, invitation, or accident, may bring together. As I en-
joyed the acquaintance of one of the kindest and the oldest sur-
geons employed there, I gladly accepted the opportunity of witness-
ing— or, as the French would say, of aasisting — at this ceremony.

Upon reaching the room, in which perhaps a couple of hundred
persons were assembled, my attention was first struck by observing
several young men dressed in a kind of college uniform, and handing
round, upon trays, lemons, tied up in bunches with coloured rib-
bons. This beautiful fruit, Htill attached to its twigs, and surrounded
by its leaves, was so abundant as to scent the atmosphere with a very
agreeable odour. The persons occupying the gallery, said to be
governors or officials of some sort, were first served ; then certain
persons in the crowd below ; and, lastly, the remainder of the fruit,
now separate and single, were distributed among the casual visitors.

While this ceremony was proceeding I had time to look about me,
and observed that towards the upper portion of the circle there stood
a large table, covered with a green baize, and upon it was placed an
inclined plane of perhaps two yards long and one yard wide, bearing
what appeared to be two large medallions, ornamented around with
clipped and coloured paper, wrought into a kind of wreath in an
oval form, and giving to the whole rather a pretty eifect. On look-
ing closer, however, it might be seen that the masses within these
wreaths were parts of the human subject, very neatly dissected, and
arranged in such a way as to be as little offensive as possible. A
kind of lecture and demonstration, I found, was to be given upon
the organs of deglutition, and the preparations were consequently
made with tliat view. One of these exhibited the external^ the other
the internal or actual parts of the organ.s whose structure and
function.*! were about to he expUined. It is curious that the latter —
the dissected and mangled portion— appeared to create no unpleasant
sensation ; but the former, the medallion, which was, in fact, tlie
human head and neck, split through the crown down the forehead,
nose, mouth, &c., and most carefully fastened flat upon a board, pro-
duced in a few persons, I observed, a very different effect. It was
rather a handsome head, and the medallion, or alio^rdie^fo, most

HOSPITAL OF

HtiMkAlly cxccstcd ; but, with iu natural dark hair, eyelasbea, and
btti^ it wM by no means a pleaaant object to look upon.

After a abort ddav, the lecturer and hU asftistant, apparently two
at^^ffrf^ adrmccd towards the ubie, and stood one at each end of
H, with their &oes towards the gallery and the mass of the spectaton.
After a brief prdade oq the usee and importance of anatomy, one
to read from a manascript be held in hia hand the naznet,
and oficcsof the muscles employed in the act of swallow.
■id tbe other to point with a ttiUs, (a straightened wire,) to the
aod UMlii Bliii aa they were enumerated.
AH this perhaps occupied half an hour, and terminated in a good
deal of apnlaaae; but H was gone orer too rapidly to be of any use
whatever in the way of instruction, — an object that, id all probs-
bihty, was not iotendcd to be realixed.

Aa aooD as this part of the business was finished, another of a very
Jifcimt, and of an amusing character, commenced. Half-a-doxen
peraoas aa»OQg the risitors^ perhaps more, had come prepare<l with
copies of Terses adapted to toe occasion, and complimentary either to
the subject or to the persons engaged upon it. Fur an instant «11
atood up, each holding his manuscript in his hand ready to lead, and
for a mmute or so oo one appeared disposed to give way ; but at last
the point was deaded in favour of an old, cadaverous-looking msn.
who slowly mounted his spectacles, slowly unfolded his paper, and
sk>wly set a-going some dozen laborious stanzas, stuffe<1 with long
words, and awfully inverted and involved sentences, of which I could
Make BoChing. and at which everybody appeared puzzled. Then
one aooCber of a more lively character, which my friend, the old
MUgcuBy coopliiiiented, by saying that some of the concetti (conceits)
** vere noC faad." Then came another, and another ; the merits or
which were warmly and readily acknowledged. But the last, which
created the greatest teosation, and was read with a good deal of eflect
by a very droU-lookine fellow, having the appearance of a mechanic,
and who, I afterwards found out was a carpenter, was a genuine
example of Roman humour, broad, and even extravagant. For my-
self, I understood but very little of it ; but it appeared to have been
highly relished by a large portion of the assembly, who laughed ami
applauded most heartily. When I asked the surgeon for an explana-
tion of some points and phrases I had caught hold of, he smiled,
shook his head, and told me I must fake a dfgrte in the Ptasu
Xavona, and prepare myself by studying the works of its hero, Meo
Patacca, and the greut Pansanera, his friend. It appeared from the
surgeon's account that a very large portion of this droll effusion was
given in the patois, the slang rather, or, as a polite Roman would
say. in the lingmticcio of Trastevere. the St. Giles's or the Wapping of
Rome. It commenced by remarking, that whatever differences of
opinion might exist as to the importance of anatom}', none could
doubt the uses of the organs — all authorities nere in their favour?
they were employed by the first man, and were the first that mea
learnt to employ, and their antiquity was greater than that of science
itself; that it was unnecessary to say much about the mode of cuh
ploying them ; that that might be seen every day at the Falcone or
the Gensola (two renowned eating-houses in that quarter) ; that th«
throat was the road of all the good things of life— no disparagement
10 the via tacra ; that it ought to be put under the special protection

THE SAN 8PIR1TO.

479

of Bftcchus; and that the via vino wouUl be a very good name for
it. and save the trouble of learninj^ ao manv hard words ; but the
author had no doubt that the learned gentlemen were right in all
they had said about it. since they spoke from a practical knowledge
of the organs, no men being more assiduous in the cultivation of
diem than the students of the hospital. This appeared ho good a hit
that a loud and general laugh succeeded it. and thus closed this
scieniijic sittiug and ceremony of the San' Spirito.

Not so, however, was this little event doomed to end with me. I
any doomed, because upon a hundred occasions I have observed, that
however simple may be the nature of the occurrence, it is sure to in-
volve some circumstance or thing of no ordinary character — distress-
ing» pathetic, or touching, in some way or other. 1 might have gone
forth at the door with the still-laughing crowd, and departed with a
smile upon my cheek and the sounds of mirth in my ears ; but I
turned with the old surgeon to look about me, and to see what was
carious in the immense building over our heads. A few old paint-
ings first detaine<l mc, some antique sculpture, and ornamental frag-
ments found everywhere at Rome. We then stopped to look at a
mass of dusty and disorderly anatomical preparations, which the sur-
geon explained and commented upon ; ana, from dark closets and
glass-cases we passed on to the lower wards, in which the convales-
cent sick were lying on their beds, or sitting about in thoughtful
and pensive positions, or gossiping in little groups. All was orderly,
calm, and exceeilingly clean, reflecting great credit upon the manage-
ment of this noble establishment.

From this we passed into the casualty wards, which presented a
very different scene, being filled with objects that immediately arrest
and rivet attention: the poor sufferers, writhing under some recent
mutilation, with wounds fresh and smarting, or in the burning fever
and delirium that so oflen succeed sudden and violent injuries. I
had understood that, from the frequent quarrels in the wine.houses,
the result of engaging in certain games well calculated to produce
them, and the unhesitating use of the knife (the coltello or stiletto),
on an average six or seven wounded were brought in daily or
nightly for surgical succour into this hospital. I found, however,
that this account was greatly exaggerated ; but that a day seldom
passed in which one, two, and sometimes three patients of this kind
were not admitted. It was curious to observe the state o^ disorder
in which the bed-clothes of almost every bed in this ward were
found, and how different to the appearances in the sick wards. In
some of the beds large muscular and bandaged limbs were thrown
half out and over the sides; and as you approached glaring and
bloodshot eyes were turned upon you. In many of the beds the
patients were sitting up, resting their brawny arms, and pressing
their dark visages against their knees. In others, they sat rocking
themselves backwards and forwards, or beating impatiently with
their hands and fingers, as if tired of restraint, and wishing for
escape and revenge. There is something to me exceedingly touching
in seeing a strong and resolute man reduced by sickness, and the in-
domitable spirit brought down to the meekness of the timid and the
weak ; it brings the man at once within the pale of our sympathies,
and we forget his disposition to violence, and regard his now pros-
trate strength as if it were native gentleness. It was difhcult here,

VOL. XXIII. N **

I <«^H a linft tram tW ■■•-
m Itelj. sod I —red ay cUr.
rade«r«

KaB nmnrrmjuul Ajtbemne

codol* the rmaaA
the wawiiw were near tike
'^ the finle fh— him ««■ obflntivd b
■• the vale amd the beds were while, thf
the cfe vera the «ull Uack crac^ni
at the hnds of each. Ae I ietmi
gledaf the rf« it rf'iideiii aw^ I fdl iiocooecSosd/
tDlo a rvTcne. Uy cje rested apaa a patch of ganthinr oa the dif
tHK vaU, whkh was ^rMiaa% gi owing Iw ""^ ^fw and fading ia
eeloar and io fariafatncM. io the lnaiiMW^' of aijr lausiiir I
^betned the nune IraTe the loocn. 1 had nethiog. thcrefarej todi»*

THE SAN' SPIRITO.

turb roe, and I abnntloned myself entirely to the thoughts and
fancies that were taking pnsse<)sion of me. When I asked myself,
did these httle resting-places of disease and suffering lose their occu-
pants, who were thej', and how many living hearts were now bear*
mg sad testimony of their loss? I don't know whether the surgeon
had said as much, or any fancy of ray own had suggeeited the idea,
but a notion possessed me that this was the portion of the building
appropriated to those who die — I may say, for few are cured of that
disease, which may be regarded almost as the penalty of beauty —
consumption.

If so, then no rejoicing relative had attended here to lead away
from the unsparing grave the grateful convalescent, feeble in step,
but strong in hopes and brightening prospects, returning once more
to her welcome norae, to the bosom of her friends, to freedom, to
health, and enjoyment. No scene like this had been enacted here;
death had claimed all, and his victims had been borne away by the
beccamurli (bearers of tlie dead), and taken the path marked out and
sprinkled by the tears of affection, dissevered ties, and broken
hearts. Upon these meek couches of suffering, then, have beauty and
health and hope faded away ; and these have been the last holds of
all that belongs to life, the slight barrier between this and another
world. From these they have stepped one by one, each witnessing
the other's departure ! God of heaven I who can imagine the horrors
of the last of these feeble and tender victims, whose gentle heart
would quail with fears unknown to a rough nature, now made the
witness of a succession of dcath-bcd horrors; now compelled to
listen to the sighs of a dying sister, and to hear the voice of the
priest supplicating heaven to make smooth the path for the departure
of her fellow-sufferer, and her sole earthly companion? Did the
lost unhappy creature left — the lone one — join in this prayer as
much for herself as for another, and did she see the arrangements
made for filling a grave whose dark and narrow limits were, with
another's bones, to enclose her own? Dreadful thought! what
human endurance could be ccpitd to such a trial? and yet here, on
this very spot, on ihia speck of the world's wide surface, covered as
it is with human sympathies and sufferings, ell this and more had
taken place, and been enacted over and over again. What taunting
ignorance, what drivelling philosophy it is, which tax poor human
nature with the impatience of life, and with want of fortitude to
grapple witli its earthly destinies, its mortal fate !

At this moment the hour of the Ave Marm sounded— M^ end of
another day — a point of time observed in all Catholic countries, and
marked pretty generally by a very touching ceremony, in which all
motion and conversation are suddenly suspended, and every one
stops and repeats a short pniyer. At this moment the nurse I had
seen entcred,'and, approaching the bed, she reached over my shoulder
dipping her fingers in the little vessel of holy water by the side of
the crucifix ju&t above my head, and sprinkled the acqua bcncdetta
upon the bed, she then sank down upon her knees by its side, and
buried her face in her hands. There was nothing surprising to me
in this act, having frequently witnessed similar: but in what words
shall I convey to the reader a notion of my astonishment and emo-
tion when, turning my head, I observed that this little bed by which
1 had sat so long was occupied I Never, to the last hour of my life,

X M 2

^ fint drev btr
eye* tbat fine looktd

of pratenoiial

detpoodioglTf '^tbtf

of her CM cm m a hotpifeu none, tliat tfaii

tfait when abe was gone, her

k k poMblc," ttid I, " that no one knoirs who the is, or
whfoec flbe cmata}*

" Not anleM the haa told her coofeMor," said the woman. " 3b»
ktiowt not a word of Italian; and there i& but one priest in the
propaganda, 1 beliere, who speaks her language."

•'Good God !*' I exclaimed, •' is it possible? — no parent. Do friend.
DO one to know the locality or the cause, — thos to uie, poor creature,
■o voang, fto beautiful ! Alas ! alae !"

saeing me look towards the bed^ and hearing me sp^c in aa
undertone, the nurae remarked, ^M

"O, you need not fear to disturb her; idie has remained in tll^l
itate far almost two daysj imd appears to know nothing. I think the
sleeps ; And I hope now she does not suffer. The padre, when he
\ch her at mvzza giorNQ (noon), crossed her hands upon her bretaH.
at vou now sec them. I expect hira soon again, and he will find htr
an no left her ; nnd to*murrow — to-morrow it will be over."

I now roKC from my cliair, and on tiptoe approached the bed.
The light within the hm few minutes had been lowere«l into gloott
and obscurity, so that the chamber, the bed, and \\& beautiful

THE SAN SPIRITO.

483

appeared more visionary and affecting than ever; so much eo that I
felt my footing upon the floor unsteady, and u swimming sensation
in my head. The bed appeared further from me than it had been,
and I was obliged to stoop down in order to see distinctly what was
within so short a distance of my eyes. Ileavens! what powers of
language are equal to convey an idea of that sweet vision, that
image of all that is melancholy, touching, and sad on earth, or beau-
tiful in heaven, — of all that is calculated to inspire serious thoughts,
to burst the heart with its own sympathieij, to brealt the bonds of
earth, and to recal the soul from Us mad career among the trifles of
this trifling world ? Who, to have looked on such a face, such a
form, would not have given half his life to reanimate it? Alas!
alas! that anything so beautiful should perish and be lost, or become
but

" A flower of memory's ud and fickle cllmc,
ChillM hy the frown of all-destrwyinp Ume;
Frail thing of thouglit, ihat with oblivion Ktrives,
And, fanned by ugbs. bedew'd with lean. Kurrivet 1"

Fortunately at this moment I heard the surgeon's footstep at the
door. On joining the kind old man, he apologised for keeping me
so long ; but, choked with emotion, I could make him no reply. I
was ashamed of my weakness, and affected to cough to conceal it.
It did not, however, escape his observation, and he remarked,

" Ay, these are sad scenes for those not accustomed to them, and
sometimes for those, too, that are."

It is very natural to suppose I made inquiries about this lonely
and lost creature ; but the surgeon could tell me nothing, except as
to the appropriation of that part of the building ; upon which point
I found my conjectures were correct. The patients here did not
come within his department. He, therefore, was not aware of any
such a case as that I described ; but he promised he would immedi-
ately make every inquiry for me. He knew some probationers and
^Hidri in the Propaganda; and, if any information waa to be ob-
tained, he promised I should have it.

Alas! alas! how little, and yet how much, of the history of this
poor creature ultimately came to my knowledge. What a victim t
what a fate! How often have I reproached mvEeU' that I did not
speak a word of English to her. Perhaps I might have had some
message, some mission, some wish confided to me, and my promised
performance of any thing she could have asked might have given
one ghmmer of hope, one gleam of consolation to her sinking heart,
in the terrible gloom that was fast closing the short and dismal day
of her young life. Never can I cease to regret this, because now I
know the country that gave her birth. No duubt the priest had
reasons for communicuting with her in her native tongue. Perhaps
she might have known English but very imperfectly. Her home
was in a remote part of Ireland. This victim of a cruel destiny was
an Irish peasant girL

gtctjuhiug afMsd! The drw.<lnifHai
gfikcned like jewda aa Ibe beigte h»-

to inonncnbW kept up a
p P«ic ■iiiw|ii>we, wksle flowers of erery aae,
folHKeoftbeCree%tbat vict in an Arch of tropical b^

, edy 9ttr o«r heads \ The eflect of aucb a n

•enied aoddgnly'to the miDd, ia exhilarating b^ond deacihiUUB,

vbo hare had the good fiwtime to expcrwEnce it, will eT«r tot'
get the fWfainttS
soccfed.

The 6nt impreasions are always the most delightful and pema'
nenC, ami often, ay often, when gazing enrapturctl on a lovelj laad-
acape, have I cloweti my eye« upon it for a moment, that Z ou^
affain and again be startled by tne sudden bursting of the beanwol
rision upon my mind, and at la&t I have turned away with a feeling
of melancholy, tliat the same degreeof exquisite delight, could iiercr
be mine agntn. that the charm bad vanished away for ever.

Itut to proceed. Gradually the streamlet became wider and wii
he tret's on cither h.ink receded further and further from e«ch otli
Qtil at hwt several rods intervened between the u[>positc ahorrs;**

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON,

485

though mounUinouSp yet the scenery along the banks wah singu*
rly wild and beautiful. Dense thickets lined the shores^ and groves
bamboos stretched out to a considerable distance in the water.
'e and there, an opening in the forest disclosed to us an Indian
;wam, at the same time giving us a hasty glimpse of its swarthy
kmates. These huts of the nativen are constructed by means of
poles driven in the ground, over which a light roof, composed of
bamboo canes and palm leaves closely matted together, is securely
fastened. Being generally open in front, a good view of the interior
( is thus afforded to the passing traveller — who sees perhaps a group
of natives seated on the ground, quietly smoking their long pipes, or
mging in their hammocks, thumbing with their fingers the strings
pS species of violin or guitar, which they hohl in their hand. A
nety of domesticated animals and lotjuhcious parrots completes
scene, which to the eye of a stranger always appears eminently
ituresque and interesting.
[As we proceeded onward, wc met several small montarias manned
half-naked Indians, coming in the opposite direction. Nothing
more deserving of notice than the difterent varieties of water-craft*
Lt one encounters in sailing up the rivers and streams of Para,
le one in question was of the simplest construction, being made
the trunk of a tree, hollowed out by the aid of fire and rude in-
iments. Boats of this description are, some of them, so light,
Lt they may easily be carried from place to place by the united
fngth of two persons. They are, besides, so narrowj and draw so
le water, that they are of great use in navigating the smallest
fams. It is a curious spectacle to see one of these singular crafts
id with Indians, paddling rapidly down thecurrent of an arl>oured
im in South America — the extraordinary formation of the boat
:lf, the strange appearance of the natives — the simultaneous dip-
ig of twenty paddles, and the glistening of the silvery spray, is
calculated to produce an impression upon the mind of the beholder
so palpably distinct, so that it can never be erased.

Gigantic moths and butterflies of many hues were continually
flitting near us, and, with the assistance of a long netted pole which
we fortunately had on board, we captured several fine specimens.
But this was not all, — with our faithful guns, we shot quite a variety
of shining kingfishers and other birds, perched upon dry stems
jutting out over the water, in anxious expectation of their prey, or
slumbering away the day in the midst of their lovely sylvan bowers*
" Jack," siiid my companion to me, suddenly, *• look at these egrets
along the shore— had n't we better try and give them a shot.^ They
are now more than a rifle sliot off, but by keeping perfectly still for
a few moments, we can doubtless get within a suitable shouting
distance."

" By all means," exclaimed I, with pleasure — " we must give
these tall fellows a Yankee salute. How majestically they walk
along the beach! how symmetrical their delicate forms! how snowy
white their plumage !"

There they were indeed ! — twenty as handsome birds as a naturalist
might wish to behold — marching slowly alung the shoret in quest of
tlieir favourite food, as naturally and unsuspectingly aa if danger
iwas not near.
.Dur men scarcely touched the water with their paddles, and bo

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON.

487

of prodigious sise, literally full of the long nests of the yellow-
umped oriole. The novelty oi* the spectacle diil not fail to attract
our observation, and we halted for a few raomenty beneath its shade,
n -order to scrutinize the motions of the hundred gay-coloured
9irds who were chattering and fluttering amid the thickness of the
foliage. The general colours of these birds were black and yellow,
Itrikingly blended together, and their notes were shrill and discor-
dant to the ear.

It is a singular fact, by the way, that birds of bright plumage,
with few exceptions, are not endowed with the fwculty of song,
while, on the other hand, the sweetest warbler?, such as the firitisn
nightingale and the American mocking-bird, have a dull and unin-
viting exterior.

It is almost impossible to drive these orioles from their nestinc;
trees! If you have a heart no cruel, you may continue to fire at
them for hours, and may wantonly destroy half their number, yet
the remainder will still flutter around the sacred spot, vainly en-
deavouring to protect their helpless offspring, to whom they are
strongly bound by those mysterious ties wliich death alone can sun-
der. The natives have a superstitious dread of killing these beau-
tiful birds, and, like the robin redbreast in our own country, they
are everywhere protected and beloved.

While proceeding onward, we fell in with a huge and fantastic
Rio Negro Canoe, on her return from a long voyage far up the
Amazon. She was truly a most comical craft, bearing not a little
resemblance to a Chinese junk. Both stem and stern were square,
and painted in a very singular manner. At either extremity was an
apolc^y for a cabin, over each of which was an awning, made of
palm leaves thickly matted together. Seated on the quarter-deck,
was the pilot or captain ; on his head was a coarse hat, with an
enormous brim — in hia mouth, an Indian pipe of considerable length,
while in his right hand he held firmly un to the tiller, thus control-
ling the languid motions of his very extraordinary vessel, in the most
i comfortable manner imaginable!

As the breeze was extremely light, at least a dozen powerful
looking blacks were employed in rowing the canoe, by means of
poles not less than fifteen feet in length, on the extremities of which
I were fastened circular pieces of wood of a foot or more in diameter.

A number of unfortunare natives on bonrd of the vessel particu-
larly attracted our notice. They were yoked two and two together
like so many cattle, by huge blocks of wood, into which their feet
were inserted. These pitiable beings, we understood, had been
seized by the authorities of Rio Negro for some trivial offence, and
■were now being transported to Para for the purpose of enrolment
in the army for life. The government of the province is in constant
fear of a second insurrection, and takes this means therefore of add-
ing to its strength ; but there is little doubt, however, that this course,
if much longer persisted in, will inevitably result in the very end
-which it is so desirous to avert.

In ad<lition to the crew and Indians, we observed several beautiful
Rio Negro girls, whose dreamy eyes and dark tresses, hanging in
dishevelled masses over their handsomely rounded shoulders and
well-developed bosoms, lelX an impresbiun upon our sHsccpUOU' Iwartt
that was not soon erased— and often afterwards did we behold them

oTtiK Am
■firv vitfa the jovM

So perirctl J

to beiieve tfcil vf

tbebmdecpMwtf

to the Dcitv*
vBi Mflnji. cwKumiiig wliidi «t

to o«r left, tbe white nndj bnd
of Ctarioo boke opao oor ▼irw. U ow a
IB onotiT. Hid with

ted, oad Imi
bjr^the OMB, oe tiomcflwrrfy on^ht
to he Inv Mid in good

vfld Md Avcraied. On

fciteuiiTi gmnlrn^ oaaipnd«|

bey end which were grow

and thriviog fielda of toAed

river of the A»asona expanded eat

oonrircs, mod di^Mtchod t

«c took o walk ^

Ae cxtcnuTe groonda ti

cridcBtljiBO oa^ fUpadated oooditioa* tmdm

thkk ahnibbciT', that ve wtit

fii iieftty ehBged tooecoor Inog "wood fauTea," which we carrint

aa on en ooonaoos, in order to effect a pea age through them.

> > ode welVmir throoKh a pUaaeii grorc^ one of our men dimiied

a tall cocoa-nut Ucr, and threw down to oa a ciattcr of its fine ML

Ttiey wvrehardl/ ripe, hot oo breaking the tthell of one of them.

Ita cotHentJ rxtretoejy dclicioaa; in caoais(«ncy,
KttrijT the Bppcanmce of crcaza, and ia ncbneas ami 6avi

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON.

489

more agreeable to our palates than any species of fruit we had
tasted before.

Hearing the sudden report of a gun near by, I turned my eyes in
the direction from whence it came, and piTceived, at the distance of
several rods, niy companion Jenks triumphantly holding a amaM
animal in one hand^ while with the other he grasped the barrel of
his gun, the stock of which rested on the ground.

" Well done, Jenks 1" exclaimed I, " what kind of an animal
have you killed? You are truly a lucky fellow to see game, and
when once you have your eye upon it. its destiny is told.*'

" The animal," replied Jenks, advancing towards us, "is called
by the natives, I believe, a paca, and a very handsome little crea-
ture it is. He was running quickly through the thicket at the
moment 1 6red, and I was then uncertain whether he was a bird or
a beast. However, I determined to satisfy my curiosity, so I
fired."

The animal was of a redJish brown colour, with rather coarse
hairj ami a head resembling in shape that of a guinea-pig. His sides
were prettily striped with white, and his countenance was adorned
with whiskers like those of a cat. He was about the size of a large
rabbit, and very fiit. The flesh of the paca is esteemed a great
delicacy, and is as white and tender as that of a chicken, lie is
nocturnul in his habits, and sleeps during most of the day. They
are perfectly innocent and harmless, and are often domesticated, in
which state they are ouite interesting and playful.

Strolling on through the woods, it was not long before one of our
companions espied a small armadillo, to which we gave chase, and
soon succeeded in capturing. He was a comical fellow, with a
queer looking, sharp-pointed head, and a banrled coat-of-roail al-
muat eifual to that of the tortoise in strength and solidity. Animals
of this kind are harmless, and live chiefly on vegetables and insects,
which they for the most part procure during the night. They are
furnished by Nature with powerful claw9» with which they are en-
abled to dig burrows with wonderful facility. Their Hesh is much
relished by the natives, who hunt tliem with dogs, and dig them
out of the deepest recesses of their subterrane/in retreats. When
attacked, they roll themselves into a ball, so invulnerable as to be
secure from the asauults of most of their pursuertv. Thus does an
all-wise Provi<lence provide for the security of these animals, who,
without which special aid would be utterly unable to protect them-
selves, and for the preservation of a class of animals, which would
otherwise soon became extinct. Verily, Nature is but the written
constitution of a God, designed for the welfare and wise governance
of the boundless universe!

Retracing our steps to the house, we could not but admire the
exuberant foliage by which we were surrounJed* The trees were
in close proximity to each other, and formed an umbrageous canopy
above us, by the meeting of their drooping branches. Brilliant
para&ites of every hue glittered like stars amid the emerald-like ver-
dure, grotesque plants of mammoth size stood around us — glad
birds chattered on the branches, and busy insects fluttered in the air
.^in a word, the whole scene was wild, romantic, and beautiful.

Arriving at the house, we observed a number of old slaves en-
gaged in making farintia. As this article is a general substitute for

490

PAltA; OS,

bread among the poorer claaces throughout the province, a few re-
marks concerning its origin and manufacture, may not prove whoUj
uninteresting to the reader.

The vegetable (Jatropha fnanihot) from which the farinha b
made is in ita natural state considered quite poisonous, and is en*
tirely un6t for the purposes of nutrition. The means, therefore, by
which its pernicious qualities are expelled, and the nutritious prin-
ciple retained, mui»t always be regarded as a most extraordinary and
invaluable discovery.

The plant is a nutlve of Brazil, and was known to the natives on
their first intercourse with the white men. No other vegetable, not
even wheat, possesses an equal degree of nutriment, and, together
with bananas and wild meat, it constitutes the principal item o^ the
native Brazilian's bill of fare. The farinha is made from the root,
which is first rasped with a piece of indentett wood, until it is re-
duced to a pulpy consistency. The juice is then effectually express-
ed in the following singular manner. Large circular baskets of
plaited rushes are filled with the raspings of the mandioca root, and
then suspended from the branches of trees. By meansof a consider-
able weight of stones fastened beneath, the rushes are drawn tightly
together^ and most of the liquid squeeaed out. Af^er this, the
pulpy substince is exposed on skins to the rays of the sun, for the
purpose of evaporating all the remaining moisture.

The juice being at length entirely expressed, the pulp ia placed
on large earthenware pans, and stirred over a hot fire until it grano*
lates ; it is then put up in baskets for use. The manner in which
the natives eat the farinha is very amusing, and is besides perfectlv
inimitable. Taking a quantity of it in one of their hands, by a skil-
ful motion of their arm they toss every particle of it into their
mouths, and it seldom happens that any is wasted in this manner.
I have frequently attempted to imitate them, but I found that the
feat required more legerdemain talent than I was master of, and
Uiat on every trial mv mouth was but little better supplied with tbtf
granulated material than either my nose or eyes.

A milk-white substance is deposited by the juice of the inandiocs
root, which being collected, and hardened by exposure to the sun.
constitutes the article so well known as tapioca, from which such
wholesome and dehcious puddings are made. So %'ery poisonous i*
the root in its natural state, that it has been found to occasion death
in a few minutes when administered experimentally to animals., and
it is said that the natives used it with great effect many years ago ia
destroying their Spanish persecutors. It has been ascertained bf
dissection that this poison operates by means of the nervous systen,
producing immediate convulsions and exquisite torments, as soon ai
it is introduced into the stomach. In some instances it has bern
used in the execution of criminals, in which cases death invariably
ensued within from five to ten minutes after its imbibition. The
fatal principle appears to exist in certain gases, which are dissipated
by heat. This is conclusively proved, from the harmlesaness and
highly nutritious properties of the farinha, when the process of its
uiJinufacture has been coniplete<l.

It has been stated, on good autliority, that a single acre of lood
planted with the mundiocu root, will affurd nonrialnnent to more
persons than six acres of wheat planted in the same manner^ and n

ADVENTURES ON THE AMAZON.

491

own observation fully justifies this Hssertion. Is it not then very
deairablej that this useful plant should be carefully examined by
men of science, and suitable efforts made for introducinjf it into
other countries ? Perhaps it might prove, with proper culture, as
great a blessing to the unfortunate poor of Ireland as it is now to
the ignorant and untutored Indians of Hrazil ! Concerning the value
of this plant, Southey remarks with truth, tliat " If Ceres deserved
a place in the mythology of Greece, far more might the deification
of that person have been expected, who instructed his fellows in the
use of mandioc !"

Being near sunset when we arrived at the house, we lost no time
ID going down to the river's side, to undergo a refreshing ablution
ill its pure and sparkling waters. For this purpose, there is no
spot belter adapted by Nature than the beach at Caripe. So gradual
is the slope of the bank that, at high tide, a person can wade out for
several hundred rods without getting beyond hia depth. During
the spring tides, the water rises and falls full fifteen feet. The strand
is hard, and is composed of the finest white sand, and is as smooth
and clean as the floor of a ball-room.

The water whs remarkably transparent, insomuch that we could
distinctly discern snowy pebbles and unique sheila lying on the
bottom at the distance of many feet. Its surface was mantled with
all the splendour of the setting sun, and a beautiful sight was it for
U5 to watch the mimic waves, tinged with the sunbeams, as they
sportively broke upon the shore.

For nearly half an hour we plunged and swam and bespattered
oneanotlier, as playfully and nappy as a party of innocent mer-
maids bathing in their own enchanted lake. No ravenous sharks or
ferocious caymans were hereto molest us I No clawed monsters,
not even a crab or a lobster did we see ; but hosts of gold and silver-
gleaming fishes were continually darting like so many little fairy
sprites around us !

With spirits gay and our bodies all in a glow, we at last came out
of the water. Parting day had sped ; and when again we reached
the house, bright stars were peeping from the sky !

It was evening, and never shall we forget it while the pulse of
life throbs in our viens. The deep silence, the wild beauty of the
scenery, the tranquillity of the river, spread out like a lake, and the
reflection of the stars on its surface, together with the immense dis-
tance that intervened between ourselves and home, impressed us
with feelings of stmnge solemnity, bordering on sadness; and such
we opine, kind reader, would have been your own sentimeuta under
circumstances as solemnn and sublime!

OTA

dUBML

*^ oar islmdeni, elul
The try which !us for

il pile, mar droop sod
^2^ »*» fa* traaed to the Bvpiiip ««Ib of the modem xnannoo,
"■■•^ •■ ihe vner«Uc fMinteiMii of the former building, — but as Uw
pma^ •primU shoot ooi, by Bttfc ad Kttle they aiucb themscUM to
their new rapport, aod oa yin roll on e%en the tough and gnarlnl iw
AdspU it»erf to the ch«nge, and clasps iU rude arms closeW roond iti
adofAed lord. Fifty yeaTi after the last effort of the Stuarts » we find tlw
Mtiooal heart fixed upon the houw of Brunswick with a 6rTnness, vbich
•wn the tremendouB shock of the French Revolution could not disturb

Much as we bare reason to thank the Great Uulerof the Universe fitf
the triumph of civil and religious liberty in the year 1745, a deep sod
mournful interest must ever bang over the brief history of the weak brt
chivalrous and gallant youth, who, in ppite of false or lukewarm friends,
and powerful and inveterate foes, made such a brave, though fruitier,
struggle for his hereditary crown aud faith. The devoted hearts that ot
lieat hij(h with loyal hopes for his success have long since returned:
their native clay ; their stirring songs echo no more among ScotJ
rocky hills, the lovely glens where the clans gathered for their last
rons effort are lonely and deserted now, while the descendants of ll,
Hhepherd warriors toil in the dark aud squalid purlieux of Glasffow,
seek a home among the snowy hills of Canada. Still at times, even an)
the anxious struggle of the present day, through the din of railwajs
spinning-jennies, the clamours of patriots, aud the droning of ecouom^
— when we hear some strain of Scotland's lost anointed king, some balU
ehroiiirling his high hopes and sad story, — our pulso beats quicker to
thi' nienauro, and wo wonder no more how the " bonneted dudtaiw*
risked their life nnd land for " bonnie Prince Charlie."

Among the exciting and important events of later times, many havf
forgotten mnoli of the story of that short period when Charles Sutcil
shook I'jiglnutI like an earthrjnake ; anxious and critical as was the ilu,
it has left hut h'ltle impress on subsequent events; the tale ts notUc
more than an cpisodv iu the great drama of Eoglaud s bialorr.

CHARLES EDWARD STUART.

as such wc truBt that a brief sketch of the last struggle for royalty of
the race of Stuart, may not be uninteresting and uninstructive to our
readers.

Charles Edward Stuart was bom in the year 1721, in the "Eternal
City," the capital of the Uoman Calholic world, fit birth-place for the
priocc who was lo wage so brave a battle for the supremacy of the
popish faith. Though the exiled court was a mere shadow, all the high-
born men who still adhered lo its ruined fortunes were 9uramone<l to
attend the birlh of their young prince. They readily heaped upon him
the love and vcnoraiion which his father's incapacity had forfeited. His
birth was to them the birth of hope, they fondly expected that his faith
might be strong as that of his sire, without its puerile superstition,
and through his means the triumphs of the future might erase the pain-
ful memory of the past.

Probably Charles Stuart was indebted to his mother for whatever
portion of vigour he possessed, and the undoubted courage which he
afterwards displayed ; under her eye his character was first formed, and
his earliest instructions received. It is impossible to exaggerate the im-
portance of maternal influence on the future career and disposition; in
the plastic state of infancy iuipressions are readily received, which harden
into the form and fashion of the manly mind. Bnonaparlcand the Duke
of Wellington were both brought up under the care of widowed mothers,
and have found cause lo altribute to these gifted women the develop-
ment of many of the rare and cotnmauding qualities which distinguished
their after lives.

The friend and pupil of Fenelon, the gifted Chevalier de Ramsay, was
chosen as the instructor of the young Prince in the rudiments of educa-
tion ; we find that the boy made a quicker progress in the graceful and
ornamental branches of his studies than in the more solid and praclical
acquirements; he delighted in music and poetry, but his imagination
even in his very boyhood, wandered away from the blue skies and impe-
rial memories of Kome, to the stem and misty land where he felt hia
future destiny was laid.

England was always his paramount interest; he eagerly sought the
society of Englishmen whenever opportunity offered, and frequent allu-
sions lo his future enterprise were introduced in his conversation. When
still a mere boy, ho allowed great disregard of personal danger at the
siege of Gaeia, under the guidance of hh relation. Marshal Berwick;
many a hope was raised in ihu hearts of hia adherents by his fearless
beariug, — hopes to be finally extinguished on the bloody field of Cullo-
den. The favourable impression given by his conduct at Gaeta, was
confirmed by his graceful courtesy at Naples ; and the next summer a
s]iort campaign m Lombardy coutiuued his education as a soldier. He
ihcn visited many of tht^ principal Italian cities, and met everywhere the
reception of a royal prince. For several subsequent years he remained
in Rome, having no occupation beyond the fleeting amusements of the
hour; music and hunting filled up the measure of his time, and such
success as these pursuits afforded be eminently gained. The boar-hunt
of the Pontine Marshes well j^uitcd hi^ active and daring temperament,
the degree of hardship and even the danger of the chase afforded him a
keoner enjoyment than the softer pleasures of the Imperial City, and
kept alive in hie breast that spirit of adventure wliich iu after tiroes was
so nearly rewarded with his ancestral crown.

ti any who lookad apoa Ui

bf tbe vmtcrs of the Hnnis, «nd tt
M tfar 19Ui Attgnst (1745),
ip «f Gnat Britabi. Ilis appogrtm—t iC
&d«ar4 m pigtal of tbe kiagAi «ss Ihen read
• wiU iliim, ntd wiUcr pibroca, echoed fttnn the beigt
■■d llw red and white fUndard of the Stuarts was unj
above thean by the Manjuis of TuUibardiuc, the
of Scotland. He bad accompanied Cbarlea

at Sr JoiiD Cope before the nevly-raised forces of
cootriboted to excite their spirit and conBdence ; thej
Edinburgh, and the city eurrtmdcrcd without an attempt
James Vlll. was proclaimed King- at the City Cross,

CnARtF.S KDWARD STUART.

495

Prince Charles was joined by several noblemen of dislinction, and a
Iai^ ammmt of supplies for his army was raised from the towna-people.

In the meantime Sir John Cope had repented him of hi« haaty re-
treat; bo advanced towards Edinburgh, and took up a position near
Preston Pans. The results of the engagement that here took place are
well known. Never was any victory more complete; the military chest,
cannon, camp cquipa^, bag:^age, and colours of the royal army fell into
the hands of the victors. Charles lost but forty men at Preston Pans ;
on the side of his enemies ten limed as many were left upon the field,
and fiAcen hundred prtAoners yielded up their arms. Indeed, the in-
fantry may be said to have been totally destroyed, and the dragoons
were only saved by an early flight and the speed of their horses.

Had CharleSj after this victory, marched at once upon London, be
might probably have woo his crown before the English government could
have raised troops or recalled forces from Flanders. Hut, instead of
taking advantage of this first brilliant goo<l-fortuno, he returned to Ho-
lyrood palace, and indul^^ed in the vain but fascinating parade oF royalty.
His own wish, indeed, had been to enter England then, borne on the
swelling tide of success ; hut his council advised differently, magnified
the dangers of the undertaking, and doubted the prospects of meeting
with support from any large body of the English Jacobites. In the end
they carried their point, and Edinburgh became the Capua of Charles
and his army. There, surrounded and intoxicated with the Batteries nf
admiring enthusiasts or needy expectants, and charmed by the devotion
of the .Jacobite ladies, who sought his princely notice, he wasted the pre-
cious time in issuing fruitless manifestos and conducting useless neguti-
aliens with doubtful adherents and concealed enemies. His half-civihsed
followers, meanwhile, exhausted their nerve and courage, either in vain
efforts to reduce the castle, or in idleness and social indulgence. A con-
siderable portion of the army, however, was encamped at Duddingslono,
two miles from the city, where they lived in the open air, despising the
shelter of the tents, which formed part of the spoil of Cope's army ; here
they loveil to sit round their watch-fires, listening to the songs and tales
of the days of Bruce and Wallace, and Scotland's early glory. Charles
often visited them, and strengthened the strong affection they already
bore him, by listening to and applauding their barda, and by words of
kindliness and interest : on some occasions he even pajised the night
among them in the camp.

The Lords Kilmarnock, Balmerino, Pit&ligo, Elcho, and Ogilvic join-
ed him with their followers ; from the Lowland cities a few volunteers
■welled his ranks, and several clans, that had for a time hesitated to join
him, poured down from the mountains at the joyful news of his tirst
victory. The arrival of the Marquis d'Eguilles from France with arms,
ammunition, and abundant promises, though he was not actually acknow-
ledged aa an ambassador, helped to raise his hopes, and give confidence
to his adherent]). He then determined to delay no more his march into
England. *' I will raise my banner there as I did in Scotland,'' said he
to his council ; " the faithful subjects of my father will gather round it,
and with them I will either conquer or die." The council yielded, and
the advance commenced.

Charles's .irmy numbered about six thoii«and infantry and two hun»
dred and wxty horse ; the Duke of Perth and Lord George Murray,
who had both won high distinction at Preston Pans, commanded under

VOL. xxiii. o o

cnARLRS EDWARD STUART.

497

on the eard of the terriSed citizens, there is but little doubt that he
could have again entered hia capital, and once more raised the hopes and
confidence of his followers by directing their movements from the palace
of his ancestors.

Charles Edward took up his residence at the castle of Bannockbum
during the siege of Stirling; the neighbouring chiefs and gentry well
affected to his cause taok this opportunity of presenting their fiimilies to
their beloved prince, keeping up ns nineh as possible the semblance of a
Court Among the high-born Scottish maidens who came before him
was one of a noble air and remarkable beauty, the daughter of the Baron
of Baronsfield. She made a deep impression on Charles, and with her
the devotion of woman's Sove was soon added to the loyalty uf a faithful
subject. From earliest childhood the name of the prince had been ever
before her ; his winning manners and graceful person realised all her
anticipations, while the romance and danger of his situation awakened
the tonderest intercRt in her young heart. In the many unemployed
hours of a tedious siege the prince had abundant leisure for long inter-
views, without apparently interfering with his duties as a general. This
association had Huch a charm for his ardent and romantic mind, that an
unwillingness to break it was probably one of the main reasons of the
delay before Stirling, in its results so fatal to his cause. He was sin-
cere and eamesl in his affection; the hope of placing her he loved by
his side on the throne of Scotland became the most cherished feeling of
his heart ; her noble birth, the devotion of her family to his cause, and
her powerful connections seemed, even in a prudential point of view, to
justify his choice.

The lady's name was Cleraentine ; she was the godchild of Charles*
mother. The cause of tbis connexion is so blended with the history of
the Stuarts, that it may not be here out of place to notice it. In the
year 1719 arrangements had been completed for the marriage of the
Chevalier de St. George with the Princess Mary Casimir Clementine,
jp^nd-daughter of Sobieski, the heroic King of Poland. Her father
not having been elected to the throne, was living under the protection
of Charles VI. in Austria. The betrothed were both exiled, and de-
barred from their ancestral dignities, but the princess was still thought
to be the possessor of immense wealth. George II. of England ad-
dressed a strong remonstrance to the emperor on hearing of this pro-
jected nlllantie, which would so much strengthen the hands of the
claimant for his throne, urging that its accompUiibment should be pre-
vented by the interference of the imperial authority. Charles VI. nt
once acceded to this demand; the young princess was arrested with her
mother at Inn^pruck, while endeavouring to escape to Italy, and shut
np in a convent.

The question of James's marriage was of deep interest to the Jacobite
cause, and the steps taken by the English king lo prevent it, aroused
the partisans of the Stuarts to the most indignant anger. John VValken-
shaw. Baron of Baronsfield, one of those who had been driven into
exile in consequence of his share in the insurrection of 1715, was still
the devoted adherent of the fallen king ; this faithful noble determined
to risk his life in the attempt lo gain the freedom of the captive prin*
cess, having first vainly tried by every means in hia power to induce the
tf'mperor to restore her lo liberty. Captain Toole, Wogan, Major
Wissett. and his wife, were to assist him and share the hazard of the

n n 2

"^>^^ ■XT.--^r sTTr.=^r.

Bill Tii'.r» -li-jiTi-ii* t-_-TL:i.:?nr:*i -=.-.-:**'i — •:" -s. ^e:. :t ";-t .: i" :
fi it iti5 ■aijM :c' 'l-r-i; S'.'U*":. >:r>: :i:r. :.—:■=; •:■-"

• ' • «■ » « «

pBse, »»Tp:ti*ed foritiTe, wearied sL-i iisrjearrtrT i. Cri.'-^

^ tfrar wriKT of priTuioo u)d fufft-ricg duric^ the =;:a.:-

CHAULES EDWARD STUART.

that elapsed before he could effect bU escape from Scotland. For bU
ifioal preservutum he was iiidvblod to a simple ScoUisb maiden, the
celebrated Dora MacDonald. She was, at ibc time of our story, about
the same age as the unfortunate Charles; she had received a homely
education ; the learning of the schools, and the accomplishments of
courtly circlfs, were alike unknown to her ; but her manners were
Ipentle and graceful^ her [)riLKi|>les pure and noble, and above all, her
spirit was imbued with a high-souled and devoted loyalty* unshaken by
dfioger or despair, undiminished ia death itself. By the courage and
energy of this heroic girl the life of Cliarles was preserved.

It was while he was in South Uist, attended only by O'Neal, that
Plora MacDonald was instrumental in effecting the safety of the prince.
She wa^, at the times on a visit with her brother at his house of Milton
in that island. It so hapf>ened, that her stepfather, MacDonald of
Annadule, commanded one of the parties of the militia engaged in the
pursuit of Charles, in obedience to the wishes of the chief of his clan,
although he rather was inclined to favour the Stuart cause himself, and
on no account v^ould have actually assisted in the captureof the princely
fugitive; conduct and feeling such aa his were by no means unusual Id
tliose troublous times. O'Neal, uow Charles's only companiou, seems to
have been the person who suggested calUng in Flora MacDonald's aid for
the prince'sescape,havingbeeD slightly ar<iuaintcd with her in happier days.
^LO'Neal met the young lady hy appointment, one ntght towards the
IBJ of June, at a cottage in Beubecula ; after a little conversation, he
told her that he had broucrht a friend to sec her; she a:ikcd earnestly if
it were the prince. O'Neal's answer was instantly to briug him in.
Charles himself then appealed to her loyalty to assist him to escape;
and represented that her stepfatherB position would enable her to ob-
tain a pass for ll>e journey. She hesitated for a moment, not from any
consideration of her own danger, but from the fear of implicating her
kindred. To influence her decision, O'Neal put before her in the most
vivid hght the glory of saving her lawful prince ; aud to allay the
scruples of feminine reserve, which also caused her to doubt, it is said
that the light-hearted Irishman instantly tendered her his hand and
fortune; the latter, under the circumstances, was no very brilliant offer.
However that may have been, it is certain the lady did not accept the
proposal. The interview ended in her undertaking the perilous enterpnze.

The prince and his faithful attendant, now buoyed up with hope, re-
tired once again to their place of concealment^ while Flora repaired to
Orraaclade, the residence of Lady MacDonald, whom she took into
her counsels. On her way she was seized by a party of militia, and
with her servant was detained iu custody tilt the following morning.
Her captors were under the command of her stepfather, whose surprise
may well be imagined when he found his soldiers gave him such a proof
of their vigilance, as his own daughter a prisoner in their hands. Of
course be instantly ordered her liberation; it is scarcely doubted that
be entered into her plans, although the only step he seems to have
taken in the matter was granting her a passport to return to her mother's
house in Skye, including the safe conduct of her man-servant, and
Betty Burke, a young Irishwoman, for her mother's service. Flora's
plan was, that this girl's place should be Hlled by the prince, and when
she reached Ormadade, she 8|MK;dily arranged the necessary prepara-
tions for the disguise.

~Tir--* - 2J ■-—■:":-- z-i 1'" Ui» ftf.fc liirj' "^Jt^^ inaiji ua r-j»ic^

-inrr T;::* 3TC_'?-_ :i=- li-se ir i -i*tl rm-*. v^Xixae ^rroi sztMsett
«B ^»«— - ai.:*: - -r r=.^^r u -^abk xxus^ iip^ n: ^j^ ?i>i^^ v'ir 'i:i-
j— r^ 3E . Ldf :r ^-n T^dntai- — luw vm toti wvsa^L :r >:wr.T
.o^ %n— "'~^— — • aiss & I II =nnn>*T;moa- EXii :il-t rsc^ruc
zat. z^ sfis&:i ^ j.:vfsr* ■vmt it c"^:^ '■^xju* "l^ su^ ss 'ij=d«d

~--- Lj:il«=i ca 4K11 ! Ills*!?! -u -sur^ Jinxuf. i:^ i. Ti""a'T :x»

ai» .rr-— . c 2cf " f **u r~uEX Uii Smst msrruiz -»-*«=« -'**«^ v:;^ ;^

«'^~^ .=^ -.:=::3i:_-:=s ^*'- iir 3t± slur->- wzas^ % :oac &yxs«C :i^

ar-=::i^ .- : - -s^:: it ■^'nni. ^«int=5 or Mudifrt ^ad45C:c 3i »brfm»

2;s- -*.^ iii-^rr ur —.; .iijic^ if idt wjm.m. sus^r-jxtr •'^— - cccrw f;c
:» ^r ix ^«"-_ Tit! r.nc'g^ "aac i»S9« 'Titn -n.irac -v-iil s*t9 *>
ail«*i ue >-.-j-«. — & i:«rii "i^TiT^ n I IcLe tilts, rrcc li* fUTB^
*flfc r lie V ■*!?i-»-: I=u-i:.j^ ¥::a iii* ^uaers it ^itfis* rvtiai^!!! f*-"-
•^a=^ sTTj-si:!^ ■^I'unti .Ti s^t'^ &i£tt. 3uE lie aoj^mr a: ti* i«r:it:

Inis- j5--(.-. :-.- -. aiU'kUi-Q. iCii fiuxic 3it vCtL sdZtT* "'-^■^ be itc
sar^:-- "-- -r- »:*ii.:-irrt :r i^ :n-'-s np-aiign. u cbeef 'Jtf

:y-_.* _■ . .-.. --- .Tur *":.: ;^-;tj.z li-z ft::r-^- 5»l;£ :: «l-=i=r — • -

::^ . - r*- -::^ ?-. ";.-:-.v r^ —-•-:-; ;a i* zt^ir.^ is •-'^7 :i;<-"i^-:^, :

■_itT --iiv ■ .:>« Is :--=• :ui: i.:_:'::-._- :.i."-'si:»i»:. iz-i .- x .i:!-* :..z.-t :i^

.!-■ :■■-. :.-j .1 >i-t I ^ii'itriei :^»:'_r *c£'iii Af^'t '£ -'2.-i i^sc ■.:'

T^r?-"--": ■.-.i^'. :•.' ;j -in- :.-:v :t:i.- x }^^-J -^ r— "-a i:r«.i^'- -
-r.;.:: — . -:■»:•: -.:^"i: i :».a. a; .- -.--f ':^A:!r- ': ^:. boj:-; :':."

;uj^:r :■> ..: - :... lj«:.;". lii jr-uiiifi r-TT-; -^rri :.- re.!. 4»xt. ;:e
5.,i-':'t ... «-; .:...-. -_!.:^^ :; -r-u;! :,- :xcji i*-';*r ii i f-^-rtzier: wiia
-_r.~;i.j "^."v;. I :.-; v:> :.:ciire'i i"»:ir ".Ijbc: :r:ci ".j.= :^i.:h. :^r:j^u:i.)

-.a. ^ Ti: Li^v:-:-: -". -j^- :.". T:: y.^' ^-Oz^.zz :\a.- :
::i: " -■ : " : -" : ;: 7\ri 'Zi-I-.c-i-i *ij -:i :-^:_'.:v :^.->-i:t-:

;: :. :- ■: ::v; - ■ .- ;, .i: -. :»= fZ-.'-'-i-ri'i. rrt^ I'^e :_'.*:*. Hz

;c. • -■.'-— -'■:■! : ■- .-*•* ::i '_-.'.i '.ii: i- ii>J.i ;■:■ >n-' t^>^. is.-.' it.:.z
•y.i: z-i --= wLi :: :ir z.;.-t "i .-t :zj^ z-iTi^ Yi^j »<?r« soc:. :lA-t^
Ciu; :i "-i« rti;; ;; ziz^iT zy t_"_c "^■:-r: _* cr-:-rs* oz t-::* rowers.

H^nij^i 111 Ziz::^.-=*L iz^i «ii'irrcr* ;•-: — lo i l::;'.r crr*K icce &:'.*.**
^ w =cr.!i»iri. ;c wtk :cr tc izc *lx,:kt; their hop* «&» \a:c, ifi«

CHARLES EDWARD STUART.

501

^Hbple of the neighbouring village dreaded their dangerous presence,
Old constrained thom to put to upa ngain. Finally they landed near the
seat of Sir Alexander MacDooald, in the parish of Kilmuir, This chief
was at the time with the Duke of Cumberland, but his wife, Lady Mar-
garet MacDonaldf was in the neighbourhood; she was the daughter of
Lord EglintOQ, a beautiful and acronipliKhod woman, in her heart
firmly attached to the house of Stuart. Lady Margaret had been in-
formed of the prince's expected arrival by a Mrs. MacDonald, of Kirki-
bost, and when the fugitives landed, Flora, attended by MacF^achan,
sought her at the house, leaving Charles seated on his trunk on the
beach, still in his female disguise. A militia officer, remarkable for hia
activity in the pursuit of the unfortunatti prince* was at this time, with
several others, enjoying Lady Margaret's hospitality. Mora displayed
admirable courage and self-possession in her manner on this trying occa-
sion, and successfully evaded in her answers the many perplexing ques-
tions put to her; such as, whence she came? where was she going? by
wliom was she attended ? Although Lady Margaret was wanied of the
wanderer's coming, she was much alarmed when tihe heard of his actual
presence in her neighbourhood. A man named Donald Roy MacDonald,
who had fought and bled at CuUoden, was taken into her confidence; it
was arranged that this stout Jacobite should take up the guidance of the
prince from Portree at the olher side of the island; MncDonald of
Kingsburgh, Lady Margaret'ti chamberlain, had directions to manage
the flight to that place. The chamberlain found Charles on the shore,
and at once conducted hira to his house at Kingsburgh on the way
towards Portree by the piihlic road. Flora soon pleaded to her hostess
the necessity of getting home to attend her mother's sick couch, who
was alone in these troublesome times ; af\er all the due ceremonies of
entreaties and refusals had been gone through between Lady MacDonald
and her guest, for the benetil of the bystanders, the young lady de-
parted. Mrs. MacDunald of Kirkibost, with her servants, joined Flora
and MacEachan for the journey. The party soon overtook Ktngsburgh
and the prince, who had walked thus far along the high road, but
had soon after to turn off across a wild and trackless country. Flora
hurried past them at a trot, that the servants might not observe the
direction Charles was about to take, but she soon parted company with
her fellow travellers, and turned to rejoin the prince. After some
annoyance and anxiety, Charles and his companions reached Kingsbuigh
house at eleven o'clock that night, where they were hospitably enter-
tained. By the advice of the lady of the house, the prince changed his
dress the following morning, but lest the servants might entertain a sus-
picion from the strange alteration, it was effected in a wood by the
roadside. When Kingsburgh had accomplished this object he returned
home. Charles and MacFachan struck across the mountains for Por-
tree ; Flora took a different rood to the same destination.

At this village, the only one on the island, Donald Koy had mean-
while made arrangements for carrying the prince to llaasay. where a
safe refuge was expected, the proprietor being a strong Jacobite, but
uncompromised by any active participation in the disastrous struggle.
Donald Koy, with n few friende, met the prince in the evening at tho
mean village inn ; they found hira at a coarse meal, drinking out of a
broken vessel, used for Iwiling out a l>oal. Flora soon arrived, but only
tobid a lost farewell to him whose life she had so nobly preserved ; she

--rf, irtie- 1. —1 *± * jH .-11

air

._- ; _- ci-

• : ^ >.j ^**_ »-.

A Ilto-

A las r"^^ ^-^■•- ■■■T
^*r U'\{«« e-i4?% £ '

CHARLES EDWARD STUART.

503

^But the Eiifflitih. Tbese inoutitaineerfl received him with joyful
B^eci, and sparud no risk or fatigue to supply his woDts. Duriog
three weeks of thi^ wild life he had won completely the bold hearts of
bis hosts ; auil whcu, in quieter days, the survivors of this little band
Bpoke of his sojourn with them, it was always with the deepest feeling,
Bind with undying affection towards their prince.

Charles next found &heker in a cavern at Letternilich, on an aloMMt
inaccessible situation among the lofty rocks, till, after eleven days, Gleua-
ladale announced to him the stirring news that two French vessels of
war had anchored in Lochnanaugh bay.

On the 1 9th of September, iho prince repaired to the shore, accom-

nied by Lochiel and his brother, with many other friends and followers,

ho preferred the woes of exile to the dangers of retribution, which

brcatened them at home ; a crowd of kinsfolk of those about to depart

bled on the beach to bid them farewell. The prince drew his

d, and cheered their saddened hearts for a moment as he spoke of

e efforts ; be promised soon to be among them again with a power-

rmy, to gain a certain victory. But his tattered garments and ema-

ed figure, with the melancholy sight of the departing exiles, soon

Iturned the gleam of hope that for a moment lighted up the hearts of the

Jbystanders into the darkness of despair. With sobs, tears, and sighs the

I farewell was spoken ; for many among them it was the lost earthly parting.

After a narrow escape from the English fleet on the French shore, in

Uie friendly shelter of a fug, the prince passed in safety to the French

coast, and landed at Uoscoff, near Morloix, in Brittany, on the 10th of

l> October; the tedious and perilous passage lasted twenty days. The

Ea of the province received him with a generous welcome; hospi-
supplying his wants, and those of his unfortunate companions.
e prince set out for Paris after a brief repose ; his brother, the
of York, advised of his approach, came out to meet him, and es-
I corted him to the castle of St. Antoine, which had been prepared for his
reception by the French Court. A few days after his arrival in Paris,
be wont in state to Foutnineblcau to receive audience of the King of
I'Vance. Everywhere he was received with interest and sympathy ; his
romantic adventures and chivalrous bearing excited the enthusiasm of
all. Charles sioon saw that, despite all this demon-^tration, he had but
little to hope from a corrupt Court and a hesitating and timid ministry.
, 'Hie treaty of Aix-!a-Chapelle, soou after signed, confirmed his unfa-
vourable forebodings ; its results drove him from his asylum in France,
with every humiliating uggravatiou to which the malice of his enemies and
the unworthincss of his friends could subject him. Madrid, Avignon, and
Venice were succissively tried in vain as places of refuge for the wanderer.
Suddenly Charles disappeared from public notice, all traces of him
were lost ; he was next heard of in London. A number of his parti-
. xajis in that city had made preparations for a revolt ; the promises of
{ support were numerous, the hopes of success strong. At a large mcet-
' ing. called to discuss some news just received from France, the prince
unexpectedly appeared among the conspirators. " Here I am," said he,
" ready to raise my banner ; give me four thousand men, and I will in-
stantly put myself at their head.*^ When tried in this manner, his parti-
I sans failed in the fulfilment of their boasts and promises ; Charles then
saw that the case was hopeless, and returned to the continent.

Would that the history of this unhappy man could be closed
g huCf with the touching sentiment of Voltaire : ** Let the mau who, ia

_^zr=e-- i;c. -ar*

-^•^- ^ . _

«*. ^CT^.-JQL

". * .r"„-

~ ■ i- T - _,

t- .. ^ I .r

'Z ^ r la^Hr I r 1!a^ ^1>^

505

REPUBLICAN CLUBS IN PARIS {April 1848).

BT TUB FLAN&DB IN PABIS.

UOH as the meaning oriuinally attached in France to the word

"''club" may hare been soioothed down and gilded over by the sense,
hrcty nearly tantamount to its real Englinh signification, bcbtowed
^ttpou it by the Parisian gantsjaiinvs^ the eUgattlx, the members of the
WJockey Club* the soi-iii;fuiit admirers and wuuld-be imitators of Eng-
lish fashions and Kngliah comfort, the fashionable Anglo-mauiiics, in
Itfact, of a time gone by, and already a matter of remote history, al-
^though only of the la:it few years, the last few months, the last few
> weeks even, so great is the gulf that already sunders Parisian man-
ners as tht-y were from Parisian manners as they are ; much as the
iterm may have been drilled, and fashioned, and decked out into what
pthev thought a proner, gent!cuiauly, exclusive, vvell-bred sense, it has
^no less returned ull ut once to one of terrible memory. The same re-
^volution tluit overthrew a throne, has at the same lime upset an Anglo-
|ci<m ; and in this remark the bathos may not be so great as may be
^imagined. In this time of |)ell-meU frenzy, when newly revolution-
gised French heads seem to have no thought but that of subverting
I power, and no purpose — to use the words of the German poet Grabbe—
^oat " to ruin> and with the ruins, at l)e8t build up a ruin ;" when each
^party of men seems to have adopted as the inscription of their banner
'of liberty, " All for our will J down with that of every body else t "

»when, in the name of the people, of the sovereign people, whose voice,
„ tbey tell you, is the " voice of God ! " each faction, each expression of
^opinion, uay, each individual "dreamer of dreams/' and newly arisen
Jooncocter of Utopian theories, each supporter of what are called Com-
Ixnunist and Socialist ductrinesj for the soi-d'isani welfare of humanity,
land the real destruction of every old social tie, assert the right of
y alone directing the welfare and the rule of France, — when already the

i«vident tendency of those who call themselves the only true republi-
cans, is to give their own meaning, in their new republican diction-
ary, to the three great rallying watch-words of the day, and explain
iliat " FraUrniU " means " the bitterest hatred to all who possess not
the same opiniuus ;" *' EgaiiU" " we up above, and all others down
below ;" and " Liberie " *' liberty of thinking, speaking, doing, acting,
crushing, destroying as it pleaseth us, but tne most despotic suppres-
sion of all ideas, things, aud men, that fve acknowledge not ;" when
violent demonstration, demand, exaction, are growing day by day more
clearly the avowed principles of " whole hog" republicans, and suji-
pcrt of those principles '* by force if necessary," their declared reli-
gion, in huch times, shew the mere change in the meaning of a word
may have a more awful prophetic signilicatiou than would appear at
lir&t sight. As it is, the kte meaning of the word " hides its dimi-
nished head," ashamed and shrinking back from the restored one, that
Haunts the red Phrygian cap of liberty on its head, seems already in-
clined to assume the mure truly Freuch and distinguishing term of
*' ctrcle" and very shortly thi* word **club" will wear in France the
l*e tdone of a republican political meeting for the dictation of the

^- =«uT^^ ^'^ pur^^^» prince rfi
•= - -.r *"• =« v.?*..^^*''- ■» heart ^ S«»n>eaBe.«l

- '-t.ca. Mrest, and k>

** *"rest, and (*•
;.v. :...« V ^^, ,., ^ ^^^;^^*«»r of . CO.
'^- ^ --^ -• •-^.' ^r .r" ?!^. ?*^y of the
rf p cv^ V- .:- .m: -v-: .: ..;■ ■_:« -vj^.... ^.\\ "*-»red theirSirt

.- ::^ -re ^-^- :- i-;. v r: :7<. :Ja= :jj^,- v^J^^.?^ PaiincJ

-xi.^.e.:^^r viiir.cs. :u: ar^.f -.i^^ .iutv -wTT *^**«' ^i
.i.->.i:-^. :-a: Uc r - .^^ ;;.-...: ^ ^^j.- .^ ..^ ;^^^ out, in ij^jif
ere. i=c :-.;:■* j:^.- •^^_- :uvitf* i.-- ^ocrjiccc ir: /«" * '***^ * *"*

OF PARIS.

507

by the way, hnve themiielvos continiinlly the air of plnying at
Ice-believe " with a |>eoplt''s destinies ami only acting an iin-
drntna in the face of Europe, so recklessly ilo some of tliem pliiy
*T miaie, — these ushers, in their republican school-room, only
^kea their eyes, positively shut them sometimes to what they were
»»g, nnd promifted them that, if they would only not Hure thvirwea-
*a alHJut so, they should have all the poinoned HUpir-plums they
%]d like to BwiiUow themselves, or force aown their fellows' throats ;
3, like spoiled children xvho have learnt their power by over-in-
l^nce, they may soon declnrc themxelves grnwn-up men, turn their
■Jer* adrift, at least those they think " tmi strict*' in their reslrnint.
d run loose in one (;reat sweeping riot of revolutionary holiday. They
a trying their hand at it already, and not only ut home, if all tales
true ; for, like Venice, there are many, it is said, which have not
Jy their open senate, but their more secret Council of Ten, and their
ft more mvsterious and all-powerful Council of Three, in all their
teign unuerhand dealings. But the Fidneur, with his necessary
taracter for superficial observation, has nothing to do with hidden
ovements and concealed workings in the body J his task is only to
nnt the physiognomy as he sees it, and, at most. Judge the character
f the visible expression flitting over the face ; and to this task he
111 betake himseJf.

Even in this proceeding, however, he mnst claim indulgence. The
ime of the clubs in Paris is already legi'm. One and all consider
lemselves each as important as its neighbour. He finds himself
trned adrift in a great gallery of portraits, and how make copies of
lem alt ? In truth, it would prove, could he even accomplish the
sk, a " weary show." He can do no more than turn liimself round,
tch upon this or that physiognomy at random, sketch it off as best
* may be able, and leave the others unattempted. As may be well
ipposed, also, there is a certain family likeness in all the pictures of
le gallery, since they all pourtniy the several members of one great
miiy, born of the same parent, in racing language, '* by Republic
It of Revolution." There would be, consequently, a ctmsiderable
onotony in any long series of '* copies from originals!" True I
lere axe all the varieties of expression which must be found in the
irious members of a family according to their several cliaractera.
Dme arc frowning, some are culm ; some have a passionate knit about
le brow, some a sneer about the upper lip, some have an air of de-
siring melancholy, that looks at all '*on the black side," some a
iumphaiit reckless look of oplimii^m, some look steadily straight before
icm, like men looking into the distance, some scjuint atrociously, so
atorted are visual organs, so distractedly askew do they lake their
ew of things in general. But the family likeness is there afler all ;
most all have an impatient " kicking-up-a-row" look about them ;
1(1 the outward attire of each individual portrait is also very similar,
king into account a greater or lesser richness of stuff in the dress.
here in nothing to be done, consequently, but to pick out a physitK
lomy or two by chance.

The Fi^fteur turns himself round, then, like a stuffed conjurer
Inning about on a child's lottery-lray. What is the portrait before
hich he finds himself placed ?

The frame hns already served in other times to fur other and more
oious purposes. U consists of the " Salle de« Concerts'* of the

gmonious pui

THE BEnXBLrCATT CLUBS

Ike beckcf

I «|Mi m «nitffvr«k>, aail
TVt fctfve ftc^ fcr tfce tiBv> fran tkir oU hutBt%
oni H « a w— ag tktf fcig^h— ted Irfwr tboold not flr away far e«w
fnai tW ipit wfacve £nM niMft ki v«iee •• 1ob4. The framp of tiif
pictsiv k • ^agr «■«= C'*'' •■i*U pamge-baip* aJoiie m^ke " ilsric-
MS viaUe" ia tke ■■uhilfciatii ; mad they do well, (or, when tW
cv« !■• brc* uctuutmnrn im ace giiwimd tnand tike eiegmnce of aU
tfcat nw» amAmm W »Mt dkKaginfced in mtnkml amteors, gnct,
rickafii^ Cilfvr — ti laaliHli spanNdiBiUj at Uie dim Tmon of nuty
cHto a^ daiftf WiBacy, euiifttwd aft mam with Uw rad epaolectM «f
tW eeme ntf«M «f tW ytfiwml Gwidt^, wtUi wkM tl« well.
kaava —rpfcithgarww — bMCi^ alaUi, pit, ererr part, ia fust, — m doKlr
pa^ed. aa witk atele heRt^^ ia a oaee cieaa cask. Bot tbeae ■«
dkam^m tbe eye iMrt ^ aaed to ia lln ai rapebbcan dajrs, and 06C
giva ilMlf fafridiaita am af cmduaifg niertr; lor if h in««d not its
aHBBcn ia tliia raifiect^ il Bsayaftea fiad itai)f ill tiacted : and aJl iW
adMT argaaa af ifie, by the waj, woaU do well to fbUonr ito example-
In tkc atoge apaa whicfa, ia acber tiawa, aat in grare semirirrle tltat
admirabla orAeatnl baad aa icnowaed ia anodern mnsical annaJ* ht
iU precisioa of hannoar. there is another fniiul now. — « hand (hji
hopes to be as reoowaeJ in the politics] snoals of France for the force
of Its disharmvoTf for its powers of subrersion and destniction. Tl»e
picture represents a meeting- of a dab ftir the propa^tion of cocnmn-
ttist doctrines : its president is a famous leader of i^ition, formeHT
impricooed for " high oiisdemeanour*/' snd now, conseqaently, a bein,
however great bis real incapacity, ■ demi-god, however doubtful iiii
diaracter. See ! he ia sitting, with bis poJe face, bis pale heard, bis
pale cropped hair, his pale ejes^ and his pale expression of disoon
behind an derated table on the sta^— the " leader of the band
either side of him, also, wated at the table^ are bis vice-presidents
secretaries — his first fiddlers : standing around and bi^bind are the
nranihers of his orchestra, bis accolytes and supporters, snd maav «tf
thoae desirooa of playing solos, and addressing the assembly, rmr
drcary-tookiag candles throw a dim dirty li^bt upon this maM «i
beards and frowning patriotic faces, and give a conspirator-like look
their groupings, that, probably, ia by no means uncongenial to the p _
aideDt> A little below^ in front of the stage, is a rostrum. stH-Jixani
Romtin in its fashioning, to which steps ascend on either side
is the trihmne dt I'orateur. A grave-faced man has got _
it, and he is declaiming upon the measures to be laid before
▼ernment, as the expression of the high and mighty will of the
for the remedy of the misery and dangers of the present fina,
crisis : the bunk is to be taken from the bunds of the privileged m
poliserswho possess it, and given to the country for its directions tMi
IS to be seized and confiscated ; that to be taken from capitalists, ** those
spoliators of the nation," for the people's benefit; t'other to be claimed'
from aristocratic properly-holdent, as a ]>eople's right. How he g
on r But the audience is not yet sufficiently " advjtnced/' — as ih
proposers of such sweeping applications to their doctrines would call'
it, — to understand the complicated harmonies of a music that seem:
HO full tif discords. What a tremendous u|»ni;ir greets the orator at'
almost every word ! Denegations, expoetuiatiuns, proteHtutioiiR. intcrv

11 un

OF PARIS.

JIM

ptfltations — vftrinns. long, loud, and stormy — bonit forth from the
l>oxe8, anil oven the more exclusiro nnd partizan-packoil, claqueur-
provideil, pit. Sometimes they come, like one sudden peal of uostis-
pected thunder, a greut crush ; sometimes in partial diHchurges, like a
desultory fire from a bwiie^iug party ; sometimes in a solitary yell
from some bolder individuiil ; and then, aj^ain, they rise crescesdOf like
a peal of thundfr, that seem<t as it would never reane. In the midst
of the general tumult, minor quarrels and disputes arise, in separate
groups, from unknown neiglihours, whu are not of the same mind, and
people jump up from their seats with gestures as were they about to
DUtt their heads together like lighting rams, and every moment the
craNh of thick skulls in such collision is to be expected, and everybody
cries *' it la porte !" into the face of everybody else, until you are fully
persuaded thit everybody intends to turn everybtidy out of the salle,
and thus clear it of cverylxKiy, upon the devouring principle of the
Kilkenny cats, but tvithout leaving as much as a tail behind ; and in
the midst of this paudemonium-Iike confusion, look .' there h one
little, broad-tthouldered, young fellow, with a big black mane and fiery
eyea, who is always springing up and sitting down, us if his seat were
of heated iron, and who roars like a young lion, shaking his fist at the
whole asAemby, without exception : and hark ! there is another, with
a brow like a hyeua, who is jumping up as incessantly, and says no-
thing but *' Je demande la parole I*' Nor is the pr(*8ident behind
hand in the uproar; he banga the table without a moment's pause,
and his fundamental agitation is as great as that of the lion, to whose
roar his bellow responds in unceasing echo. There is one fiery black
iecretary> also, in a white pidetot, who is constantly jumping off the
stage into the stalls and pit, and fiuurishing about like a distracted
policeman, determined upon arresting all the world, and making one
greut stntiun-house of all society. Is such a scene to be the type of
Hepublican France } One would almuet supiwse so, since its Parisian
clut}a, — and this is one of the most influential, — look upon themselves
as the arbiters of its destiny.

But now the tumult has dwindled to a comparative calm, and the
face of the picture is somewluit changed. The orator who has got
into the rostrum is already known to the chief part of the assembly for
the poetical vigour of his energetic language: he is in the dress of an
artizan, and he has a fine hold brow and a keen eye. He is listened
to with greater patience, for, however stdrlliug his doctrines, however
bordering on blasphemy his hold allusions, however void of any real
ailment or demonstration his grand periods, he has the gift of that
vigorous declamation, the facility of those clap-trap sentiments, that
are sure to meet with applause among the iheatriodty-minded French,
who are always ready to applaud ** phrase-making," however " full of
sound and fury, signifying nothing." He is left tolerably undi8turl>ed,
although " hyeua-face" is still always getting up with the words, " Je
demande la pvirole I" or rather, he is met with tremendous applause,
when, in the midal of much startling {wetry of language, he tells the
club that Chri&t was a communist and revohUonaire, how was it when
He said, " Render unto Caesar the things that are CresaTs," and that
in this day of privileges and monopolies, lie would have been arrested
for working miracles, because he was *' practising without a patent."
"Immense roars of applause." A little blasphemy seasons weU a dish
of French dechunation.

510

THE REPOBLICAN CLUBS

But the Flaneur lias nnt space upon liis canvas to paint every ao]
ccssory of the picture. Orator Hiicceeds orator, and in llie miiist n|
rising or sinking Hot and confusiun* mnnv nre put down. A very
nourishing gentleman, in the dress of a Garde Naiitmal — he is evi-
dently the low-comedy actor on ibis stage — put down ! A poor weak
man, with a strong foreign accent, put down 1 One man, who talks «.
little reason amidst all the hurly-burly of communist extravagance, at]
course put down! Hyena-face, with his incessant *' Je demande U
parole !" is at last forced up into the rostrum, and wlien he gets therei
declares he has nothing to say— he puts himself down. Amidst such
scenes of constant turmoil, the deliberations of the o&semblv are con-
tinued. It isdeclnrt»il, in spjte of violent protestation from the public,
that the select menibtTs of the club are alone to vote, and of courxe
they curry their high meusure, which is to dictate their will to the
temporary rulers of the huid, all their own way. Tliey think li> hold
the destinies of France in their hand- Poor France 1 were it true,—
shouM it ever prove true»— and who can tell how soon it prove not
true?

Spin round again, Flaneur ! His face turns to tlio Salle Valei
tino, in the Rue St. Honore. Within that glittering popular hall-j
room, with its painted ceilings and its gilded columns, its wreathes of;
roses, now intermixed with trictilor banners, and its joyous jwuimir*!
of frantic excitement, full of visions of musks and scampering bunds of
variegated dancers, is again a crowd, but a crowd that dances on the
ruina of society, to the music of threats and denunciations, with a
bonnet rouge as its sole costume. The estrade of the president and his
accolytes, and the orator's tribune, are again upon the spot, where nn
orchestra lead on the dance,— and a pretty dance they would U<id oni
I trow. How striking is the contrast of the dark sweltering crowd t«
the bright painting and gilding around! The masks, however, are'
almost as various as at a carnival ball. Coats, blou,ves, cloaks, bonnets,
gloved hands and glovcless, artizans and authors, men old and youngij
women and children, mingle pell-mell. The assembly is worthy <*f\
the name that calls it together: its convokers belong to the newly
established violent " Populaire " newspaper. You may read its prin-
ciples in the speeches of the orators; for those who are not of their
mind are of course quickly put down. Thov are advocates for pro-
pagandism ; the feelings of the country must he IravailU (" tortured,"
rid. a French dictionary) to a repulican sense, they say; the most
arbitrary and despotic measures mtist l>e adopted for that purpose.
All hailj then, to the reign of libertif ! Tlie ]>icture, on account of ii
brilliant nccessories, is a strange and novel one: but the doctrines]
grow stale upon the palled ear : they are to be beard in almost evei
other club, at every al fresco meeting at street corners : the picture
" too much like the former," There is the same shouting, claniourini
protesting; the sume tumult and disorder. The family likeness is
strong to render this portrait of any peculiar interest after the other.

Round again I The Fltincur, however, has not got far in his pre-
sent turn. Close by is the Church of the Assumption. Attadieo U»
the church is an old chapel. A dim light from its windows invites th«
passer by, A dusky troop is mounting its steps in a desultory mai
ner. Within, what a contrast do the accessories exhibit to ihow
the last picture i Nothing can be more gloomy than the asi«?ct of th<
damp, dark, dismantled chapel. A few faint lamps give only a funi

OF PARIS.

511

real air to the assemhly. Beneath the lemicircalar vault, at the fur-
ther end, is a scaffolding covered with black cloth : it occupies the
spot where once stood the altar of the Lord. It looks like a ocaffold
prepared for the execution of a criminal; and, in truth, it in prefuired
for the execution "unto deith" of all the social institutions of the
country. It stands upon the ground of the Moat Holy ; and, in truth,
those who have placed themselves aloft upon it, are the new divinities
of ropuhlican France. So tella U8, at least, a pale, dark, lanky-haired,
stjuinting youth, who occupies, as orator, the lower black-behung
"tribune," beneath the higher one, on which sit president, vice-presi-
dents, and secretaries. The distracted youth has energy, and even
eltKjuence enough: but what does he tell his hearers? That the
republic is based upon '* divine right," since it has been the work of
Providence, and that, strong in this " right divine," the rcpublic^in
minority must take up arms against the constituent assembly, should
it declare itself against the republican principle. A grey-haired old
gentlemen take* his place, and, to the surprise of many, his grey-
haired wits go Ktiil farther than the inexperienced head of the youth.
He tells his audience that the republic, "one and indivisible, is more
than indivisible — is God!" With such rhapsody of republicanism
ringing in the ears, how can we doubt that there, upon that ajwt, we
hare the new divinities of a new rt^igioii before our eyes ? that they,
and they alone, have justly erected their altar upon the once sanctilied
spot?

Strange anomaly I A circular dectaren that this club is founded by
the leading men of a paper called the " Dcrmocratic Pucifique ;" but
nothing, of a surety, appears \Q&a pacific than the principles of these
divine gentlemen. "To arms! to arms! unle^ ovr will is that of
all !" is the cry. Look at the president also ! Di>e!» he expfct him-
self to be regarded as a type of his pacific democracy? With what
frantic ardour does he scratch back his scanty fair hair from his high
half-bald forehead, that he evidently considers sublime ! With what
ferocity does he roll his little tight eyes! Huw awfully, in his inces-
sant bawlingn, does \m little round mouth open in the midst of that
Jove-like profusion of fair beard 1 How despotically does he brow-
beat every orator who is not of his opinion, or of theupinion of his
party ! With what stunning force does he bang his httmmer on his
presidential table ! He must indeed be the superior divinity, for it is
a miracle that the table is not shattered beneath his blows! With
what a stentorian voice does he bellow, at the beginning and at the
end of the proceedings, " Vive la Republique!" Those who Hnd not
such exhibitions of "Liberty. Equality, and Fraternity," to their
taste, will be glad to turn their eyes awar from the dusky group of
theke soi-disant ''pacifies," and from the dark picture of the gloomy
disinuntled chupel with its riotous crowd.

Another picture comes before the eyes of the FlAneur. Through
the courts of the palace, which has so long borne the misnomer of
"royal," and has been now con6scated tind proclaimed *' national,"
hurry ajjain dark groups of men. They are of all cl.isses, and the
fihusc mingles in their masses with the coat. They hurry through
marble halls, and up vast marble staircases, like a fresh mi>b taking a
royal palace by storm : throu^^h gilded anti-rooms and painted apart-
ments they hurry on. The picture repreftents a va&t room, decorated
with white and gold : boards have been knocked up over each |>uiated

VOL. xxin. V p

"" ---- - -.j^

r j-jXiiTr K :;ae ume? cbc. TW ikiwag b a» eras,
LACK «: SMK It -^am - — ■ -

n 4013. '

Tmnrxsun af icue^ ilac bict be ae^tted spaB tf

SI. > rzu^ «r -vxi:^ tie «7~-e aexi runbkcs * At tiie

■I r Ttx Mar-;sr (t ?K2t ':er«ic ti* Sszie vkic^ bekcwi

^i-'-^iiirt— — t:t> ie^ ir iarm^ *-r"i*yfrCi*fc' r«nci&i^e». tike titeokieKSi
^c::: --»£. .r i:,* :i"i,t!''r. TT:?rs:sr-. Of rinmt. :i 'ftfnr d^rt of ^trntnH
31— j> -.1 *r 1-1 Ti-iiiir Tncisrr^ ti* j*m:re^^iii«ct are i^rca npuW
i:** .r^'cife fr :^ rt'CTia- £::iMrE<^i.-cs nf tjit <CTirifrt«>. O^ daik oMUts.
Lc: -•'«f IT ^im; re i»ir E.i.r^>*i r'tlicrrt^ *^« i* be tnrerved. Voai
iii;. TTiatf 'CKT-rsaWi *f :*^ rinix^t-i- A ruffiTt clnDC43r. tk&t grovi
z:.iri>^ 4iti£ jtm£*rr m 12* str te j>f £w* ftt. Jetad* liie iscKpencBOAl
^:^z»=r"5r ii t:»f scetrt ic mt mioerx jeertreiiir ctf t^oie wli» h««t
i»rf^ nrct tMcri*- t-i*i ^'"^ ▼"xJii teici tl. Fruwe in tJbesr turn- TV
7u.Ti:r* > fL'I.imtffi. "i ' »att 'c lie *iac iaZj tc the Ssrboane. A» «fc-
jroiT -a Tii. i:#.ur^ t" i^ts- iv^f^tot =-rar toe eM of it t* tie «lKcr. aW
» rr-f'v-irt tn- i n.icJ:^ tirresr ■ snerr ir f.^r.Ki*. arbsazi^. and hamme
cri 7in.7** &;^ i;.:Ti'L vTix 4CiLa£-:rt» t-^x jcc::£ ba? and Uriftlinp beardi
— Tiiiii«r. kii Iriji ":«■• s viiMi^ Ji»^ it H/tcr inwn enooest, — botli <•»
Bki t3»f iCii^ -TT -T-r-'t* ix>nz:£ ibe kitcsesMe^ la ibe length of tlie naau
«co«..-r*- ^u* ijrTii.rdjM.trp. tre cveted tne nar ^ai aoa aoteaaorio be-
j;cnpT>c sr LI tirf«- r-i.:tf^ ti* Tr«b3eBt"* trVnne and tbe rastraB *
tiw traur : At ti« fitfraer- lora r» f-i^/f i?» mingled am aecretari0
mJiJk ibe sn»otatft. «-*>:• mdesi. r M»ce&r<mr Utm tu siiow tbcir fratir
BJwtWva miih tl>e pe^ve : if tiier bsi xk4 a fitting artisan Air tlie p■^
pMe. tier vicji jw-btfcKT crv» uz>e of the^ ovn bt<]T in a laocx 1*
ff|Kfr t&ift taar^Tug nnitr. AVtv t}>e dark fenncntin^ nan of fMOf^
spcriti haa^ the gaiir deoivat<d oeiiiag of tbe hall, ptiatMl

OF PAUIS.

513

with scenes from the hiatory of the Sorbonne: aronnd, in nicbea, are
the \t-hite statues of the ecclesiastical worthies of French history; one
picture, that of the ex-kiiig perhaps, is alone covered with a dark cloth,
upon which is pinned u paper with the words " Repuhlique Frau^aUe."
All this aristocratic pomp of university grandeur forms a strange con-
trust to the mob oi cluhbistcs that fills that once exclusive hall. There
is noise and ferment as u»uai ; but. be it said, for what is generally
culled "the tumultuous y^^nth nf the schools/* it displays more order
and propriety, and sense of pfYrliiimentury form, than is to be found in
general in these assemblies of French democrats ; there is more argu-
ment, too. among them, mure reasoning, more solid instruction, and,
consequently, more sense, less vapid duclamation of "cut and dried "
theatrical phrases, less applause of phrase-making, less Utopian nun-
sense. But, at the same time, they have got far beyond their contem-
poraries; and they discuss the future republican constitution of the
country, and all its details, to be enjoined to the future representatives
they intend to elect, with an aplomb, and decision, as if they them-
selves were the constituent assembly, and their dictates uncuntrovert-
able. The youtli of the schools have, however, the soundest heads.

See ! another picture ! The scene is in a distant faubourg. It again
represents a ball-room, but a rude people's holiday ball-room, such as
France exhibits everywhere. It is crowded with tlie working classes;
but they dance no longer. The orchestra is again replaced by the
tribune: they dincuss the interests of their country. But honour again
to the hetter class of workmen in distracted France! and grant it. Pro-
vidence, that they be not in a sad minority. Hark to them here! they
Iiave far more sense and reason, and form and method, than those vain
men who deem themselves their leaders and instructors, and would
mislead with frenzied Utopian dreams. Let us do the picture honour,
and pass on.

A ///■»/ picture, for the Flancur^s sketch-book is nearly 611ed. It is
a confused one, confused as a fleeting nightmare — slurred rtver as soon
as sketched, and haply never to be painted agnin; or, if it be here-
after, it will be in blood-red colours, and not as the fleeting caricature
aa which it was painted lately. The scene is now a narrow dirty room
— a district school-house. A burly red-faced man, with a Phrygian
<rap of liberty upon his head, a red scarf round his waist, and a pike in
his hand, stands surrounded by a few friends upon an elevtition at the
upper end of the room : he tries to s|>eak— a tumult chokes liis voice ;
he bellows — a hundred voices boUow louder still: be waves his pike,
the screams of execration neiirly shatter the poor room. It is with dif-
ficulty you can learn that this blood-red patriot is desirous of re-esta-
blishing a club of Jacobins. But the very name, the least recollection
of a fearful pa,<it is odious to the better thinking. In vain his friends
iissert that the hunest, stout-hearted artisans who fill the room are oil
salaried agents of aristocrats : they cr)^ " Down with all Jacobins !
down with all terror I down with the blood-red scarf !" They mount
the benches : they invade the tribune like an angry tide : they drive
the would-be Jacobin leader from his post, and with scornful mockery,
the caudles from the president's table in their bauds, they follow him
tu the door, through which he passes to return no more. Honour to
these artisans again ! they have triumphed in the cause of humanity.
But again, how long will the better thinking among the lower classes
able to maintain their sway ?

rrS ]

515

SOME CHAPTERS OP THE LIFE OF AN OLD
POLITICIAN.

OBAPTBB I.

Impartiality is what I may term my vanity. I have through Vife
pridt^ myself upon maintaining it : no matter who wan cuncerned,
what I really felt, I was in the hnbit of expressing. If I thought my
friends wrong, I said so, and opposed them ; if I deemed all partiea
in error, I was equally sincere, and acted upon my opinion. The re-
sult may easily be foreseen^ — being of uo use as a piirty man, I was
universally decried. The regular politicians culled nie impracticable,
and set me aside iu all their calculations. The House listened to me
sometimes for amusement, which in various ways I afforded them,—
sometimes even for instruction, wliich, upon difficult occasions, they
not seldom fancied I could afford ; hut stilJ, my advice was never
taken. Huw muny times have I heard men exclaim around me*
*' Upon Dny soul, I believe the old Fellow right, hut it is impossible to
do what be prtfposes." Why it wus impossible^ was what I never
could discover. Ditficult, disagreeable, not Huttering to ministerial or
statesmen's vanity,— these attributes 1 could see belungfd often to the
coarse I pointed out ; but imjtvssibie^ never. Still the result was the
same; I appeared a beacon, set up to Pgbt a path in order that it
might be avoided.

This quality^ however, which thus destroyed all hopes of power or
influence, peculiarly tits me to be the gossipping historian of the scenes
through which I have passed. I have no party^few personal pre-
dilections ; I can blame without pain, praise without any feeling of
jealousy. I may often be in error ; but no one willj 1 thinkj have
reason to charge me with intending to deceive.

For obvious reason*, much of what is to follow will consist of Aw-
iorical picturesi not actual pf^rlniits. Of men whose names have be-
come matter of history, I shall speak openly and without reserve. In
other instances, I RhalJ describe general churacters, give accounts of
classes, and not individuals; and thus attain my end of producing a
picture of the times without betraying any confidence or wounding any
personal vanity.

Of myself and my own history, more than a very slight sketch {$
not needed by way of preliminary. After a life of strange vicissitudes,
after sojourning during my youth in many lands, I resolved, and
carried out my determinatiim, to establish myself at home, and became
an active politiciiin. To this end, I acquired the status uf a barrister
- — added the mere technical lore, which is called a knowledge of Eng-
lish law, to the heap of somewhat undigested infurmution and learning
already crammed into my head — ate my terms — spent many months
in the chambers of a pleader — took chambers in the Temple — went
sessions and circuit— ^nd became acquainted with that vast variety of
men and manners which a lawyer's way of life brings before him.

Before I rush into politics, let me say a few words of the profession
to which 1 belong, but for which, nevertheless, I have not that regard
which success inspires — whidi a peculiar, profound, though narrow
knowledge is but too apt to create. Mif mind certainly has not been

litt Z J^CU. .— 1^

: — - -r :■_-- r: u^- t-_— ^ r ICt r'm u» * i.ik^:j^

_-- ." .- ::~, ■_■ ..; ". ."- ; 1 -»,-!--- i_— ft- 5iT»c^i.i.^-iz - — ij

7-: — :■ ir .r . .. r-,- - >- 1.-^ v;..i_- --:rlleTr-kJ. :^i -*■
-u - : .-. :i -.^.-:.- -ri ~ : i.^:_- -r t;, ^ -- :^ r- .- W.::
:: : I. - -_: _: *. -.: - r-. ..— t -: '.^i.7.z ■: :• ■- .". ' tl:* :* - ..: tic c?-.-

-■..--; '_;..* : "_; - ■'_•' ; ^s.*** .z ^c".■;■;'■ *i.'2 trr^ci.»i ;>. l-.-tic-i"
:■■::•:.-.:- r: -__..-"• t-~— . .-" -~ .:^ — t:.-.- .t ii-c cvii,::.vi:-liw 1-"
;- :_■: '--.-■:- : _ :^ _r •r.i>. ;":.-.1t> ■».:— -;:;^ i..ct 5jie Ci:r;*-..c:
- '.w. i - ' ir- _i t— "^ t 1 -Z' ^-■•>T-* ' '.— "-.r 'i.t.\ c-.n.c ic cifEtii:'

-- -^ -^-: *r:. :-_:,rr : -.-_..- e:^; 1.." i.^:.:. -r.tittu lo tiUft^ver -1.1^
j..-».^:itt --c j-'-l-L.c -rf-.-i* !.:•.•:. ^ c^ :;■ « i-;-iiT of nrw oc'Eili::*-

AN OLD POLITICIAN.

517

wriii of the legislature- To learn from mnny combined decisions* and
from the conflicting, vague, and varying language of Parliamentury
law, wlmt the law actually is, — to ascertain whether, in a given case,
that law has been violated by one party or the other — this which is
tbe ordinary business of a lawyer, is a very different tiling from pro-
phesi/ing what will be tbe effect on the well-being of a community
from ft change in their law or in their general policy. The one office
is that of the lawyer ; the other, that of the statesman. With a few
brilliant excejitiunv, Englidli lawyers have not shone as statesmen.

To thflrie unacquainted with the House of Commons, this failure on
the part of lawyers appears wholly unaccountable. The life of a law*
yer is passed in speaking. All his success depends, it is supposed^
npon his power of winning juries and judges to liis view of a subject.
H« muat he ready of reMmrce, endowed with much learning, have
Au;itity, at least, of speech ; and in instances of great success, he is
usually endowed with great eloquence : nevedheless, possessed though
lie may be of all these, and many other advantages, tlie most success-
ful advocates have almost invariably been without inHuence in the
House of Commons. Mr. Pitt's sarcnstic observation, as above nuoted,
ivaa made when speaking of the greatest and most successful advocate
that ever graced the English bar — of Lord Erskine. He, though the
most eloquent and effective of advocates, never shone with anything
beyond a secondary lustre in Parliament, whether in the House of
Commons, or afterwards in the Peers. Any one who has addreiised a
court and jury, and ])assed a session in the House of Commons, ha^feli
why this is so; though, perhaps, he may not be quite able to explain
the phenomenon.

Lawyers usually have passed middle age before they succeed in
Arcing their way into Parliament. Prudence suggests to the ambi
tious barrister that his first great care and duty is tu ptuce himself be-
yond the reach of want. Independence he must attain before he
attempts to win political renown. But independence can only be won
by years of steady labour, and by great success. By the time that a
inan is rich enough to venture into politics he has grown grey in the
harness of a lawyer ; he has become too old to acquire new lialiits, and
cannot unlearn his old ones. He enters the House, perhaps attended
by a great legal renown. 3Iuch is expected of him ; and, on a sudden,
the actual moment has arrived in which he is to justify a high-wrought
<»spectation. The probability is, that many a time and oft, while yet
the addition of ftl.P. was but a dim vision of the future, he hiw in-
dulged in many contem]ituou8 Hingsul the Honourable House, its mode
of proceedings, ha doings, and its heroes. He has often vindicated his
own Buperiority in ideiil debate; grappled in fancy with the great
leaders of party, and shewn a patient and admiring audience how to
conduct an argument. Thu vision of his youth and his ambition bus
become partly a reality. The occasion for which he has long sighed
has at length been granted, and he fur the first time in his life i^ces the
finger of the Speaker pointed at himself, and his own name loudly and
gravely pronounced by that imiMwing personage. He looks around; —
How uinerent the spectacle which meets his gaze from that to which he
has been hitherto accustomed ! In place of the calm, grave, and studied
attention of the court, its enforced, yet generally bland courtesy, — in-
stead of the obedient, and usually stolid yet respectful jury, — he sees
■e, around, about him, wheresoever he turns his eyes, an expectant^

^E£ IZFS, :?

Mil. n L isrst K^aM. ir 'tut bi^eb
ffiiL iSiifiTnita d 'Uas*%. tte^taam i

^i^ ivMC' tr nisa viiia. zze wie
lit i^xiinr-f liM ^nsusa 11 i« iinnnp
! iiin« tr 1^ «u=;^ Hjt iMiiiziab. in
L:n. v~cx casisL jimicx mr^'t^aif iixn.

.ikt c'^sr.t'L rnm iil iura if znt 1m
cr jn*r-iirir- ixaa ir *-ujit Tn* a

UiilULI 4..ZillliC T%rUMS 11 XI=f Tilt V

t9- i*t L^.x-iiiL^ . i:tt innmiiiacs miEt tx^
■An r*i'v jHuz^rrT ioiC u» smms mn
1 at zri: >rir=i» vias j» r»a2» La ic«i£sa

n. S' 1. rZK-SMst ic c:r:z;LnuL :

ittii n_i.;rL:ut 2i«i*=iicr.~T. KtocT^i i

V=»_T fir Ii»r TTK E-J-ll^-K lit tetTf JJ> £r]

^ : :-.:r ^•'-!». »t--i ii»i tn-TntJ*
lesKd'srf z: .r* * ; ^rij'-c':. Tit jf^'-rT'i *T:Zi.
ka^ ':»=r:'> •* i. ;•- l f.rrri ltIji'.-.c - ^-—^
T hrtL i. .•*_*-' .1 ii_£.:.r ^1*:^ -: :-:» --

:'r— :- : r^ <^' «• lb it. li. Torjj
Tnci 'L * frsc li'r.*,'.! -si li :• l^:«:
zz-i. 3..: ii.T iii^ "wi; -.5 ^Tw.:

i» ^»ii He =.ij i:^■.lz. tie a-j— 4-ick ».:ivu

ifc»i -*-r Sixre Teirs •**:: idziitTrd to t
%am^ cr.Ta -*:ti.i lie currrz: -.•: :i* inn:
ia »T ot iic ^:■c^-ci.eri*irt: rc5«.lL::'-*E to
id xr.T .«Ciki brtiirea -r** to se in ii«
kbe kHOoar» wf my f rbfc>»:os •^•j^-^'-cd irit
I bsped alao to «ii]« uid bc-|:«a LigUv

AN OLD POLITICIAN.

S19

knoinent, M*lii*n my more prudent friends thought uie fuirly engaged in
what they bt-Heved would he a successful career, and when a fewr
luonthH mure would indeed have thrown uruuud me the chains of habit
and engagements, Lord Liverpool was struck with paralysis, — the
whole pohticul world was stirred even to its profoundest depths. — and
■ powerful and startling excitement extended itself rapidly throughout
the whole cooiniuiiity. A great change had been &ileatly wrought in
the public mind since the time

" When Oojrge the Third wm King."

The liberty of the pre&s had gradually been completely won; political
science hud bv daring thiukerb, and sagacious ones too, been materially
advanced^ and widely diiicu&>4ed. The ductrinea of commercial Freedum
liad found their way into the cabinet, and were beginning to be mani-
fest in tJie enactments of the legislature. The uncouth mass, wliich
bad been honoured with the name of law, wna subjected to inquiry and
to change, and t)ie great princijiles of religious freedom were adopted,
in fact, by u majority of the House of Common.^. So long as Lord
Liverpool was able to retain the premiership, poiiiicul parlies appeared
little affected by the great moral and intellectual changes which had
occurred in the public mind. The Tory party still seemed a coherent
and united body, and the \V^higs a res]>ectable, but by no means a for-
midable minority. The changes and improvements which from time to
time were proposed and c.irried in our laws, came as voluntary minis-
terial proposals; the result of their own enlightened wJll, not the etTect
of popular demands and pres&urc from without. The exterior surface
of society never appeared more unrutHud. The aristocratic dominion
never seemed more secure. Nevurtht^ess, its foundations were really
sapped, and many of the old institutions of our land were tottering to
their falL Mr. Canning, by a strange faLalitVj was the lirst to make
manifest the mighty change that had occurred. The vehement, viru-
lent opponent of change ; he who in his youth had been the most eager
allr of Mr. Pitt in his grand crusade against regenerate France and
poiiticol liberty, was destined in the last days of his career to be, as it
were, a si^n and signal of the futility uf his early struggles; to head
the more liberal section of his party ; to separate the hitherto compact
body of the Tories, and thuH to deprive them of that overwhelming
majority with which they hud hitherlu resisted all reform. Mr. Can-
ning, indeed, did not live himself to etft-ct any great change. lie livedo
nevertheless, long enough to create a fAtal dissension in his party, — to
sow the seeds of that jealousy und hate which have rendered any cordial
reuniou impossible, and which eventually led to that utter subversion
of all the old party landmarks, which we have seen take place. Politics
iiow became an exciting game ; into which, with iuconsidi^ate ardour,
I heedlessly rushed. Every day brought some change, and held out the
prtHpect of still greater reforms. Catholic enmucipatiou excited the
kingdom from one end to the other. In spite of our ancient hate of
popery, — in spite of the wishes of the numerical majority of the people
of Great Britain, political freedom was granted to the Catholics of the
whole empire. Then came the repeal of the Test and Corporation
l^aws ; and now was seen the real and mighty etfect of these unex-
pected changes. The actual freedom acquired was not much. The
L*om|H>sition either of the House of Commons, or of the cor[K)rations of
Kugloud would, in fact, have reuiaiued precisely what it had been, had

AN OLD POLITICIAN.

521

the art and mystery of managing public metitings- Getting up
^ful excitement, concocting, printing, and properly publishing in-
rflammatory placards, patriotic reaolutions, and what are called spirit-
I itirring appeals. I look back in my present calm, when age and sutiety
linve crept upon me, with absolute wonder, at the real excitement
I which I then felt. This excitement wus indeed shared by thoutiauds,
^oay millions of my countrymen, and we had certainlya fertile lield for
|Oar exertions. \ et to attain our end, much wua naid, that no one really
I, believed ; much was done, that no one would like to own. In every
^ revolution (and this was a revolution), the unscrupulous, idle, and
adeaigning hure necessarily an opportunity for the employment of their
^^Kous arts, which quiet times da not uflbrd. Luckily, however, atfairn
^^P^r came to violence, though the danger was often threatened. In
„lkctj often, when there was no danger, the cry of alarm was raised to
^ keep the House of Lords and the aristocracy generally in what was
J termed a state of wholesome terror. When the Hii-l proceeded with
eafle, and its provisions were to our taste, all was sunshine, qtiiet, and
y order* and a grave culm was preserved in our demeanour and writings.
i But when some reculcitraut Tory attacked the Bill, when its pruvisionn

I were threatened either with defitruction or even mutilationj hlnck
Ootids rose obedient to our call, as regularly as on the stage at the
icene-shifter's command ; our language grew violent, we stormed,

threatened and prop/iesial, and, like some other prophets, we were
^rmincd to accomplish our own predictions. Processions, mcclingK,
mgues, revolutionar)' resolutions, banners, mobs, assemblages both
ight and day, all like a furious hurricane, swept over the face of
political waters. They who pulled the strings in this strange
>pet-show wero cooUhe-uded, retiring^ sagacious, determined men.
were never the noisy orators who appeared important, but were
studiouftly avoiding publicity ; not tliat they wanted courage.
lere hud been an appeal to force* I am certain that the very men
Wm 1 Biiw at this time keeping in the back ground, would have been
•most in the light. They all. or most of them, had been active
during the stormy days of 93', knew well the character of their counlry-
inen, and therefore perceived that their names were of no use, whatever
might be the real utility of their experience and ability. — They directed

II everything, but never came before the public as lenders. They deter-
, mined what meetings should Iw held, what resolutions should he pro-

IHised, who should preside, who should speuk, and not seldom what
' flhonld be said. Tliey got around them men of various ability, some
I could write, readily and well ; nome could put a striking placard skil-

I fully together; some conld otf-hand compose an eloquent address;
otliers a well-reasoned logical argument; some, on the other hand,

II were eloquent, and some were simjdy audacious. Every kind of
|l ubiiity was useful, and all were in due season etfectively employed.

Ii The machinery of what is now known as peaceful agitation, is a thing
I quite worthy of a philosopher's regard, as a part, and very important

part of modern constitutional governments. Had Af. Guizot nnder-
" stood it, and looked upon it as the safety-valve of the political steam-
I engine, he would not now have been a wanderer on the face of the

vtirtb. Let any one who is cuiious in this sort of speculation attend
^h^ 5rHt great public meeting that is called together in consequencx' of
^■|f real political excitement, .ind he will quickly ascertaiUi that what
^Mlone openly and before, and /or, the public* is hut a umall part uf

AN OLD POLITICIAN.

;23

** What are we to do? " was anxiously asked.
e must frighten than," was the answer.
ow?"

lis the time? Nine (at night). Well, then, after twelve,
11 send a deputation to Lord Grey. They must iusist upon see-
in."

et us all go, then."

o, no," was the sagacious reply. " No reality we can create

be sufficient for our purpose. We must work on Lord Grey's

^jiagination. We must pretend to he frightened ourselves. We must

him a parcel of London shopkeepers,— men who are, many of

really frightened, — who will telt him they cannot answer for

fety of the city if the just dematidtk of the people are triHed with.

Orev will get frightened, by looking upon their fright."

address, full of terror, was arranged ; a list of names for the

tiou made out, and the tradesman most audaciuus in speech

could be selected, ivas made spokesman. When everything was

erly settled, the deputation was sent off, two and two, in hack car-

noges, to Lord Grey. About three in the morning, I was roused by a

nd Cuming, according to promise, to tell me the result. He burst

to my room in a paroxysm of hiughtcr. The real contrivers of the scene

e knew as well as I, and their pretended alarm, with the genuine and

xtravagant funk (the word he used) of the well-selected deputation,

the richest contrast of farce that chiince ever threw in his way.

he pretenders kept an eye on the real men. When the last groaned

d sighedj and turned up the whites of their eyes in their honest

ht, the former groaned and sighed louder and longer, and almost

ked their eyes with shewing the whites tliereof. The spokesman,

<, was perfect. So admirable an agony was never exhibited. He

ked, he sweated, he turned red, while, blue, — he implored, threat-

ned, stormed, and wept, all in a breath, until Lord Grey, who had

suddenly called to receive this remarkable deputation out of his

d, — who received them in a half-lighted room, knowing none of

em, but seeing before him a set of men, evidently tradesmen^ in an

beiolute agony of terror, — got frightened himself, and pron»ised every-

tlbing- He would be firm. He had great reliance on the good sense

nnd foija/ty of the people of London. He besought the deputation to

use their j>oft'er Jul influence to maintain peace and order; to check all

kedition, and to trust to constitutional methods I This was precisely

ibe point to which our contrivers, or conspirators, wished to bring him,

Ifaid one of them, who had not yet spoken, here took up the word, and

sailed the noble lord.

" Do your part, my lord, and we will do ours. Peace will be main-
tained if you be firm, and his Mujesty hold to his benevolent iuten-
tiona ; if you waver, we cannot be ausweruble for tlic consequences ;"
And with this ominous sentence they all withdrew.

'^ Hurrah, my boy \" shouted my friend, shying his hat up to the
^gyiling. " The funk of Lord Grey will save the Reform Bill I"
Ijfe'^ I think," I answered ; *' and now let me go to sleep : we meet
Mr ten o'clock. Leave me, that's a good fellow.'* 1 laid my head
the pillow, saying to myself, " what historian of this eventful |)e-
will relate or know this important incident in the drama now bo-
cted ? None ; and yet we read history, and believe it."

524

!»n: DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE \Yi

m CHBAST.

"»••. — ILallam.
BATTLE OF TOURS.

. , coantry which intervenes bK^
Tours, i» prioctpallv eomposed ot%mt
whkh UY tnrmed and fertilized by U»e
Ifcc CSmae, the ladre, and other tril
aad tlicr« the i;r(ittiul swells into
lallf a l>elt of forest land, a browi
rf "riaefitrds breaks the monotony of the ^mm^
htt t&» ^eonal ckaneter of the laud is that of t
ifc HCMB BAtvally aifancea fur the evolutions of a
»a»t bodies of cttralry, which priacfj

^dtttiag the centuries that foUowed

praaeded ^ eotMdidation of the modern

-^ *'y^— *^ by Dure than one la^wm

«k: Ik « » priadpatty Mtcwstmy to the historisn by hii
*^ti» jpBKietir^ wwi by Charles Martel orer'the
' ^1 iP^ • (hK«»eABck to the career of Amb
■Chu*u*dein fntn Islam« pre

. tfdmoden ddh'satiao, and re-n

^irtntmVr irf* tha Iiid»-<arepean over the Seoiil

ml MSdWbt b»¥« oadexraCed the eudurinc •-

A^mI «£ BUttAe between the champions .>f the

M^ if FVeacb irriters have slighted the n

ifH ihm SuBCenic trophies oi Charles Afartel

l» tibeofc by Knglkh and German historiaas.

_M of his gtwat wsHe* to the aamtire of

«^ fban^ tmi to the ceosiderttioa of the conseqt

it wottld haiv iwalted if Abderrahman's eaten.

by th» VWaktsh chief. Sdiiegeit speaks of lU.^
■ m tenns itthmoM gratitede; aad telJs how "the
Vartci im^nd. sad detirercd the Christian nations of
■*dU Kras|i of all deetroytoft Islam:" and PyVrf
c af tfi** iHitttt inportsnt epoeht in the "^

of the ei^jhlh century ; when ,
^- --.^-stened to orersprend' Italy ■■wt
locient idolatry of Saxony and Friealoi^

<Kbkva'i mmiimg

nbsgai wiaiisg' fwaum. c^s ir
bfldua. *- IVrbsM tlM fiiKifiaaiii
-^^■bofOafon^sarf ber|«i^a

liCT ittri troth mt iW mrisilw «

la Gieiiiiyt mL L pL X

NO, V, — ^THE BATTI-E OF TOURS.

525

its way across the Rhine. In this peril of Christian insti-

^ions. a youthful prince of Germanic race, Karl Murtell. arose as

^r champion ; maintaiucd them with all the eneriry which the necea-

^y fur self-defence culls furtb, and finally extended them into new

i ^gions."

Arnold* ranks the victory of Charles Rfartel even higher than the
^ietciry of Armtiiiutt " amoug those siguul deliverances wliich have
^ /Fecteti fiir centuries the happineAs of mimkind." But hv no writer has
te importance of the buttle of Tours been more emphatically or more
^^oqueutly recognized than by Hullam. I quote with peculiar grati-
tide that ureut historian's expression;*, because it was by them that I
^as iirst led to the consideration of the present subject, and first
jlduced to apply to the threat crises of military events the test of the

Eedia Scieutia of the schoolmen, which deals nut only with the actual
Bults of specific facts, but also with the probable consequences of an
n&jrined change of antecedent occurronces.

HuUain's words aref " The victory of Charles IMartel has immortalized

itt name, and may justly be reckoned amou^ those fttv battles^ of trhich

contrary event tvouUl have essentiaUy varied the drama of the tvorld

a all its aubsetfueni scenes; with Marathon, Arbela, the Metaurus,

^lialona, and Leipsic"

Those who have honoured with perusal the j)recediug numbers of
bis series of papers, will observe that its list of decisive battles of the
porld differH in two instances from that of llullam's, so far as regards
^cient and mediwvul history. Nor will the great battle of modern
anips, ^rith which this series will conclude, be the buttle of Leipsic. I
K>pc at another time and ])l'.ice, when these papers will be laid before
he public in a collected and ampler form, to explain fully the negative
leats which have led me to reject Arbela, Chntons» Leipsic, and many
iCher great battles, which at first sight seemed of paramount importance,
itkt which, when maturely considered, appeared to be of secondary in-
;ef'f9t; inasmuch as some of them were merely conlirmutory of an al-
ready existing bias ; while the effects of otliers were limited to particu-
ur nations or particular periods; and of others, again, we may safely
predicate that, had they terminated differently, only temporary checks
kvould have l>een given to an inevitable current of events.

But, the more we test the inijjortance of the battle which is our pre-
sent subject of consideration, the higher we shall be led to estimate it ;
^nd, though all authentic details whicli we possess of its circumstances
and its heroes arc but meagre, we can truce enough of its general
character to make us watch with deep interest this encounter bet^veen
fcbe rival conquerors of the decaying Uoman Empire. That old classic
Mforld, the history of which occupies so large a portion of our early
studies, lay, in the eighth century of our era, utterly exanimate and
overthrown. On the north the German, on the south the Arab was
Fending away its provinces. At last the spoilers encountered one an*
other, each striving fur the full mastery of the prey. Their conflict
brin;^ back upon the memory the old Homeric simile, where the strife
of Hector and Patroclua over the dead body of Cebriones is compared
to tlie combat of two lions, that in their hate and hunger light together
oil the mountain-tops over the carcass of a siaughtered stag ; and the
tant yielding of the Saracen power to the superior might of the

* Hifttiir)- of tlte Ute Roman Coinmnn wealth, vol. ii. p. 317.
-f Middle Arw, vol. i. p. R, note.

526

THE SIX DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

Northern witrHorR may not inaptly recal tfanee other lines of tb« taatt
book of the Iliad, uhere the downfall of Patrticlus ben<>ath Hectors
likened to the forced yielding of the panting and exhausted wild-bocr,
that had long and furiously fought with a superior beast of jirer fur
the pnssesaion of the sciinty fountain among the rocks^ at which nd
burned to drink.*

Alihougli three centuries bad passed away since the Germanic coo-
querors of Rome had crosse<1 the Rhine never to repass that frnntii'f
stream, no settled system of institutions or government, no amalgnmi-
tion of the various r^ices into one people, nu uniformity of lun^ni^c
or habits had been estubli«hed in the country ut the time wbfs
Charles Alurtvl was called on tu repel the nienacing tide of Saracenic
invasion from the South. Gaul wa^ not yet Fmncf. In that, as in
other provinces of the Roman empire of the West, the domiuioo oi'
t)ie Czesars had been shuttered as early as the fifth centurv. W
barbaric kingdoms and principalities had promptly arisen on the ruim
of the Roman power. But few of these had anv permanency, uni
none of them consolidated the rest, or any considerable number of
the rest, into one coherent and organized civil and politicaJ societr.
The great bulk of the population still consisted i»f the conquered pr^
vinciuls, that is to say, of Romanised Celts, of a Gallic rHce which ha^
long been under the dominion of the Cmsars, and had acquired, to^
ther with no slight infu!«ion of Roman blood, the language, the liter*-
ture, the laws, and the civilizution of Lutium. Among theaei asd
dominant over them, roved or dwelt the Gfrmau victors : some retaJO'
ing nearly all the rude independt*nce of their primitive national cb*'
racter ; others, softened ana disciplined by the aspect and contact of
the manners and insitutions of civilised life. For it is to be born in
mind, that the Roman empire in the west was not crushed by aay
sudden avalanche of barbaric invasion- Tbe German conquerors canK
across the Rhine not in enormous hosts, but iu bands of a few thoo-
sand warriors at a time. The conquest of a province was the resok
of an infinite series of partial local invasions, carried on by little armin
of this description. The victorious warriors vith« retired with their
booty, or fixed themselves in the invaded district, taking care to keep
sufficiently concentrated for military purposes, and ever readv for
some fresh foray, either against a rival Teutonic band or some hi-
therto unossailed city of the provincials. Gradually, however, the
conquerors acquired a desire for permanent landed mw-tessions. Tbev
lost somewhat of the restless thirst for novelty and adventure whicii
had first made them throng beneath the banner of the boldest cap*
tains of their tribe, and leave their native forests for a roving militui
life on the left bank of the Rhine. They were converted to the Chris-
tian faith, and gave up with their old creed much of the coarse ferocitr
which ninst liave been fuslered in the spirits of the ancient warriors
of the north by a mythology which jiromised, as the reward of the

11 TL 7M.

//. n. 82.*!.

NO. V. — THE BATTLE OF TOURS.

527

brave on earth, an eternal series of fighting and drunkenness in
heaven.

But, aUbough these and other ciriJizing influences operated power-
fully uj)on the Germans in OauI» and although the Franks (who were
originally a confederation of the Teutonic tribes that dwelt between
the Rhine, the IMaine, and the Weser,) established a deciKive auperi-
ority over the uther conquerors of the province, as well as over the con-
quered provincials, the country long remained a chaos of uncotnhined
find shifting elements. The early princes of the Merovingian dynasty
were generally occupied in wars against other princes of their housei
occasioned by the frequent subdivisiuns of the Frank monarchy ; and
the ablest and best of them had found all their energies taskeJ to the
otmost to defend the barrier of the Rhine against the pagan Ger-
mans who strove to pass that river and gather tlieir share of the spoils
of the empire.

The conquests which the Saracens effected over the southern and
eastern provinces of Rome were fur more rapid than those achieved by
the Germans in the north, and the new organizations of society which
the Moslems introduced were summarily and uniformly enforced. Ex-
actly a century passed between the death of Muhamnied and the date
of the battle of Tours. During that century the followers of the Pro-
phet bad torn a^vay half the ftoman empire; besides their conqucHts
over Persia, the Saracens had overrun Syria, Egypt, Africa, and Sfmin,
in an unchequered and apparently irresistible career of victory. Nor,
at the commencement of the eighth century of our era, was the Mo-
hammedan world divided against itself, as it subsequently became- All
these vast regions obeyed the Caliph ; throughout them all, from the
Pyrenees to the Oxus, the name of Mohammed was invoked in prayer,
and the Koran revered as the book of the law.

It was under one of their ablest and most renowned commanders,
nvith a veteran army, and with every apparent advantage of lime,
place, and circumstance, that the Arabs made their great effort at the
conquest of Europe north of the Pyrenees. The victorious Moslem
soldiery in Spain,

" A oountlesi multitude ;
Syrian, Moor, Saracen, Greek renegade,
PeniuD, and Copt, mid Tartar, in one bund
Of urring fbilb conjoined — strong in the ymith
Anil Ileal of zeal — a dreadful brotherhood,"

were eager fur the plunder of more Christian cities and shrines, and
fill] of fanatic confidence in the invincibility of their arms.

** Nor were the chiefs
or riclory Ie«« assured, hy long aiiooeta
Elate, and proud of that o'erwhelmiog strength
Which, surely tbcy beMe^ed, as ic had rolled
Thus far uncJieck'd, would roU rictorious on.
Till, like the Orieut, the subjected West
Should bow in reverence at Alahommed'a nonie ;
And pilgrims from remotest Arctic shores
Tread with religious feet the burning sands
Of Araby and Meoca's itony loU."

SotxTHEv'a Roderiek.

It is not only by the modern Christian poet, but by the old Arabian
chroniclers also, that these feelings of ambition and arrogance are attri*
VOL. XXIII. u Q

■ ■"--- : 1= ^.-^i ,.f«i r zj^ roiar-. »j. "2? tts

---^ — --=:j : ::= -:.:ii«« -i:^ =ii=r ^ TTsiitssatir? .ik: rsr

li^ """--fr IS - -iiiziT -ifgsasa irroic t~~.i- T*i:Ee j uu "rjr>
_-j — ;--w ^iii. -uz:." »^ ■•4L 3 "^*^'g I- .iTEr sanr tcrnn^ roa

-.- -_.-. r •.■zr-Ti..-. .--Z..-T r- ^-. Z-iciOri v-r:i i.^ :-:;.=.-

:-. Ir - —7:;- .i-T'.-i *:_r-J. -^rrfTrTTLa-* -mill Til Hi IJ^riri- yit^riiT'-

"r«rt»SL*r nut ."tirri-s i^a lo -ranoini; im** i:i<i TJe a»:tfr*!cuc^'

NO. V. — THE BATTLE OF TOURS.

529

tching the invadtTs, and wearing out their strength by delay. So
Ireadful and so ividc-apread were the ravnges of the Saracenic light
cavalry tbruughout Quul, that it must have been impustiible to restrain
for any length of time the indignant ardour of the Franka. And, even
if Charles could have persuaded his men to look tamely on while the
Arabs stormed mure towns and desolated more districts^ he could not
Lave kept an army together when the usual period of a military expe-
dition had expired. If, indeed, the Arab account of the diaorgunization
of the Moslem forces be correct, the battle was as well-timed on the
part of Cbarleit, as it was, beyond all question, well-fought.

The monkish chroniclers, from whom we are obliged to glean a nar-
mtive of this memorable campaign, bear full evidence to the terror
which the Saracen invasion inspired, and to the agony of that great
struggle. The Saracens, say they, and their King, who was called
AbdirameSj came out of Spain, with alt thi'ir wives, and their childreuj
aud their substance, in such great multitudes that no man could reckon
ur estimate them. They brought with them all their armour, and what-
ever they had, as if they were thenceforth always to dwelt in France.*

*' Then Abderrahman, seeing the land tilled with the multitude uf
his army, pierces through the mountains, tramples over rough and level
ground, plunders far into the country of the Franks, and smites all
with the sword, insomuch that when Kudo came to battle with him at
the river Garonne, and Hed before him, God ulone knows the number
of the shiin. Then Abderrahmun pursued after Count Eudo, and
while he strives to spoil and burn the holy shrine at Tours, he en-
counters the chief of tlie Austrasian Franks, Charles, a man of war
from his youth up, to whom £ludo had sent warning. There fur nearly
seven days they strive intensely and at last they set themselves in
battle amiy, and the nations of the north standing firm as a wall, and
impenetrable as a zone of ice, utterly slay the Arabs with the edge of
the 8word."+

The European writers all concur in speaking of the fall of Abder-
rahman as one of the principal causes of the defeat of the Arabs; who»
according to one writer, after finding that their leader was slain, dis«
persed in the night, to the agreeable surpri^ie of the Christians, who
expected the next morning to see them issue from their tents, and renew
the combat. One monkish chronicler puts the loss of the Arabs at
375,0(H* men, while he says that only 1,0(>7 Christians fell: — a disparity
of loss which he feels buund to account fur by a special interposition of
providence. I have translated above some uf the most spirited pas-
sages uf these writers ; but it is impossible to collect from them any-
thing like a full or authentic description of the great buttle itself, or of
the operations whicli preceded and followed tt.

Though, however, we may have cause to regret the meagreness and
doubtful character of these narratives, we have the great advautuge of
being able to compare the accounts given of Abderrahman's expedition
by the national writers of each side. This is a benefit which the in-
quirer into antiquity so seldom can obtain, that the fact uf possessing it

• "Lots Usirpnt d'Espalgne li Sajroiina, ei dii leur Roi qui avoit nom Abdi-
nunn, et ont Itur fames ct leur enfans et :ouie leur siibfltance en «i ffraiid plenio
que nus ne \c prcvoii nonibrer ne raiimrr : tout l«ur harnoio et i|iianquc!f il Bvoicnt
ameneiiicnt avec entz, auui comnMi li iU deuiwent toujuurs me* hnbitvr en t nince/*

+ Tunc Abdirrahnian niuliiiudiae tui ex«rcituii repleUuw firt^pideiis terrain, &o,
Scripi. Gtit, Franc, p. 70d.

le Id vw « ; Mrf Ibe fiiry «i4 tfe cndty of the Muakm

W tkc ca^ mm like the fivy and cruelty «f
" tlic AnlH tiiat Go<r« cbMtiie-

H^^

NO. V. — THE BATTLE OF TOURS.

ment was sure to folJow such excesses ; and rortune thereupon turned
her back upon the Moslems.

Near the river Owar* the two great hosts of the two languages and
the two creeds were set in array against each other. The hearts of
Abderrahman, his captains, and his men were filled with wrath and
pridej and thev were the first to begin the fight. Tlie Moslem horse-
men dashed tierce and frequent forward against the buttalions of the
Franks, wlio reaisted manfully, and many fell dead on either side until
the going down of the sun. Night parted the two armies; hut in the
grey of the morning the Moslems returned to the battle. Their cava-
liers had soon hewn their way into the centre of the Christian host.
But muuy of the Moslems were fearful for the safety of the spoil which
they had stored in their tents, and a ful^e cry aruse in their ranks that
Bome of the enemy were plundering the camp : whereupon several
squadrons of the Aloslem horsemen rode off to protect their tents. But
It seemed us if they fled ; and all the host was truuhled. And while
Ahderruhman strove to check their tumult, and to lead them back to
battle, the warriors of the Franks came around him, and he waa pierced
through with many spears, so that he died. Then all the host Hed he-
fore the enemy, and many died in the dight. This deadly defeat of
ihe Muslems, mid the loss (if the great lender and good cavalier Abder-
rahman, took place in the hundred and fifteenth year."

It would Ih? dtDicuIt to expect from an adversary a more explicit
confeKsiun of having been thuroughly vanquished, than the Arabs here
acc(»rd to the Kuropeans. The points un which their narrative di^era
from those of the Christians,—- as to how many days the conHict lasted*
whether the assailed city was actually rescued or nut, and the like, — -
are of little moment compared with the admitted great fact that there
was a decisive trial of strength between Frank and Saracen, in which
the former conquered. The enduring importance of the battle of
Tours in the eyes of the Moslems, is attested not only by the expres-
sions of " the deadly battle" and " the disgraceful overthrow," which
their writers constantly employ when referring to it, but also by the
fact, that no mure serious attempts at conquest beyond the Pyrenees
were made by the Saracens. Charles Martel, and bis son and grand-
son, were left at leisure to consolidate and extend their power. The
new Christian Roman £niptre of the West, which the genius of
Charlemagne founded, and throughout which his iron will imposed
peace on the old anarchy of creeds and races, did not indeed retain
lis integrity after its great ruler's death. Fresh troubles came over
Kurope; but Christendomj though disunited, was safe. The progress
uf civilization^ and the development of the nationalities and ffovern-
nieulfi of Modern Europe, from that time forth, went funvard in not
uninterrupted, but, ukimalely, certain career.

* Probably the Loire.

83S

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

WITH A PORTRA.it.

Letitia Emzabbtb Landon was born on
1802, at No. 25, Hans Place, Chelsea. Her an*
eigtiteenth century, possessed a landed estate at
Ibnlflhire. Sir William Landon, Knt., had bee
South Sea Bubble; but he was afterwards ut
speculations, and lost nearly the whole of his pn
descendants was rector of Nurstcd and listed in 1
grandfather of L. E. L. A tablet erected to his n
eel oC the church of Tedstone Delamere. near B
shire, bears testimony to his zeal and abilities.
John Landon, was presented to the last-named i
duties of which he discharged for nearly thirty-t
eight children ; the eldest of whomj John Lando
the subject of the present sketch. Early in HO
ages, one to Jamaica, and another to Africa — to
globe on the western shores of which a sad catas
to befal his moiit gifted daughter. Subsequently
clerk in the firm of Adair and Co., Army Agent
eventually succeeded to a partnership in that prol
was fond of agricultural pursuits, and in gratify]
ciination was a loser of several thousand pount
state of his circumstances, he took a house in (
Gloucester Lodge, imraodiatcly beyond that now
Lind.

Airs. Landon was the daughter of Mrs. Bisho
closest intimacy with Airs. Siddons. Mrs. Bisho|
descent, was most strongly attached to her gr
resided with her in Sloane Street for some time I

Miss Landon was the eldest uf tliree children
only to the age of thirteen.* L. E. L, when
placed at a school kept by Miss Rowden, al\er
Quentin, at No. 22, Hans Place, at whose establ
ford was educated, and in which house the you
later period to spend a great portion of her dai
ever, soon removed to Trevor Park, East Bame
took charge of her education. Her family seen
about six years at Trevor Park, whence, in h
they returned to London^ which she could ne
with regret ; for, in common with the great
Charles Lamb^ she cherished the strongest attachi
and associations.

She early evinced remarkable quickness of i
possessed a most retentive memory. Her profic
mg in everything but music and caligraphy. T
which was destined to give so much to u»e worli
almost insurmountable obstacles. Books were h

* Tbti Rev. Whittiiigtou I^aiidun, ALA., tbo cberisbed
hood, aud frisad iu luaturer yean, siill survives.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF L. E. L.

633

Her first literary efforts consisted of the adventures of Cnptaia
LanUon. her cousin, who had then just arrived from America; and
she was in the habit of submitting portions of them to her family
circle. In a little time her mind took a bolder flight ; and she ven-
tured to show some poetical effusions to the well-known editor of the
" Literary Gassetle," who was not slow in marking his appreciation
of her genius. Under his auspices, at flrst a few occasional scraps
from her pen made their appearance in the columns of his journal,
under the signature " L." Of these, probably the earliest was a
piece entitled '* Rome," which was published in 31arch \S20, in her
eighteenth year. In August, 1821, appeared her first work "The
Fate of Adelaide, a Swiss Romantic Tale, and other Poems ;" which,
but for the failure of her publisher, would have produced her fifty
pounds. If, however, she sufiered pecuniary disappointment in this
instance, she obtained what M'as dearer to her, the encomiums of the
critics; and these were so encouraging that she was inspired to
achieve greater and increasing triumphs. Thenceforth she became
for several years a constant contributor to the "Literary Gazette,"
in which her magical initials first appeared, September 22, 1821.
From this perio<l her literary career was most active and brilliant.
Besides a large collection of minor poems, &c., she published " The
Improvisatrice " in 1824 ; " The Troubadour " in 1823 ; " The
Golden Violet" in 1826; " The Venetian Bracelet" in 1829. Her
first prose work, " Romance and Reality," which we are glad to see
now forms one of the many entertaining volumes of" The Standard
Novels and Romances," was first published in 18^)0. In 1831, and
the seven successive years, L. E. L. edited Fisher's " Drawing-room
Scrap-Book." In 1833 were published " Francescu Carrara, ' and
*' The Vow of the Peacock ;" and, in Ut30, *' Traits and Trials of
Karly Life," and " Ethel Churchill." During this period she also
contributed largely to periodicals and annuals, and edited various
illustrated books. Her writings are characterized by that true test
of genius, originality, by vividness of iraagitmtiun, by considerable
depth of feeling and penetration into the workings of the human
heart. In facility of composition she has been rarely equalled, for few
writers were more fascinated with the genuine love of authori$hip.

The personal history of L. E. L. partook of sorrows as well as joya.
If her success in the literary world gratified the natural craving of
her mind, she suffered afflictions by the loss of some of her nearest
relations; but, worst of all, her gentle spirit was made to feel the
most poisonous shafts which malevolence can direct against the
honour of a womiin. The world is too prone to believe any scandal-
ous assertions that are put forward ; and the reparation it makes for
its false opinions is often tardy, and never equal to the injury it in-
flicts. Let us hope that the many able pens which have borne testi-
mony to Miss Landon's purity and worth have obtained her entire
and perfect justification.

On the 7th of June, 1838, L. E. L. was married to Mr. George
Maclean, the Governor of (yape Coast, at St. Mary's, Bryanstone
Square. Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart, assisted at the cere-
mony, and gave away the bride. On the 5th of July she sailed with
her husband from Portsmouth, and on the 15th of August they

landed ut Cape Coast,
later, is well known.

Her calamitous fate, only a few months

SM wmiT B A

life in

ItcaiuMtbe
tfarbot
the rank W accident,
tke U^eUt gifted being vfe

Ae -UeMd litenrr bL

benrttfol, and alvsn
iS^k, b«t vcO-lonned and fjatt-
' ~tr BOW unI ^altiestT
i^reri; facrctfs
Her teeL thoagh not regolar in sdt
by tyuaan ; ercry Badk of tbooffat.
"'^ fe«fi^& KgbKnul over H as >be sp^e,
Tbe fetdwad vas not high, bat broad
briDiancT, bat their d«u
br its eauiaiaU nrf>m ai ; her mooth
tbe^loffioos fjKvhr
ofUaey and vh, knew bow to
, or pride, » wcfl as H knew bow to smDe
fa'^b th«ae dbovt, qrick, tinging^ laoghs.
rrea exoepcn^ bo- hm mnit ana apbotiMns, were the
de^gtef^ things tbit tfiived firooi it.'

WHAT 15 A SIGH ?
It is ibc wisai

As iij*.'cc£. t^ air
Ii Wars a v^jvr
Of iSir tm:l'% -hnaiag '.
I: b tKe rvect
llos^Mss «cbo of I Ml I »W>JIK^ thoo^t.
RMOfaU by laJiiiw

Is it U)« kyiBa
Bmtbed rrcr br Uw toutms of lore,
irkncdakadaioe.
Soft uad inieoar,
Stnn AnBKutr abow !

It a the sign
Of Earth's fraxemitr. The onhf tie
That links as all.
Both great aad muU,
In "^""""w" srmpaUiy I

It is the heart
Ijraing from its priaoo hooae of d&Ty
Perchance glwUj,
Perchaaee ladlf ,
Wending on iu wajr. W. R. C

THE LEGEND OF FAIR AGNES.

rnOH THE OAMISn OF OCHLEXSCIILAGKR.

'Alone, alune^ fair Agnes siu upon the wild Mja-abure ;

filifl marks ihe dauciiig nun-bright ruam, she lists the billows ronr.

The salt uavm meet beneulh her 1W»1, the spray around her dies, —
M'beo, lo ! she sees a mcrmau i'roiii the ticean dcjiths arise.

A cxwt of mail enclosed his fomi| of scales all silver-bright,
Oliateaing beneath the setting sua*H effulgent, rmy light.

A spear^ pluck*d from the corul )>eds, bis grat^jful arm did wield.
Brown, arched, and strong, a turtoise-shell suppliwl the pluue of shield.

His face was ftiir, and soft his hair^ bold hen» uf tlie main, —
Like music rung^, the words he snng, a iweel alluring strain.

<' Thou fairest uf earthly dwellers ! ray song is sung to thee,

Wilt thou Lear of the uameleeiB wonders that hide beneatli the aea ?**

She answered, ^ Nay, thou merman gay ! that sing'st so lilitho and well,
I *d rather know what weal or woi* awaits me, — oan'st thou lelJ ?

** What galhtnt youth siitiLl plight his troth, and woo ms for his bride,
To quit my home with him to roam, whatever fate lietide ?"

'* Oh, hear me, Agnes, hear my simg, despise not Uiou my rows I
Be thou my queen, — in me, I ween, thou 'It Hnd a loving spouse.

^* Below the sea U deck*d for the«, a palace fair and light.

Pearls gem tlie floors, both walls and doors are framed uf crystal bright.

•* A pearly car sluill bear thee far, o'er ocean's depili* to ride.
Full ftwiitly thro* the watery Aelds thy chariot shall glide ;

^^ Within my bowers, Uoom fragrant flowers, of every dime and hue,
Sm) gently fluttering to and fro, amid the waters blue.

** Then plunge with mc beneath the sea. my regal stale to share.
What earth-horn tuver can'st tbou find who may with me comjiare ?**

Her blue eyes glistened while she listened, oh, maiden fair and frail T
Her cottage home seemed dull Iteside the merman's flattering tale.

^* If they l>e true, thou merman Utld, the words thou say^at to me,
I 'II gladly leave the world above to relgii beneath the sea,**

Her hand she gave, lie thrmigh the wave, fair Agnt^s nafely bore ;
For eight hmg yeant she ne'er ngain Iteheld her native shore.

SKCOMD PABT.

Fair Agnes sits within her bower, all weary and alone ;

She hear!« the sounds that call to prayer, the church-bells* distant tone.

Of sad full memoriea, she seeks her husband, weeping sore.

^^ Oh ! lot me worsltip God wiUdn my village church once more !**

— ** Then go, but, Agnes, hour me I make nut too lung a stay,
Return Iwfore the rising sun sluill light anuthcr day.

VOL. XXMI,

11 H

TTiE ^^ffsr3 F 7*3. ^ans.

S19 31B1B a» imrs- -t— ^ c* «e» ^^^ v^^rc uoe

■ l.^OL -fiK JV^S. -Stkl X0B3BK IK' JO. IkT ~<-i11::.

.>ns- s T-^si A T***-j** 'Zt'- -mr **

'^M ttSSSBS XOSttC ▼^mizi-

via *' «: fe ORBft iLic aeet -^ irx- .

Jpsur*^ -zr- -at^ -Zkmm iu'w -sa vus. .psv vus* cul zi in&

— 1^ T^BIXa. :L.awW^ OL'T'B!! tU "VSI *"l''""^^ idTT 13>i .tf^

r.- -— G«» ■■*..""-« ijar >''~ 1^ T-rr:: ^j«iii *-!« liLZ.; ici*~
.i*^ jb7» t-« "v--" :_■ v-a." "T i-krrz. c-ciTTtrt "^le sr_« .' r i

r*;*? ~. ~e -- ■*.: i::ii t-t -^i?* ^a-. ii.rr. Tiiirr iZii •f*i :;■:•-.
J-r .r*^ 111- T.B!-na:i t-— j» ^ai::: u"* 3 •urr.T :,r :_■* •.-■;■•

537

^AETANO DONIZETTI.

WITH A PORTRAIT.

The good town of Bergamo, incomparable among the picturesque
cities ot'nortliern Italy, in right of the view across the plain from its
upper town, liveliest, tt»o, among the markets of Lombardy, in riglit
of its great fairs; holds, also, a distinguibhed place in the records of
operatic art It hnf given to the Italian theatre some of its most
famous personages. Not to speak of narlequin (type and prototype of
the Scapiris and Figaros since introduced in modern comedy), who
was a Hcrgamask. this same magnificent town, though remarkable for
the cacophony of its dialect and the harsh tones of voice in which its
inhabitants bargain or scold, has been fruiiful of great singers. As the
last and greatest among these we mny name Kubini, whose intense
feeling and profound skill have founded a school and a tradition among
artists, no leas llian created a passing frenzy among the European pub-
lic. From Bergamo, too, comes Signor Piatti, one of the best con-
temporary violoncellists. But insomuch us the creative faculty exer-
cises a longer-lived and a wider influence than any executive per-
fection, the musical illustration, by which Bergamo will, perhaps, be
the longest known» is to be found in the operas of GacUino Donizetti:
— who was born there in the year 1797, and whose body died there
on the 8lh of April last. His mind had died within the l>o<ly some
years earlier.

No very precise record has reached us of Donizetti's parentage.
His education begun at the Lyceum of Bergamo, under the guidance
of Simon Mayer. This master, who is best recollected as the com-
poser of '* Medea," because Pasta sang in that opera, was po6Be>ied
of little genius, being precisely one of those eclectic writers whose
appearance neither forwards nor retards the progress of Art, But
lie must have been valuable as a teacher, from the unimpeachable
correctness which marks v\\ that bears his signature and this very
absence of individuality. An Albrechtsberger " turns out" much better
pupils than a Beethoven; a Heicha than a Hossini. And we lire
accordingly told, that the young Donizetti, who passed from the
hands of Mayer into the no less estimable ones of Padre Maitei, of
Bologna, (a learned contrapuntist,) and Signor Pilotti, anotlier pro-
fessor there, was early able to produce "overtures, violin quartettes,
(flimsy enough it may be presumed,) cantahis, and church niusic."
For again, it may be observed, that the sound tenets of old musical
instruction in composition, professed to enable the tyro to turn his
hand to anything. The subdivision of occupation, which is compara-
tively of a mmlern date, must be taken, wheresoever it occurs, as a
sign of incompleteness or imperfect training.

The boy's eeiro is from the first said to have been fluent rather than
brilliant or characteristic; — to have shown Itself in construction more
signally than in invention. A French journal telU us that shortly
after his return from Bologna to Bergamo in 1816, the young Doni-
zetti was "taken for a soldier," and was only able to deliver himself
from military thraldom by gaining a success in his own vocation.
This he accomplished in 1816, by the production of his first Opera,

VOL. xxui. s 8

538

GAETANO DONIZETTI.

tuc"
diri-

and

*• Enrico di Borgogna," at Venice. HU biographers, howcTcr, assure
ua, that> of the nineteen (?) operas whiclt Donixctti produced within
the next ten years, only one, " Zoraide in Granala," sung at Rome In
1822 by DonEelli, and like sisters Moiubelli, was admitted to have
made "a hit,** There is no need, then, to enumerate them ; enough
to say that scattered pieces from "Olivo e Pasquale," have been for-
merly sung in our concert rooms. A somewhat washy duet, " Sean
tanti complimenti/* from " 11 Borgomastro di Saardam," U still ll
request among our mediocre singers of Italian. Moreover, a yeardH
iwo since, " L'Ajo nell Imbarrazzo " was tried at her Majesty's
Theatre; but the music was not original enough to induce the public
to endure a story full of the roost puerile butfooneries, in spite of the
best efforts of Lablache to give them life and character.

It might have seemed, then, that al^er ten years' experiment Dt
zetti's place was irretrievably fixed among the mediocrities who mar
facture poor music for the second rate theatres of Italy — to meet
popular craving fur perpetual variety, good, bad, or indifferent. Suci
however, was not the cose. Sometliing lite originality and indiri-
duality (marking that he had come to years of musical discreiit
broke out in his twenty-Brst Opera, *^L*Esule di Koma," which
given at Naples in the year 1828, with Mile. Tosi, MM. Winter
Lablache, in the principal parts. Some of our aoiateurs may recol-
lect it as the work with which Mr. Monck Mason opened his disM-
trous, but enterprising one season of opera menagenienty that of
1832. Sucb will recall the tersetio, in which a certain novelty of
structure is evident. The next work in order which has made ** anj
stand" ^as the phrase runs in the green-room) was the " Regioa di
Golconda/' an Opera containing no music to compare with Bertoo's
sprightly melodies to the original " Aline," but to which such eaaAi"
irici of Italy as have a touch of the Du^a^on in them still recur,
time to time. And that the maestro was looked to as promt
is evident by his being commissioned to write for Pasta: — for w
bis thirty-second Opera, the '* Anna Bolcna," was produced at Mi
in 1831.

The work is performed still, when any prima douna appears
is strong enough to contend for Fasta's succession. Though it is
clear of the usual amount of platitude warranted^ nay, courted,
Italian audiences; tliough it be full of the rhythms of Uo&siui. it hu
still tuuclics which assert the individuality of its composer; and
these, it may be noted, occur in the critical places. The duel, in tlw
second act, betwixt the Queen and her rival, may be mentioned ^
proof; as also the 6iial hrattura '^Coppia iniqua/' — which, thou^|
tncrely written as an air of display, is still full of deep tra^cal <M^
matic passion ; the last frenzy of a breaking heart I

from this time forward the place of Domicetti was assured
next in favour to that of the more Sf/mj)at/ietie Bellini, and su
to that held by the less impulsive and more scholastic Mercad
Thirty-three Operas foilowcd the " Anna Bolenn," and they grftd<
became better in staple, more original, and more popular. To
them one by one would be tedious. It will suHice to touch lighi
upon those which still live in the Opera Houses of Europe.

There is " L'Elisir." — from the ftrst to the last note a spontaneoos
utterance o£ pretty music, weakest where Rossini would have bc«

GAETANO DONIZETTI,

fid9

strongest^ in the part in the charlatan. Dr. Dulcamara, whose grand
aria, even a Lablache cannot rescue froni insipidity. There are
" Parisina," " Torquato Tasso," and ** Belisario," none of which stand
beyond a chance of being revived by the dramatic singers of the new
school. With them also may be mentioned "(lemma di Vergy^^
" Roberto Devereux," and (of a later date) "Maria de Rohan/*— the
last never to be forgotten in England, because of the magniticent
tragic acting of Uonconi. Better music than in any of the above will
be found in " Lucrezia Borgia," and a more taking story. One rich
coDcerled piece and a notable //na/e for the tenor in the '* Lucia di
Lammermoor," have won for this Opera the most universal popularity
gained by any oi' its master's works. According to our own fancy*
Douizetti has never written anything of a higher order, as regards
originality and picturesquencss, than the night scene in Venice,
which makes up the second act of '* Marino Falicro," including the
Barcarolle, and the grand aria which no singer has dared to touch
since Uubini laid it down. We there find, for the first time, an entire
emancipation from those forms and humours originated by Rossini
(or, to be exact, perfected by him from indications given by Paer)
by the imitation of which all the modern Italians (save Bellini) have
commenced their career as dramatic composers.

"Marino Faliero " was written expressly for that incomparable
company, including Mademoiselle Grisi, Signori Rubini, Tamburini,
Lablache, and Ivanoff. which was assembled in 1835 in Paris. For
the same year, and the same artists, Bellini's ** I Puritani " was com*
posed : and since it is a certain theatrical law, that two great stage suc-
cesses cannot come together \ and since the latter work made the/Wor«*,
the former was, by mathematical necessity, sure to be comparatively
disregarded. But after poor Bellini's untimely death, which followed
hard upon his triumph, it became evident to the impreuirii, that there
was no Italian composer who could please (most especially on our
side of the Alps) so certainly as Donizetti. Accordingly he was
called to Vienna, and there wrote the " Linda di Chamouny/' which
became so popular that its composer was rewarded by being nominated
to a lucrative court appointment. The management of the Grand
Opera of Paris, too, disappointed of a new work by Meyerbeer, and in
distress for music more vocal and pleasing than the clever /read-corn-
di'muiont of M. Ilalevy,— invited the universal maestro to write for
that magnificent theatre. Unlike most of his predecessors^ Donizetti
fieems neither to have hesitated, nor to have taken any extraordinary
amount of pains or preparation on the occasion. He came as re-
quested, but aAer his appearance in Paris in I^'IO, we find his name
within a curiously short space of time to " Les Martyrs," and ** Dom
Sebastian," — two grand hve-act Operas, both of which failed — (though
still given in Germany and Italy) ; and to '* La Favorite," ^ four-act
Opera, (written for Mudamc Stollz, MM. Duprez and Baroilhet)
which may be regarded as his best serious work; to "La Fitle du
Hegiment," for L'Opcra Comique, in which Mademoiselle Borghese
made her debui. The last Opera and the lady were found wanting by
that most j'astidious company of judges, a Parisian audience Every-
where else, however, the gaiety of the music (containing the most fresh
and ^aiV/ar^ of Donizetti*s sprightly inspirations) has placed it in the
first rank of favqur among comic Operas. We surely need not remind

3 8 2

A>: ;■->'

^ — ■_ — ■^= -••- .- . : = :-■ .:^ *- - . i-i. _7"=-i j: :■ ';. v»-i.

— : r .-. j.^ - -: z-T.si- TfT"..*- :. ■=;!:"!«■; i - r-.-s^x-iii' :

- ■ _^ :._- . :■ ::= :-r^^_-= .1 :i^L:t. :r w::— -.r ■** ci>

-_---_ •- ~- 7"-" -"■■ -*" -— ' " ^^^*= ^-:-* '^r :>r.. = «i : j =;-re
-. •_- — • I . .-^•■_=. ■:= :■' iTr :-.--:rT-: i.» s-c ij ■>-.* x*

^■- .J. !• ..:--:; ---^.-ri :..nj«r" .: :: Trs-ritc:. He seic:!

. -. — '- —--.:—".. -^ z-.- — :c : c . .. - I'.-.-sc :; wr-tc ^-is'ciifis:

J :. _ :.^ i -s-:.:^ : .r-a-_-r5 :•" i - -1*.- T; Us-*e. .: li .Liicrs".ooc.
:. --. „ --= : ^ .: i^ :i -:;: ^.:mzi^:-^j is u -^^ »-^r-/ J*'^^

7.,-^i r> ". « - :- t ..= - 1: "tr-.l.::; t:i rt-^t -r. ct*- sj *..:.3^ir,i

.: :— T;^ - : -.. : :•: :c _. *; ra :c 9 11:.: 1 "r=^ii_T sor're beisi-

'^: «j -^— ?•- - " — ' -- -- ^ '-"i scn-z i-zi i_-ii; ^:* 1 \St j:

_ ' Z .. '. :*^^ •-? . — : — ■~' i.T i ~ 'z r". -- ^..r? • is sTi' ■■

_ . : i _r :- ^ :.— w -.: riit i^i •=-: w^^re :-.ri. iirr-:

. . • . -.; - : :j----:. : .v r "r ;:«. :_• llr -t-Z.is^*, i-r^'-

•; ._ :-r .: *" ij :;•." j.:r — \.'.~ ;■ — r-.^i.'s- fc

-. ■ : . - ; :t ;^T "T; i- :i. " T:^ I : ~ = Lr ■■"i* 7^:2 : -.i

. ji--^. 5 _:..: u-r ? ^i:r?: Ttz. f« - ;• ^r}

: ..- ..- ;— " ': » : :::;::•= "."a.: 1 "r;"= jTii a. c. =^:c i::i

»..- • .—";•:." - .: :::;:. :i::-^" :;■ i". ' er vni::: :or d::j:hcr

i ^ ... ,:i. -■• .«: J-: _•-::: J " i."i • 1: :ii.c ».:".:cT.p: ;:jve betn
1! ~. * : ■= *:•: ~ij ;•'" r-:-' it" rj : .:?c ^:._"'. b'v =j\ of *!r.d:-

T. .-. _ :- 1.:; -.- -.»; ,r':c =•=*;:-' ::^ : Ml ^.e* r.j*: ■■ 5k:iI.- ot'ihi

yj-z'z -i. ;■:-.-- r :•=—':--: "si».: '. ■£ ^ - ■-'•-..>b iSAumpibn have

r<jt: :: . ^ :_-_ . :.i>s; i^i -.i-;e- .1 z:z':.'.r.£ chin the subject ol'
' ■«"■: :/ " \.\-' . :"» .L^i£ :_■•: r^iii-i-^i. t is^aoicJ (hat, bv rt>(ric-
L'-iT. -vrcr-r.-iL.--. i:i s--_i.- iTA-nieli-i prcceises, crediivt jieniu*
o:^%i >e .•"'-.-k-: -:. be-^,--:; scxcih.'* ur mone precious than it
BAf rave cc^.zA^T b^^si. " F^'i^.'iT' — J»med br the epithet /j.'d/

GAETANO DONIZETTI.

541

s been too largely confounded with "feebleness." Now, in Mu-
sic at least, this is a huge and untennble fallacy. Dangernua though
it seem to afford cncouraj^etitent lo idleness, Co presumption, to inven-
tion by clinnce, lo a spirit of money-making cupidity, the perpetua-
tion of faUcUood is yet more dangerous ; — and there are few falsehoods
more complete than the reproach conveyed in the above assertions.
Willi very few cxceptiona, all the ^rcat musical composers have been
fertile when once taught, — nnJ capable of writing with as much rapid-
ity as ease. Bachj Handel (witose "Israel" was completed in three
weeks,) Haydn (more of whose compositions are tost than live), Mozart,
— all men remarkable as diicoverers and renowned as classics — held
the pens of ready writers. Kossini's *' II Barbiere," again, which has
now kept the stage for iwo-and-thirty years, was the work of tliirteen
days: the insouciant composer being spurred to his utmost by a dis-
paraging letter from Paisie1lo» who had already set Bcaumnrchais'
comedy. It was the empty Connoisseur, xvho thought togain reputntion
by declaring that " the picture would have been better painted if the
painter had taken more trouble." Nor will it ever he forgotten ihat
the '* Bride of Lammermoor/' the masterpiece of Walter Scott (whose
defence oi ferlilily, aprojtos of Dryden, might have been quoted na
germane to the matter,) was thrown off when the Novelist was hardly
conscious of what he wrote, owing to racking bodily pain. Those, wo
believe, on whom (he gift of fertiliry has been bestowed, run some
danger of becoming "nothing if not fertile." Their minds are impulsive
rather than thoughtful — their fancies strengthened by the very pro-
cess and passion of pouring them forth. In the case of Donizetti,
at least, it is obvious that his invention was, year by year, beconting
fresher with incessant use and practice. There are no melodies in
any of his early works so delicious as those of the quartett and
serenade in " Don Pasquale ;" no writing so highly toned, characteris-
tic, and dramatic as the entire fourth act of'* La Favorite." His in-
strumentation too, always correct, became richer and more fanciful
in each successive eHurt. It has elsewhere been remarked (and the
remark is signiHcant to nil who are used to cnn<;idcr the subject),
ihat. considering Donizetti waa called to write for particular singers,
an unusual number of the Operas thus fashioned to order have be-
come stock pieces: thereby proved to be ttscntially superior lo the
generality of works of their class. In short, It may be said that,
though there be no startling beauties in the Operas of Donizetti, —
none of those ekctrical melodies which, like " Di tflnii," or *• Largo al
factotum," or *' Assi&a al pic d'un salice," ring through the world,—.
neither such intensity of sentiment as reconciles us to the very limited
alphabet in which Bellini wrote, — they contain so much of what is
agreeable, so many happy combinations and excellent opportunities
for vocal display, such iretjucnt harmony between the sounds and the
situations to be portrayed, as lo justify musical annalists in giving the
Master a high place in the records of his time: and in sincerely re-
gretting his loss. Would that any signs could be discerned of a suc-
cessor! But, for the present, the solitary originality which Italian
musicians manife&t lies in excess and exaggeration.

— - ■ - — " r&"

_1 T, LrOC
■,iz -c T^*I

::^^_r= .:LZ T.-Tlr »'-J

.'"■-=

ST. r _ . . .^ . ;..-; .- .: _ \s.

, " i

.s . : _" -. .: ' • _. iju . " V * ■ J

1 - --

— ;-;- : _~:t.-^: " «" _: i '.: ; ' '-

^^ 1-

.5 -.■•:- n_: ■ : -•= • :.^.:-i. .-,i.-

-- : t

:.. r:.^,^- ^ : :- 1:^* ^. .-='■ ' -.'

. " :"

-tr ^-r. r .:■;.: -i./ _^- _ j-;-~;. ■:•

-!_. ^^

.*-_- >_.!■: .- ■-- ":"■*:; IJ:- l.- •

, - it^.rv

J. . —iisc U-"; '.- 1 _ • ..- is '■•

1 :.. i."r

-f;.".--; : i J.j»: ."- ^: 1. . = -.>

/■""Jul'*.' "i;a*' .r' r".;,!;' ...^ .:-. : ■; ^..^".■.■:t -f

REPUBLICAN MANNERS

Ik republican government, too, may decree thatj in future, there
uM be no memeurti and mesdamet \a France, and thai nettling
'i hould exist but eifoyens and citotfennet ; people, as long as ihcy do
0( choose to act the part of republicanism to this extent, will yet be
^_o one another monsieur and madams. It is not because they lack
ny ability to get up the part to perfection, but because they do not
faoose to play it, although in thia last little detail of social life habit
oay have some iiiHucncti; for in one of the very government edicts
bat cnactud this mode of salutation anew, the address to the mayors
4 Paris, enjoining them to admit no other denomination than that of
iteyen in official acts, the first words are Citof/e*i Maire. and, half
ray down the liandbtll, Morutttur U Maire slips out, as if uncon-
usly, in tlie very official declaration itself against that illegal term;
a furious *< out-and-outer" has been even heard to let fall the
eur by accident, although he afterwards humbly begged pardon
baving oR'ercd the insult of this dreadful and obnoxious title,
n what, then, is to be found the distinction between Parisian man-
' ners under a republican form of government and those under the late
reign? — in a thousand liiilc floating shades, too difficult to catch as
^they flit by and daguerreotype upon paper, nuances too fine to paint
^^teood, strong, visible colours, in a thousand delicate traits which it
^^^most impossible to embody in a decided form, but which the sense
Tnky comprehend, the heart feel, and even the eye see, although the
^znouth may be unable formally to express them, or the hand clearly
U> trace them. Perhaps, there is not a soul in Paris to whom the
revolution of February does not appear like a past history, acted years
^and not months ago, to whom an age, a long, long age, does not seem
ULhave passed since those days, to whom a wide gap does not appear
^^bever, as a yawning gulf, the present from the past — sundering the
^K from the other by an abyss so wide, at a distance so great, that
tbe present bears no resemblance whatever to the past. This impres-
sion is one ditficult to convey to the minds of those who have not
been upon the spot lo feel it, but the gulf exists no less in the minds
of those who have ; and they must feel the change, not bnly in new
institutions, in a new course of things, in new aspirations, new ten-
dencies, new ambitions, new hatreds, in all the new political, social,
auid mural state, in fact, but in habits, manners, physiognomy, and the
general aspect of every day life. It seems to be in the air, as well as
upon the earth ; there appears to be a changed look in all things ; it
is impressed upon every face and almost in every gesture. But these
are exactly the undchnable utumces which arc lu be felt but not to be
expressed, and which the Flaneur must renounce any attempt to put
into any tangible form.

Traits enough of change are to be found, however, sufficiently broad-
ly marked to be distinctly noted down ; and these be it the task of
tbe FfSneyr once more to sketch. These traits o( republican man-
ners may be divided into three categories, — those that pervade all
classes of society, and are to be seen in the every-day aspect of gene-
ra] life; those that arc purposely put on by the "out-and-outer** re-
publican, the worshipper of the past already mentioned, he, in fact,
who thinks that his own salvation and Uiat of the rfs jntftliai depend
upon his own individual assumption of a certain garb or emblem, his
making an uncompromisingly ferocious lace, or his thundering forth

S44

*^''t'*UCAW

•port, by j^ -v. tnofe fkn* ^ '** act /# • ■ctor#

w;,i. ^ 'ea«» an ' ™'"inira. ,i, . "ever «, "xiivirii^

»Wy.n,,.,«^f<>u never . ^'^'' ""hidoi; '"^Pnt. ^'"'"f. «9

"«o.ider "1 °^ "'spu/e „,; , ""^ «'"eniie« ^ ^^ "'»n .. ""J'^t.rin W 1

REPUBLICAN MANNERS.

545

one of the best forms of republicnniftm, as visible in external general
life ; and} as long as moderate principles siiU maintain the supremacy,
and the violent republicans of ttie ^* blood-und-th under" school have
not succeeded in leavening with the bitterness of the gall of hatred^
they take such pains to instil between classes, the good understand-
ing that at first seemed to be disposed to exercise its influence among
them, this new trait of modern republican manners can only tend to
have a beneficial and conciliatory efTcct.

The first symptoms of tills spirit^ when all exclusion was thrown
aside on the one hand, and all mistrust and ill-will on the other,
seemed in truth for a time to work their salutary spell. Woe, then,
to the men who use all their energies, and spend every moment of
their restless lives in exciting, with all the venom of their tongues,
hatred, spitt-, nialtce, and suspicion, when, in the new order of things,
A mutual good feeling among classes was gaining the ascendancy, and
in raising aloft the torch of discard to burn and to destroy, when the
light of reciprocal intelligence and appreciation had already begun to
enlighten I woe to them ! May ihey alone reap the harvest of the
deadly seed they sow. The change in maimers of the upper towards
the lower classes, was marked and striking after those days, when
circumstances threw men of both tngcthcr, and taught each to know
the other belter; in the lower towards the higher it was no less re-
markable; and people still mix upon the above-described best ap-
proved republic equality princi[>le in the streets, accosting and con-
versing with each other, heedless of any distinction of rank. But the
better spirit is no longer what it was. The government ttself has
gone along the foolish path of sundering classes in its official acts ; it
proclaimed the sovereignty of the people, and declared its voice the
voice of Godj and then, applying afterwards the word "people" to
the lower classes alone, taught them thus that they alone were the
sovereigns, and that, in those days of equality, their will and their
pleasure was not equal, but paramount lo that of all other classes in
tlie state. Never was flattery addressed to the greatest autocrat by
the basest of courtiers, tlint could vie with the flattery besiowod, by
government edicts, upon the people, thus severed and sundered from
the rest of the nation. The fond crammed to excess down its throat,
instead of being good, sound, healthful, f^lain bread, was buttered on
one side, honeyed on the oiher^ and treacled over all. How could
the people's stomach stand so rich u treat? If its stomach, however,
did not turn at it, its head did; and by degrees the lordly air, the in-
solent manner, the " niakc-room-for-me" gesture, and the imperative
words began to be heard among those who were so sedulously taught
that they were up abovci, at the summit of all social systems, and that
all others were dune below and beneath ihem. How with this feel-
ing will mix the acrimony, the hatred, the malice, the sourness, the
bile, that existed not before; and that a desperate faction, whose
ambition relies for its success but on ttie force of a people's evil pas-
sions, instils so carefully and works up with so much restless energy?
But with the future the Flaneur has nought to do. Still, as he writes,
tJiat more genial trait of republican manners, the fusion and the re-
ciprocal politeness, may be found in the streets of Paris, although in
a lesser degree than in the first times that followed on the revolution.

One influence that has caused a very material change to come over

T > —

-r. r

7.':^.\

rr-i TTJTTe

■' -jcrir-^

* - r=r

'±iL wa :

— X":

— ti -X-— ""•'■'TI- "':•'. "'W-**i "'2 !

_t- -^— ,

«? --i.:ci. iz: ■-: ic- i.ar^* ::' "iir-^ ;-..:!:«. real :r rV.-e. have cc
^'c ."..- .1 V -.t^*: zj,K 31.'": j._ i* r: *■ "■= : : Zcr-a.:-!i::er in a C''r,«r3
^Aci<T Ar«: *'-^'- *•'-« -r :-.* :: :'r= raruanjLlrin. bu: quiLfclr ^:
^fi.,iird V; •-> J/--.- - tr^; lii :jj*r.5 ur -J-e military !.x.V with tn
'^i.-.^.^i rtiij .r.ip.7i::.r:. i-Kei.thc r.uc:tcr« oi' li.e old iroops of r!
ig«.n .'<xds.--^^ *"^** Paris- in sp>ic or the jealous nianccuvrin
'£« ultra pftn> ; ^<^ tLere are new republican puards in old r

REPUBLICAN MANNERS

C47

uniforms, and civic guards, and MontatfnartUy whose mission
rality Jio liumun creature seems distinctly to understand, all
to the teeth, with pistols, and sabres, and poniards, and what-
in the way of truculent weapon; and the military show and
tvisioD of uniforms, and plumes, and cockades, and epaulets, and arms,
HCretch to the ** crack of doom." And the new republicans of old
^mcies, who connect republican ideas with vague notions of battle
imd blooilshcd, and glory, and fighting, and the constantly screeched
|>hra8e, *' mourir pour la patrie,"' although they disdain the National
Guards, and strive to persuade the lower classes that the National
(Guards must be their natural and born enemies, get up n martial air
^ their own private accounts, and wear big red scarfs, and knit their
|brows, and look marvellously furious. No wonder, then, that all
.Piris should cultivate moustaches more than ever, and curl them
|WiUi a military twist of the hand, and cry "nwj armesy* and " Vive l-a
yPdogne," or vive something else, at every two words, after the in-
flation of a frateniizing banquet ; and talk of wondrous exploits and
^deeds of glory, and of shooting everybody and everything ; and that
shop-boys should exchange the measuring wand for the musket, and
J that even members of the government, with very civil functions,
should hold up their heads and do "the military" to the life, when
Uey pass troops in review. The vision of bayonets is the day-dream
^^Varisian life; and it is impossible to close the eyes to it. If it
HBiea not in overwhelming torrents, it comes in little desultory
fever-Bts before you; but absent is the apparition never. Spite of
all its peaceful assurances, also, so martial has grown the spirit of the
government, that it has positively given orders for all the little boys
in public schools to be clothed in military fashion ; and, possibly, the
little urchins may soon learn their lessons with musket on arm, under
the superintendence of military-looking ushers with moustaches a foot
long.

If, then, among the many other traits, for which he has no space*
the Fldneur hastily records the constant cry, newly adopted by the
lower classes— *ilie cry born of a people's arbitrary triumph, when it
so often bid a whole city illuminate in its honour, — the cry to be
heard at every moment, the cry of " des lampionSy' which has now
come to signify not much more than "Go it!" or any other such
polite popular phrase of an English populace, and is used upon every
uccasioD of its reckless merriment ; if he alludes also to the constant
recurrence of "ex" s and " ci-decant" s in palaces, and streets, and
Dobtes, and names, and attributes, and allocations, that confusion
*' twice confounded " of all things, in which a poor mortal knows no
longer the name of his own street, or of his best acquaintance, or of
ibe quarter of the town he now seeks in vain ; if he were to trac«^
and the task were impossible — all the transformations which a re-
publican revolution has produced in men and things, in general, it
may be seen, that, in the general external as])ect, there is change
enough in the last modern Parisian manners, to give them n colour
and character of their own.

If tiie Flthicur turns now from the general to the partial, he has
still fur more to note. If he nttcnipts a sketch of the violent re-
ublican, the "out-and-outer," before alluded to, the dreamer of the
the deifiur of the '^MoniagiMy* him of the destructive organ,

•"use- =iBrr-A:rr--rre« =: ^ 2-. =21-*=^ r^ 1 :.:- -r-g7i*,r n-' t a
js- ■»- . r:iL r.-.:-— -r; «r t ai.— *-:::, ^r.: tt-^— rai"n;£ nnsix

^iT z -■ . _r -- "***<•= •■ ^— — _"T ,^:. iJiTit;!* .r lis- [idzhis.
i ■ i£^ -J - — " — ;■" ~ -^-- -i:.; ^niTi^Ti. ii;ir :ts niiT rt," »

-- --r— :_-- -- —7-.::=:- zt^ =xz T.r^.i-. s-::Tr-r^ ; tiii ^.-i:*:--?:

rr.-"^. -=L^i^ ■• ^- '"- — -«= jet: >^;:r=- isf I. 7-riT-r £ :.■ j-r--.

-' : - •-—-:- -_.-_-. = -;z:i=:j; 0: i^i -:h -r-uTiirr- ziLLZnr z
— i - - - "^"^ - -=4«=i- -e- rriir zr^^^i^aziziz. i^c:i i^t* ly: r re i

-^"2 ~ ~i -r-j — — iiifl L L*;Z is- III J=rl'Ji23,-i n Zli± :K*i7Z KTWC*

t - — * 7 77 •€€: :vT := •-.. TrrS.- Zrrl'^-* Zlur • r 111* Vb'i.-m

^:-*^~=- " - -I- 7 - T —i r.i- •"._ ij= Lir- L naiiz "£iiri t: •r^ aa

s=~- - " 1 -iic z:= :=• ."»::=:i:t:^ ri* »-;; s^r-j.nii^ r ttl T.t
^'-^ : " --=r-— IT- - J. iL-^" i-nrr' » tra?. 7:ai" • i -"ztun #rsr in

::-: - ;= « :_ :£^r-=t- . iii.^= :;-*r: Tri-r-ts^A rr £ seiLiijrp.t J
siiT- — ^ : —7:^ ^ - r ;. ,- 1. - 'i;?-— -■— . irr *»»/■ -f. * 7^c -*.i
• - -- " , 7r -==- . .-. ". ' iir-^— xis :»:7 -_i»* T'*;'.:ci.-r :; i r-r^^
^--7- ..„--- It i-t :-: .:•: :rj-- ;r :■■" .r= s :-.....« :c «^

■ ■-'-- . :

:■: . :.r ;i> r.^-.r : .r7:'7:.--i i :i 7>: 7 7:'c. i:."
:- I :- ■-- V .-: T -: - ; . ij: 7 zt ti = r\:;s. f IJ

i^-i.-r.: i'.-: :; -• : :;i.-:i:_-. _? ;7 : : ;o:;-^ j:i=7 Ni: :-i, {.r-^rdf. 9':.^
iz-.l:l .: -'-. *--jt:-?. ;= : = *;.::'=» :ie ^r^frrrer; :>.j": ■■; rot

ri_;.7J_ =^--*- ' t * •'== ■■ -s ~'' :~ j : - n:\T scc. a: streii ccrr.ers
tri.:r :•: tXi:.:c :; e T:-£r:i7 :•' Pi.-.? :; 2 *:n:iiar *jir;t of ir-surrti.-
tkc ri u.£*L5tr.^-^:.- ;:'l7CiLiir\ f r:<!aira!;ocs; but |)rai««bc«ft
10 ihe iu; liLgeri^g »^rk or" ez-od «<rs£ :a the majoriiv of the Parisiac

REPUBLICAN MANNERS.

5«9

working classes I — he is of^en repulsed by them as a pest to society.
He lives but in the bloody recollections of the past. He wears the
yi/W <i la Rohespierre as a sign of his sympathy for that great and glo-
rious man, and of hiti attachment for the great and glorious opinions
he advocated, and he tlings back tlie broad lappcls upon his coat to
fiare abroad his principles wiih as much outward evidence us possible.
French actors were always famous for getting up their parts with the
nicest attention to costume: these actors of a dangerous drama are
determined to dress ttie part to the life, after the best approved old
model. On the stage oX the revolution their company is compara-
tively small at present ; or it is to be hoped so; although they chose
to enumerate upon their bills of the play all the working classes
among their '' guards and attciulants;" but^ probably, this may prove
only a deJudetl, but not delusive, puff- They themselves^ however,
have their parts as premiers roies to play ; and they will probably play
them out, sooner or later. For a moment, these good gentlemen, who
hold much to outward appearances as rallying signs of their party,
thought thai thetr course had wonderfully gained in strength, because
the government, led astray by an Ut-omuned influence in its own
body, decreed that the representatives of the people should wear,
in their Assembly, the costume of the old heroes of the Convention.
What bloody-minded patriotic bosoms might not have beaten under
the t/i/€t d la Roitespiene ! Unfortunately, for their glory, the re-
presentatives of the people had more good sense than the govern-
ment: they refused to wear the hateful costume of evil memory.
But is not that sufficient for them all to be denounced m fraitrts d l^
palrie / The men, who would refuse to wear the glorious waistcoat
of such a man, could be nothing else then traitors. The yiUt H la
HobespUrre, the red cravat^ the Phrygian cap, and all the other em-
blematic trumpery of a past time — the ferocious air and the agitation
of the street corner— the angry declanmtion in the crowd, and the
would-be Roman air — may all enter into the second category of
modern republican manners, Farts as yet rejects them from its
first: and in general they are looked upon with scorn or fear, accord-
ing to the characters of xnen — even although a pair of the ultra-
party members in the late government itself may surmount their
names upon their visiting cards with caps of liberty, and banners, and
joined hands, and rays oi" glory, emblematical of Liberty, Equality,
and Fraternity, and the Republic, one and indivisible — and another
roay institute a /I'te^ teeming with the theatrical Grecian trumpery
of the old ceremonies of the old republic.

In the changes that Parisian manners have undergone, under a
republican form, there remains the third category — that of those
amusing genihmen, who seem to think it *• fine fun " to play at re-
publicanism, as anew fashion, and who get up republican affectations,
as they would get up a lisp, if lisping were the mode. In the first
days of the revolution many were influenced by the more cogent
reason of tear: they dreaded an imaginary ferocious mob, that was
to be appeased by demonstrations; and provincials, probably, still
come to Paris filled with similar fancies. Rut your affected repub-
lican knows that, in the present state of things, such fears are need-
le£8; and he only aH'ccts '^ fur tlie nonce." The trite and vulgar
comparison oi' frying-pan would ill convey the idea of the wonderful

650

RBPUBUCAK BTANNKBa

tricolor cockade he sticks ui>on his hat or on his bosom : be wears ■
tricolor nosegay in liU button hole : he wreathes a tricolor
round bis cane : he wears a tricolor brcost-pin upon a
cravat. He aometlraes sticks a short pipe in liis mouth, to have aa
air ausfi him cnnaiiie que poati^'U. He sa^s tu anU toi to all bii ac-
ijuaiDtance$, in order to do the thing fomm€ iiJatU^ in a republicaa
sense. He glories in the name of " workman," and, urn h« caOBOC
lake the aristocratic title of the day from any personal or anceatnl
precedent, he calls himself outrier de Viiit^ui*rncir^ although be mt^
probably have never written a line in bis life, and the secoad part of
the title may, like many other ei^fernnt ones in France, be, at aQ
events, very questionable. He has had some thoughts of standing
for representative of the people in the National ABsembly; perbut
he has even gone to the expense of printing a list of popular candi*
dutes, to be dislributedt in which his own name was adroitly niched in
between two heroes of the day, with hope that, amongst the rest, he
might slip in by mistake. A representative of the people wouM
have been a chonning part to play: and besides, with iive-aiNl-twefTtj
francs a day, as wages from his country, he might or mij^bt not hit*
paid his debts. In several of the voting sections of Paris, there were
countless quantities of candidutcs, who hud one vote a piece (an his-
torical fact!) probably the-ie republicans, in sport, each voted for
himself' As, in spite of his nianicuvres, his chance of election bu
been so small, his next afifectation will prol)ubIy be, to declaim is
violent opposition to the Assembly. He may /Mjrrr agvin
this fashion : and it is a part to play at all evenlp. Meanwhile,
goes on wearing his Phrygian cap at home, ** bethou-ing" his acq
ances, and swearing "by the soul of Danton."

In the same class at these good gentlemen, and perfectJy on t
level, may be reckoned the little children in the Tuileries
who cease not to play "at revolution" in the alleys, Houris
drums and trumpets, and make barricades of the chairs, or the
^amint, on the Boulevards, who wait in sw-arms at the theatre
in the hopes oi begging a cheque from those who came nut, and
formerly, under a monarchic ny/imt^t interlarded their entreaties witfc
the cajoling appellations, tnon baron J mon marquis! mrrH prine*^
mon amhoModeur ! and now think to do so much honour by ecrean-
ing mon citoven ! mon aimarade /

Parisian manners have, then, undergone a change, and, tafcca
several good long steps in the way of republicanism. Will they stop
short now ? or will the ** out-and-outers" ever gain the upper ha
and, in their principles of destruction, sweep away all the past,
to reconstruct in manner, emblem, and costume ? That is for ti:
to shew. At all events, the Flaneur will have no desire then to ti
fresh sketches of an order of things, which has already Blled man;
sad and serious page in history, and which will need a more vigorow
pen than his to record.

stop

551

ROBERT EMMETT AND ARTHUR AYLMER;
OR, DUBLIN IN 1803.

BY W. a. MAXWBLL,
AUTBOB OF "STOBIBS OP WATBBLOo/' &C.

1 HE 23rcJ of June, 1S03, formed a Dlemorabl(^ epoch in the history
of the Irish metropolis. Apprized that an explo&ion might be ex-
pected, the authorities took no measures to counteract the popular
disturbance. Neither the police force was increased, nor did the
military receive any addition ; the usual number of constublos occu-
pied the watch-houses, and the same weak pickets patrolled the
streets. Strange as it may appear, from the suddenness of the
imeute and the supinenesH of the executive, the seat of government
might have readily fallen into the hands of the conspirators; and
little doubt exists, tliat, Irnd the wild and visionary leader of the in-
surrection led his tumultuary followers at once to attack the castle*
the attempt would have proved successful. But evanescent as the
blaze of stubble, the flame of rebellion sparkled, scintillated, and ex-
pired. No during act of reckless gallantry flung the mantle of
Quixotic chivalry over the hopeless attempt, and within half an hour
from its commencement, the story of the mad essay was closed. It«
duration was marked only by the murder of unoft'ending individuals,
its suppression achieved by a subaltern's picket, and a few loyalists
and watchmen.

It was afterwards remembered and remarked, that, from an early
hour in tlie afternoon, the bridges over the canal which connect the
adjoining'county with the capital, had been crossed by an uuusuul
number of the Wicklow peasantry, dressed in the grey frieze coats
which distinguished them from other passengers. As evening ap-
proached, groups of these men were seen lounging in the lanes and
alleys of the Liberty; and when dusk came, under the direction of
two or three individuals, they closed up to the immediate vicinity of
the rebel depot. Suddenly the doors of the malt-house were flung
open, mu8(]ucts, blunderbusses, and pikes, were indiscriminately
handed out, mid every man seized whatever weapon accident pre-
sented, without any consideration as to whether he could use it
effectively or not.

Dressed in the uniform he had selected, green with yellow facings,
the wild enthusiast joined the rabble he had armed, and issuing from
the lane, they entered the chief thoroughfare through the Liberty,
called Thomas Street. Emmett must have been actually mad, for
without any defined plan of action, settled purpose, or ulterior ob-
ject, he rushed with ids banditti on the tuwn. Their proceedings
appeared rather to resemble the muck of a Malay, than the opera-
tions oi' a regulated conspiracy. The tirst victim they encountered
was Colonel Brown of the 21st Fusileers, and without a cause or
even a question, they pulled him from the saddle, and piked him to
death. Would that their atrocities had ended with a solitary mur-
der' A travelling carriage was met, stopped, and its occupants

552

ROBERT EMMETT AND AUTHUR AYLMER;

dragged out. One passenger, a young lady, was permitted to e
without injury or insult; but the mildest judge who ever tried'
criminal w&si mortally wounded by these savages ; and his oepher
an estimable clergyman, murdered on the spot.

He, the wretched cauM of ftll, smw too late
The niin thai hii raahneu wrought,"

and found that to evoke a lawless mob was easy, as to repress t
ferocity was impracticable. In vain he appealed to his ruffian fol
lowers, in their tumultuary roar of savage exultation, his re
stranccs were drowned, bis voice unheard. He witnessed the whii
haired veteran, the merciful dispenser of the law, the blaraei
minister of religion, all ruthlessly done to death. Half fainting
the horror of the scene, he staggered against the shutters of a s.
window, when, like the pressure of a smith's vice, an arm grasped
own, and tbe well-known voice of Aylmer fiercely exclaimed, "
lain t have you banded me with murderers?" Conscience ma
cowards of us all, and so do circumstances occasionally. The cl
of Emmeu's wild career, his prison hours, his bearing when on tr
and the last sad scene of all, evinced a Roman fortitude. But n
horror-stricken at barbarities he could not restrain, while the fea
consequences of his mad attempt burst upon him in their terri
reality, these annihilated the self-possession of o man who, with
devotion of a Dccius united a gentleness of disposition that r
from the elTusion of one drop of blood, and, totally unmanned, the
thusiast muttered in a broken voice, " Ah, Aylnier, (hat, the
kindest cut of all, was not wanted. I am wretched, desperate,
graded, but still no murderer in intention. Arthur, I am no villain

Rapid as lightning glances across the sky, the true state of m
of his weak and misguided friend flashed upon his warm-hea
countryman, and a kindly pressure of the hand, and a voice that
lost it? recent bitterness replied, " No, no, forgive me, EmmetL
You know that my temper has never known control. And — curee*
on the ruffians I that old man's butchery would — but see here, too,*
— and as he spoke, a girl rushed wildly towards him. At a glance.
dress, look, and manner, all proclaimed her to be a gentlewoman.
It was the niece of the murdered judge, tbc sister of the butchered
clergyman. As she hurrifd wildly past, a ruffian more brutal
his fellows, and half intoxicated, caught hold of her light dress.
scream was answered by an imprecation, when Aylmer sprang
ward, struck the fellow to the ground, and while the mob made a
forward uiovenienl in one direction, the fair captive escaped in the
opposite* one. Heedless of an attempt made by the prostrate culprit
to dischiirge a pistol at the lady's deliverer, Aylmer wrenched the
weapon from his hand, tore uway the frieze great coat which wns
hanging loosely across his arm, and flung it to his friend. " There|ta
he said, in a low voice, " Conceal that gaudy dress^ and let us hur^J
from this scene of butchery."

** How can I leave these wretched people, brutal as they liave
proved themselves?" returned the unhappy man, who felt that he
had been the means of pro<lucing this sanguinary fmrute.

** If you do not leave them, they will soon lewve you,** was the
sarcastic reply. " The first flint snapped by loyalist' or Boldier ii

in.

htH

aier hl

OR, DUBLIN IN 1803.' 5i58

their front, will be tlic signal for a general dispersion. Rest assured
that villains who slaughter unresisting victims^ will never stay to
louk a bruve man in the face. Come, let us liurry off"

" And whiihcT ? Where can we head to?"

" My purpose leads to Wicklow," returned Aylmer ; "and in the
mountains you may find temporary shelter, and possibly escape from
the kingdom, when the vengeance of the executive shall be gorged."

Emmett, whose self-control seemed altogether fled, mechanically
obeyed his bolder comrade, and flung- the grey cota-more over hia
showy uniform ; but, ere he had made a second step in the direction
that Aylmer pointed, a voice was heard in front of the mob to holloa
"Stand!" Haifa dozen spattering shota instantly folluwed the
summons, and the effect upon the rabble was precinely what bad been
anticipated by his adviser; for, in headlong flightj stragglers from
the main body hurried rapidly to the rear.

As it appeared afterwards, this check to the insurgents was but a
momentary one. A police magiittrate, hearing loose reports of a
popular disturbance, hurried to the scene of riot, and with ten ur
twelve assistants only, and these indiflerently armed. Finding himself
placed unexpectedly in the presence of a formidable band, he boldly
became assailant ; and, before the mob had recovered frum the sur-
prise a sudden attack produces, the stout functionary and his myrmi-
dons effected an able and a safe retreat. The boldest ruffians, as
might be supposed, were now in front; and, encouraged by the
numerical weakness of their opponents, pressed forward themselves,
and called upon their panic-stricken comrades to ''Come on I" Some
obeyed the call, but others were already beyond the range of hear-
ing. For a few minutes more the flame of rebellion might be said to
scintillate, but another and more sanguinary collision followed, and
the insurrection ended, as it commenced — in blood.

Although more than three years had elapsed since the suppression
of the rebellion of '9B, the Irish capital presented appearances of a
military occupation. Pickets at stated hours patrolled the streets.
an<l detached parties of regular infantry in different quarters had
guard-houses, either intended to connect their barracks, or, in the
remoter districts of the metropolis, keep surveiilunce over those who
were still considered as being disaffected to the government. On the
evening of the 23rd oi' June, a picket of the Welsh Fusileers were
going their customary rounds, when, attracted by the firing in Tho-
mas-street, the otHcer in command hurried to the spot, and, on de-
bouching from Mass-lane, encountered the insurgents. A bold ruffian,
who appears to have assumed the command, called in a loud voice,
" Muslteteers, to the front I "

^ Dui none did come, though be did call for diem,'*

while the officer commanding the picket, like a stout soldier, and one
who "understood his trade,"* instantly commenced street-firin^.t
The rapid and sustained fire of the soldiery was answered by half-

• A favourite and expreMtre phrase of Napoleom

t Street-firing: ia practised by troops in iimiiU numbers, who ran nnly show a
narrow front. When tlie Hr»t U\va firt?, ihey wheel round the flanks of the party,
re-loading as they retire. Tbu succeeding files alio fire and fall back, and before
the leading files have discharged their muskets, the rear-most have reloaded.
Hence, the fusilade is never abated.

VOL. XXIII. ^T

554

ROBKRT E3nCFIT AKD ABTBClt ATUOCK

«-4loxeQ stngglhig sbctey when the mob brake UitiD j, and <a««r
pnd became tbe order of the erentxi^

ly cAit, flinging their veepooa
* htt cmnpeiAop^e speed* wokb

As the rabbU ruibed tumuUiKMiAl
away, and each nnn adding tnror to

aa unexpected volley ftofn a dozen yeoMen aad lovaliau tb^ fl»-
couritered at a comer had fearfully augmeiited, Aylmer whiaMni
to his friend,

•* Said I not truly, Kmmett f"

No answer waa returned ; but a bitter graan, that benxike
prostrated and air-built ca»Uef levelled to ihe earth, told what
ioly reelings of the miserable and raiKeuided eotbusia&t were.

They reached the canal-bridgc unchallenged by any of tbe
and found there six or eight of the belter order of small
who had ridden that evening to the acene of action ; but, wi^e
their generation, they had left their hotfaea out»ide the coreivm of
pickets, and in charge of two or three peasants. Fortunately
rebel leader and his companion, a couple of unclaimed
herded with the others, their proprietors having been so much
fused with Brings fear, and whiskey as to lose iLeiuselves among
narrow streets and blind alleys of the Liberty. No time to raise any
question touching right of property remained. The h^at-lO'
was heard, repeated, and re-repeated ; the trumpet " turn-out"
sharply on the ear through the calm of summer evening ; and A]
mer and tbe leader of the mad cmeute mounted the spare horsev,
rode rapidly off in the direction of the Wicklow mountains, the wl
party not exceeding a dozen men

Where were the masses of disaffected men who had risen, or w
expected to rise, when the tocsin of freedom sounded ? — where w<
they? Well might echo answer, '* fVheref

Never did a party, who had determined to annihilate a settM
government and " reform the state," exhibit a more crest-fallen
pearance than poor Kmmett and his rabble escort, as they spai
towards the Wicklow hills by the roost unfrequented roads,
speed was that of heartless fugitives ; but, as if to odd burlesque
misfortune, the leader of ''a broken host" was still addresaed
*' general ;" and now and again, when the coarse frieze eola-snore
blown aside, the flaunting uniform underneath presented tta rii
culous contrast.

It was extraordinary how long after the suppression of the rel
lion of 'OR the embers of disaffection smouldered in the mount
ranges of Wicklow. Within a dozen miles of the metropolis bai
outlaws found a shelter, and with impunity plundered the low oooiH
try, and levied, like the Highland caterans of old, a black mail fron
the farmers who were located in this dangerous vicinity. In vala
had the Irish executive fulminated proclamations, and offered lar^^
rewards for the persons of these brigands, dead or alive. But, wflB
extraordinary fidelity, the mountaineers resisted monetary tcmpta*
tioii ; and in every case the outlawed chiefs who fell within tha_
grasp of justice could refer their captivity to accident alone, or
own want of common prudence.

It was pa«t midnight when the fugitives reached a lonely
house in one of the wildest of the mountain glens. Hours before
arrival of the party, the family had retired to rest; and, when awsk-
oned by the trampling of horses* feet, they felt no alarm, considering

in the

re m^

OR, DirnuN rN 1S03.

5fi5

it a thing of no unusual occurrence, namely, a night-visit from roy-
alist dragoons in search of some of the proscribed. At the first knock
the family were instantly in motion, the tloor was opened, the em-
bers, smouldering on the hearth, were henped with fresh fuel, nume-
rous rushes were lighted, and preparations promptly made to offer
to the wayfarers any refreshment that the house contained. The
latter, indeed, was coneiilered a matter-of-course afinir ; for, Tyrian
or Trojan who sought the glen, claimed huspitality alike, and the
trooper's bcarlet niul outlaw's necessity rendered the demand equally
imperious. Of the twain, the trooper was the more unproAtahle
customer. Were the horseman in good temper, and the peasant-
^rl pretty, a kiss might t)e given in full acquittance of all demands
in law or equity, and "he laughed, and he rode away ;*' while the
outlaw, if he did not pay in meal would pay in malt, as the old saw
goes. If this night a desperate onslaught was made upon the herds-
man's flitch by half-a-dozen half-starved freebooters, on the next, a
fat we<ider was left in the barn, with directions to whip the skin off
with the least possible delay ; and many a tenant, when driven for
rent, obtaine<l the money which released his impounded cattle from
the pocket of &omc generous outlaw. No wonder, then, that the wild
peasantry of the hills, to ttie desperate men who sought slielter there,
bore true allegiance ; and, though every robber-haunt was known to
hundreds, to personal punishment or rich reward the mountaineers
proved equally impassive.

Had the belated visitors proved royalists, the same alacrity to
meet their wants would have been exhibited. The broadsword, the
shoulder-belt, and the rope, — and in those days all were freely used
in cases of contumacy j-^stimulate men's exertions marvellously; but
when, in half the party, old acquaintances were recognised, right
cheerfully the whole family applied themselves to prepare a sub-
stantial supper. Emmett, Aylmer, and a few others were conducted
to an inner room, the others remaining in the kitchen ; and while
the good-wife and her daughters took post beside the frying-pan, on
which many an egg and rasher hissed, the fugitives detailed, in
under tones, the strange and tragic events of that disastrous evening.

Presently, supper was served in the inner apartment, plainly, but
comfortably. Nothing sharpens the appetite m<»re keenly than a
night-ride in the moimtains ; and, indeed, it would be hard to say
whether the rebel chief or the deserted lover did ampler juittice to
the refreshments placed in rude abundance before them. Emmett,
fevered throughout the day, as hope and apprehension obtained the
mastery by turns, had felt ill-inclined to eat; and, when the coarse
table in the rebel arsenal was roughly spread, would the rccolleclion
that, at that moment, the bridal dtjcuncr of the false fair one was
crowded by the t*/i/e of fashion, and she, *' the cynosure of wonder-
ing eyes," in all the brilliancy of beauty, enhanced the banquet's
revelry with wreathed smiles; would these, recalled to memory,
provoke poor Aylmcr's appetite? Both freely drank their wine ;
out desperate excitement and blighted love alike set the grape's
boasted influence at defiance.

When the meal endetl, an earthen grey-beard, filled with illicit
whiskey, was placed upon the table ; and, after a portion of its con-
tents had been poured into u smaller vessel, it was removed to the
kitchen to refresh the subordinate insurgents. In a few minutes

1 t 2

556

ROBERT EMMETT AND ARTHUR ATLMER;

af^erwartle, those who had supped with their leader and his friend]
rose, quitted the apartmentj and lell them tele-d-iSle,

thi

ightr" said A>'1i

ith» or

:wo

or^H
h«fl

mifl

rorM
theV

,ow goes tne nigni r saiu Ajinier ; " u is now two mon
so since I have been delivered iVom the encumbrance of a watch.
I wonder who the devil calU himself at present master of mine ^
Mine? — no, 'twas fairly purchased; and, faith, it cost me a pang or
two to part with it : for when my poor mother's initials on the case
met my eye, I was half-prompted to snatch it from the counter. But
. — I had not dined for a couple of days ; — damnation !"

He sprang from the beechen chair, and made a stride or two
across the chamber ; then, as if a moment were sufficient to resto
that awful composure which despair so frequently possesses,
resumed his seat, and, in a low calm voice, continued.

*' Two o'clock— ha ! morning is well advanced, and I have somi
fifteen miles to travel. Fare thee well, my dear Emmett — belter fo
tune attend thee! Should a chance present itself, hasten from
hands of the Philistines, and rest assured that none will more gladly
receive the tidings of your escape than 1."

**Of that no hope remains," returned the poor enthusiast with a
sigh ; ** my history will soon be closed. Well — death ia a penaJtj^
entailed upon existence; and, in the poet's words*
< I get my life upon a cast,
And I will stand the hazard of tlie die/

But yon, Aylmer, nil favours your escape; your knowledge of thi
mountains, your family influence, your — "

"Stop! — I will anticipate the rest; the uncle's loyalty would be;
forsooth, a set-off against the nephew's treason!" exclaimed the
young man, passionately. " You misunderstand me altogether, Em-
mett ; think nut that, for a moment, I fancied your hair-brained
prefect could succeed. Bah ! the thought would have been close
akin to madness. Why, compared with yours, Jack Cade's was a
promising attempt. No! — even my private feelings politically tend-
ed in an opposite direction. I am a rebel — a rebel from revenge;
and yet the blood that courses through my veins is orange to the
drop."

" Then, under what strange and conflicting impulse did you act ? **
inquired the enthusiastic leader of the wild ^mettle ; "why join a
cause alien to your own principles }"

" I '11 answer you, in our national mode, by interrogatories," said
Aylmer, coolly. " By what right did that capricious old man invei
mc with imaginary wealth, and place me in high position, and the
when fancy changed, shatter the clay-construcled puppet into p<
sherds .> What was the head and front of my offending? — I recciv
an indignity, and resented it. Could I have brooked oflenc«, and
mingled in society with gentlemen — Irish gentlemen? 'T was but
a flimsy pretext — a mere apology to cast me ofl*. Before my uncle
had reached my years, he had been twice upon the ground himself;
ay, and in both cases he was the challenger. 'Twas dotard love
that wrought my ruin ; an artful girl played her game too well, and
the old man fancied that sixteen could love sixty. 1 was in the way;
a scapegoat was wanting for a hymeneal sacriflce— I wai rendered
the altar, and youthful beauty swore fealty to old age. Ilcaver
could the driveller but know that she. the idol o^ his love, six mon

OR, DCTBLIN IN 1803.

567

before she placed her hand in his, had hung upon the bosom of the
diacjirded nephew, confessed the secret of her heart, and — But,
hold ! wliat followed must never pass these lips. Enough — ven-
geance before now has been exacted before the injury was inflicted."

Again he leaped from the chair, and strode through the apart-
ment. Emmett for a minute remained still ; but Aylmer, by a sud-
den mastery of himself, conirolled his feelings, replenished a full
tumbler, drank the tUluted alcohol, and then calmly continued, —

" Emmett, the parting hour is come."

" But what is your purpose ? What will you do ?" inquired the
rebel chief.

" Change the house of feasting into one of sorrow. This evening
the heir of Castle Aylmer receives the rite of baptism. Half-a-dozen
of the peerage will grace the ceremony ; and could I, a loving
cousin, at this high festival absent myself?"

" And do you thus coolly rush, into danger, and seek a halter?**
asked his wondering companion.

" ISo — no," was the calm replvj *' Jack Hangman will never assist
at my toilet, nor hemp enclose this throat"

"Then you will ape the Roman, — and suicide — " Emmett
paused.

" Pish 1 1 scorn the thought. Oh, no ; I am a fatalist ; and at
three periods of life— at seven, fourteen, and twenty-one — my
destiny was foretold. Lead — lead — lead! I hoped the bullet would
have reached its mark last evening ; but we must wait the fatal time.
What ho ! without there ! Come, honest host, my horse,"

"So late, sir? Nay, rest a bit. After this uproar in the city —
which I have heard of but now — idle people will be a-foot," said the
landlord, with kindly courtesy.

" No fear for me," said Aylmer, with a bitter smile; "a line of
honest Juvenal ensures my safely, —

' Contabit vacuus coram latroue viaior.'

There is sound Latin for you, — ay, and sound sense."

The host departed,

" Aylmer, are you acting wisely ?"

" Did you ever hear of anybody since the days of Solomon who
did so?" and he laughed; but that laugh was one of bitter import.
"Farewell !"

The word struck ominously on the ear to which it was addressed.

** Farewell !" returned the young enthusiast. " Shall we not meet
again ?"

" Never — in this world !" and e*ch word was deliberately pro-
nounced.

" Your horse is ready." said the kndlord.

Both hands were again interchanged by the fugitives, and in an-
other minute hoof-tramps were heard without, until a bending in the
road shut out the souncis of the receding traveller.

With Aylmer, and not with Emmett, our story lies ; and a brief
paragraph will tell the tatter's history.

For a few days he remained under safe keeping in the Wicklow
hills ; but, wearied of restraint, he returned to the outskirts of the
metropolis. Sirr, a man of infamous celebrity — the Vidocq of the
Irish executive, discovered his retreat^ and found it fit time to take

558

ROBERT EMMETT AND ARTTIUR AYLMER.

him. Unlike the lion-like spirit of Lord Edward FKicgeralil. Em-
roett's was a dreamy ^nd romantic courage, which un6tted him for
fierce aggression. He made a bootless effort at escape ; was easily-
captumf; and leil, in quick succession, to Newgate, (be coart
justice, and the scaffold.

If ever man was monomaniac, that man was Robert Emmett.

Before Aylmer had ridden balf-»Klozen miles rooming began to
break, and hills and valleys, with which from boyhood he hatl been*;
familiar, in the grey base of dawning day gradually became visible.
Every feature in the opening landscape brought with it a painfal re-j
collection. On that moor he had shot grouse, and in yon lough had]
often filled his fishing.basket. Then manhood'ft cares had not a&sai1<
ed him. He was springing into life, with all the personal and ace
dental advantages which are supposed the stepping-stones to hami
happiness. He topped a rising ground, and an expansive surface
champaign country lay beneath. He started at the view. The widi
domain, — the towering chimneys of a mansion, peeping over w<
the growth of centuries, — younger plantations extending far as (hi
eye could range, — rich meadows interspersing corn-lands; all thi
but one year since, he believed to be his own inheritance. Whal
was he now? Ruined, in the very opening of manhooil,— a skulk-
ing fugitive at this moment, — and, by noon, a proclaimed traitor;
not one solitary shilling in his purse, and the ownership of the bont
he rode unknown !

** Is this a dream, or is it sad reality?" he muttered as he sprang
from the saddle, and threw himself upon a rustic bench ; hours
passed in reckless dreaminess. Gradually the household bustle in-
creased ; window-blinds were withdrawn ; and servanta passed and
repassed the casements of the castle. With every apartment he wti
fiimiliar ; that, had been his play-room when a boy, — this, his cham-
ber when a man. The breakfast-bell sounded. How of^ii had be
answered to that well-remembered summons. Another hour wore on.
The hall-door opened; a nnrse-maid and an infant came out from
beneath the vestibule; a lady followed, and, next moment, the tall,
spare figure of his uncle caught his view. He saw the old man foni
the baby-heir, and tap his young wife's cheek most playfully. Ayl
mer's brow darkened ; his lips were colourlessj but his eyes flj
fire. He turne<l from a sight that was blasting. Again he invuli
tarilv looked. Tlie nurse and child were pacing the sweep bef(
the house, while the proud father was toying with his lady's hi
locks, and evincing all that ardour of anVction, which, scarce ei-
cuHabk' in youthful love, in chilly age becomes disgusting.

''By heaven! I shall go mad," exclaimed the disinherited one.

*' Oh ! could I not dash thy raptures, old drivelling dotard ! — Hm,

hold! who comes spurring at Hery speed .^ A dragoon. He pri9
sents a letter. The old man starts back a pace, and my gentle aut^l
aasumca the attitude of astonishment. 'Tis intelligence of last
night's ^mcute, and probably announces, head of the Ayinierfi I
he whom you once regarded with so much pride is now % ft
tive, an outcast, and a traitor!"

As Aylmer spoke, his uncle signed to the horseman to re|>aii
the stables, and, in evident confusion, hurried into the house, folh
©d by his youthful dame.

last

559

MEMOIRS AND ANECDOTES OF THE EIGHTEENTH
CENTURY. •

To those who rule themselves on the Epicurean principle of ^'A/*
ier us, the Deluge !" it is of small consequence whether or not some
Gold Key or Oold Stick, some Lord President, or honourable Clerk of
the Privy Council betaking notes of our own time for the edification
of Cowers, and Percys, and Howards still unborn. It may possibly
be merely a touch of the bilious humour of the quadruped who de-
clared that the *' grapes were sour," which induces our fancy that
the present days are less favourable to this species of composition
than those when a Suffolk was succeeded by a Walmodcn, or when
a Walpole had an Ossory to write to. Such, however, is in some
measure our creed. Public affairs, we firmly believe, are managed
with more integrity and openness than formerly : private scandal nas
grown a vulgar thing, been brought into discredit by the , and

the , and the , also by the floggings and the legal proceed-

ings which have wasted to nought the sarca&m of their editors. Mr.
Rowland Hill has bidden the letter shrink into the note. The Railway
King and " his faction *' have destroyed the remoteness and provin-
cial air of the country-house. The electrical telegraph shoots news
"as rapid as an echo," from court to court, till political intelligence
is diffused throughout Europe sympathetically, as if a Michael Scott
ordained it.

" when in Salamanca's cave,**

Him iJKted his msfrio wund to wave.

The hell* would ring iu Notre Dome.

AU these characteristics and inventions are so many possible
dissuasions to the writer of memoirs. Matter can never be want-
ing* but it may be otherwise discussed and disposed of than in
"sealed boxes" which are not to be opened for a century. At
least such flattering unction " that their children will fare worse
than themselves" may be laid to their souls, by those whose curi-
osity with regard to their contemporaries must needs die unsiUi?fled.
It has also the valuable effect of heightening the zest with which
we fall upon records of the past century, over which the two works
here coupled range widely.

Yet never did books less deserve to be classed among the library
of dead letters than these meditations of Hervey (not among the
tombs, but in drawing-rooms and royal closets) than these epistles
of Horace addressed to no l.trliug, (still less to a Ltrlia ; '• the Chud-
leigh," his favourite antipathy, monopolizing that name,) but to the
graceful, fashionable, kindly Anna, Countess of Ossory. The coin-
cidences they illustrate between the last century and this, are many
and curious; the vivacity of their writers is a spirit, the aroma of
which no bottling up " in an ancient bin " can transmute into dul-
nesB. Progressives and Retrospectives (to use the class jargon of the
day) must alike rejoice in the disinterment of chronicles so full of

* Aleaii>irs of the Keif^ of Oiwrge the Second, from his Acocuion to the Deutb
of Queen Caruline. By John Lord Hervey. Kdited, from tlit' uritfinal rnniiu*
script 8t Ickworth, hy'the Ki^ht liou. John WUwn Croker, LL.P., F.R.S. 2
vols. Murray.

lictter* nililresbed to tliv Counten of OtMiry, from the year I7'W lo I7l>7. By
Jlomve M'alpole, Lord Oiford. Now printrtl fmin oripnal I\ISS. Kditcd.witn
Notes, hy the Ui^ht tiuu. K. Veriiuu biaith, M.P. 2 vols. Beulley.

560

MEMOIRS AND ANECDOTES OF

persons and portraits, — of warnings and corroborations. They alsu
possess H Kpecial charm for the literary student and artificer^ to linger
on which for a moment is not superfluous.

It is impossible to read these Afemoirs and Letters, without feeling
the charm of their style, by contrast. '* The genteel " in writing has
of late been too largely laughed at ; '* the unwashed " (to avail our-
selves of Voltaire's " lUrttf linen " simile applied by him to the king of
Prussia's MSS.) has been too blindly mistaken for sense, nature, and
manhood in authorship. The coarse words and indelicate anecdote*
which speck the pages of the dainty Lord Hervey and ^more sparing-
ly) the letters of the still finer Wit of Strawberry Hill, must not be
cited in contradiction of our assertion. Thev belonged to a period
when chaste and virtuous ladies (as Sir Waiter Scott has recorded)
could sit with pleasure to hear the shameless novels of Aphra Behu
read aloud to a society less nice in its reserves and concealments than
ours. These admissions and commissions have nothing to do with
the old art of writing. We should be the last of critics to defend
them. Too thankfully would we see this revived. The dislocated,
ill-balanced, fragmentary fashion of talk^ which Sir Bulwer Lytton
has so pungently satirized in his " England and the English " has
been too largely allowed '' to obtain " among our fashionable authors ;
nor only among those who aspire to ephemeral success^ but al:»o among
those who think, teach, legislate. Are we not justified, indeed, in re-
commending Lord Ilervey's elegance and purity of English when
we find accomplished historians and profound philosophers unable
to content themselves, save they can give their chronicles and reason-
ings the dye of translations, — compounding strange words after tha
fashion of one foreign humourist, mystifying simple thoughts accor^f
ing to the cloudy canons of another? In such a time of cosroopolit^l
licence, mistake, carelessness, or affectation, the easy, polished, epi-
grammatic English of these Gentlemen of the last century becomes
doubly welcome. They knew how to drive their meaning h<>n>e
withoutneedlesscircuits:— how to report a good story without being
thrown into spasms of diversion at their own drollery. Above all.
they knew rvlien to ilop. They impress by the charm of being read*
able : a charm, sad to s^y, increasingly rare of occurrence in contem-
porary literature, and for which we at least shall never cease to sigh,
till we fall irretrievably and for ever, under the republican reign of
Bad Grammar !

Nor had the Ilerveys and the Walpoles the monopolar. A like
virtue pervades the bellet leitres of the earlier part of the century.
Pope's prose periods were not like his willows, dishevelled and hang-
ing down " something poetical." Lady Mary Wortley's letters aMta
charming in the ease and brilliancy of their manner. The sophistic^f
tions of Chesterfield were more naturally delivered than we dare d^
liver our truths now-n-days. Lady Hervey's communications to Atr.
Morris have the "grace of propriety" which, as Horace Walpole as-
sures us, never forsook the writer to her dying day. Selwyn, though
one might have thought he had left himself no spirits, shows in his
correspondence the same gentlemanly vivacity and explicitness ai
pointed his bon mots. Nay, to take an extreme and neglected in*
stance, let us turn to the correspondence of two ladies of quality,
one common-place, the other pedantic, — we mean the letters of the
Ladies Hertford and Ponifrel, including the Italian tour of the latter,
-^and we shall find them better written than many a subsequent book

THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.

561

of travels by a professed Uttcrateur. In fact, the good English of thia
quality was the rule, not the exception, until Johnson changed the
fashion of style. But we must not be seduced into a lecture on taste
when our design was merely to illustrate a coincidence between the
two writers before us ; — and to prove that the family resemblance,
which is so remarkable in these memoirs and letters, may be ascrib-
able, not to blood relationship on the part of their authors (as gossips
have asserted, with what autnority it were fruitless here to enquire,)
so much BB to the general influences of their times.

Opening Lord Hervey'a Iwok, we can merely touch upon one or
two points calculated to interest the general reader, apart from the
political gossip which they contain. The name of Mr. Croker. as
editor of the Ickworth manuscriptj is a guarantee for care and dili-
gence, if not for that absence of prejudice which is, also, so desirable
a quality in all cases of literary superintendence. But the Memoirs,
by what is omitted, as well as by what is given, speak for them-
selves. They are *' full as an egg" of character. The King, himself,
pining for Hanoverian p1ea<fure8, till one wonders how he would
condescend to rule " the adjacent islands of Great Hritain and Ire-
land " (as the simple parson of the Hebrides was used to call them),
— the Quecn, who checked Lady Suffolk, her husband's mistress, and
was checked by Lady Sundon, — who governed the King, and was
governed by the King's eros homme, his coarse man of business, tlie
redoubtable Sir Robert Walpole, — the Prince of Wales, with hia
headstrong and heinous impertinences (all traces of his personal
quarrel with Lord Hervcy having been carefully removed from the
manuscript, — if, indeed, they were ever allowed a record there,) are
all living and breatljiug ]]ortraits. Then, the Excise riots, the West-
minster and Edinburgh mobs, and the long and elaborate tissue of
home and foreign, parliamentary and household intrigues are de-
scribed witli all the vivacity and minuteness of personal experience,
if not with all the judicial calmness and reserve of truth. Not merely
historical research proves, but instinct also secures to them, a larger
share of cretlibility than belongs to the efforts of many a more
pompous historian. And, though it may be all very well for the
scholar in the closet to talk of personal influences warping the sym-
pathies and powers of observation ; and, though the politics and
philosophy which are studied by state adherents,
*■' Upslains down sMin,

And in my lady** chamber,*'

are open to — nay, demand — the minutest scrutiny ere they are to
be admitted among a country's valuable muniments and records:
they have still one advantage, that of opportunity enjoyed by their
writers, which the falsehood of Belial's self, did he hold the pen,
could not utterly neutralize, nor the most active spirit of Revenge,
did it point the attack, render valueless.

If, [(gain, we give ourselves up to these Memoirs, as a mere book
to read, without demanding that the writer shall have " kissed the
Book '* betwixt chapter and chapter, where shall we find novel so full
of character, or serious comedy richer in situation, or picture more
complete in colour and more exquisite in finish? Perhaps the world
has never been favoured with a drearier picture of court life than
the one with which Lord Hervey presents us. The "Maintenon
Letters" sufficiently showed us what lay beneath llie "glitter of the
gold " of Versailles, under the empire of him who played the King

ses

MKMOIK8 AND AKCCtMJTTES OP

tfcMi flMHt BMomrebs- The Mmey di&ry, in even the

r jnblieadoB, tokd as cocm^ of the dissial m*

bc« like a spell im the pilace^ moogh of the tcodcncjr !»>

vluch the best mffectkas of natore miist enrounttr

^_ 1 party -spirit cocne between parent and child. Bat,

ito recOTd of Lvd Herrej'f is onpangonnL What a picture do
darivc firooi it of thst^ rtriking and statelj woman, Queen Car«-
of a life of secret misery and outward sbow^-of
to be eotmtcracted by measures no lea
■1 exhibatiaii of Tiolem p»WKm« trancd
snbnissiveBess, which nmld almoot mistake l^f
a rereUtion of a strong will moving
What fsfluly groope are revealed,
without dffy^— of daaghien at wimee, — of a hosbaod, whose
defities the wife Most neeiUeBeflanfe! And consider the frami
of att this ! Tlie agev in seneral^ was one of anxiety, unsettlement,
cxpectatkn. There were plotting Paptsts in corners, who mi ^rht
anv mootent torn an in the heart of London, following a Stuart
his bold way to St. James's. There were the 'prentices of the Ci

Old disrcspectfal ; by no means ^•tiriifd to
of ■wntf Toted to old farourites, or gi-ren secretly
: there were a race of eager, rspa-
■» mmmm. — mPwWs, who cholied CTCTy svenue Co ercfT
paldic efice, and threw an vgly, warping ef»rit of party and a^-
■Mtum into the best^^leTised and OMist liberally-executed measoics^
Yet we see no one, alter reading the records of the time, as written
by half a handred pens, whom *■* a£drs " and casualties most have
gvoBDd with so heavy a weight, as the first Lady in Enghmd !

WiA regard to the cruel hardships of the Court Serritor, we are,
gCBcraDy ^Maki^g, leas <winpssricitiatp. Every nom and then we
eome vpon aome genuine example of love and loyalty. — of impUdt
£uth urging its pmsesiw to implicit duty, which maJcea the bovt
ache when we read of the amount and manner of its repayment;
bat, for the moa* part, we believe, that those who have made anti-
chambcnng the porsnit of their lives, do not suffer from it, that tbey
mmtX have parted from their independence at to early a period as to
adfve giibl|f through aenrioe, unaware of their mutitation. In all
dicar ncHKHn and canfeuBooa will be fourKl a touch of grattilatiaa
and conacwwH importance (even when grievances are in question)
which eattstomind the tooeof the upper servant in Crabbc's iiiiait»-
ble ^DeUy has danger/

-• Qe nv Bf Lari. and Lady Jane vas ikore,
Aw4 m&A to Jefciiawn, *■ JdSuMm take m diair, — '

Trm, w« arv awnMi to a oenatn wajr,

W« ane obeyM la ours, and thry Ui thoin f^.
So^ JaluwM bdw-'d, for that wu right and fit.
And had DO serwple with the Eari to sfi.**

Sw i* cvfji Lord Hervey exempt from this (ihall wc call iti
ae^uiousiies^. all high bred as he is. To be in council with ,
Queen*? i^ricf** (discreditable to womanhood thoogb some of xht
Were), lo liririg her the earliest intelligence, — to manage her by hii
of his own originating, repeated a* the rumours and ophuunsof " 1
town," — to iiutke ctinverMtion for her when she waj duirttU^
fii ' fur her when cuaraer comedy tired. — and all this while

•<^ X'iX ihc " soCt impeachiuent " of liaving kindled a

THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.

teuder passion in the breast of one of the Queen's daughters, her own
namesake, — never seems lu have been felt a» a hardship, or burden,
or waste of life, and power, and intelligence. All this seems to us
a position at best rather pitiful for a man of •* parts," accoraplish-
menis, and high station: tue husband of

^*- Voiiih's youngest daughter, twoet Ijopel,"

and the friend, or the foe, of some of the finest spirits of our Au-
gustan age. In one page, it is true, Lortl Hervey apologizes for the
triviality of the incidents he chronicles; but that is, as it were, be-
hind his fan, in order that, the apology once made, he may be at
liberty to discharge a fresh volley of " strokes " against his most
Gracious Majesty's tenderness and brutality " towards his never-
wearied and much enduring wife," — or, to blacken with his blackest
distillation of gall the unfilial and unfeeling behaviour of the heir-
apparent, — or, to laugh at that great girl, the Princess Royal, whose
approaching marriage with a Prince Hunchback — Him of Orange —
could not so absorb her but that she had " time, and time enough" to
concern herself about Handel ''her music-master," and the opera,
oa the matters of consequence closebt to her heart.

So much for the *' History of the Court of George the Second, by
the Queen's old Courtier." The ** Times of George the Third by
NotxHlu's Courtier," is not the worst secondary title which could be
affixed to the delightful book here coupled with my Lord Hervey"s.
Let us not whisper that there are now-a-days no more fascinating
Lady Ossorys, for whom a correspondent might chronicle *• the
Lind fever;" or the humours of the National Convention hard by
Fitzroy Square, or other topics of the moment. But, on turning to
this treasury of bright things, we must feel that if even we have
among us memoir-inditing lords or ** Cynosures" innumerable to
whom gentlemen of taste could pay suit and service, we cannot pre-
tend to a letter-writing Horace f

The present collection contains some of Walpole's gayest letters,
thrown off with the utmost ease, confidence, and certainty of sympa-
thy, and in his highest strain of courtesy. " Lady Ossory," says Mr.
Vernon Smith, in his preface, " was said to have been gifted with
high endowments of mind and person ; high-spirited and noble in
her ways of thinking, and generous in her disposition. She was a
beautiful woman, — her mental faculties superior ; she possessed a
lively imagination, quick discernment, ready wit, great vivacity,
both in conversation and writing. In her last illness, which was
long and painful, she evinced the greatest fortitude, strength of
mind, tenderness, resignation, and patience." Add to this, what we
have gathered from former " Walpoliana,"— a cerUiin airiness, — a
willingness to play at dissipation perpetually, often to be remarked
among those endowed with high animal spirits (totally distinct from
the serious pursuit of pleasure as of\en to be observed among the
phlegmatic), and it will be easily understood how precious the gay
Duchess of Grafton of Horace Walpole's luu-days became, in their
maturer life, as a recipient of his anecdotes, speculations, and remi-

■ niscences. The ol<l, confidential, phi1an<lering tone could be main-

■ tained between a pair of friends so equal in rank and in pursuit,
without any "inconvenience to any Lord Casilecomcr." In a case
where there was no very serious interest or tie to introduce resiiaini
or passion into the correspondence, who could ap)»reciatc Mrs. \\<%-
barl'b oldest cotillon step as intimately as ''our Lady" oi Osuory

564

MEMOIRS AND ANECDOTES OT

who could atiderstand to thoroughly as herself the Bbmnfitj «f Ladv
Maij Cope's newest and most desperate eflbrt to diapkay henctf »
vatitftgeouftly >n the eyes of Royalty ? — who to perfecdy otter Mli
the "fairyUm" which was the true tone (as its ma^iT omcc ^
•cribcd it) of Strawberry HtU ? — who so exqiunsrl|r vdiah Geotfi
Sdwpi's ** dMoul atoriet" or smart sayings about JhfrK. fit. J»^'
Tl^tkovgh L^ Oiwry was too highly bred to be htnOi Urn,
Jbe SBC^ to bare lored to teim, in a sort of Imdy-Uke wsy, wIhc
■* tW Town* ihiw|Jrt of the great new play or the sweet new pac^
if vc are to jadge by the letters Addreaaed to het, Ae
of politics, like Lady Grace " aoberiy,*' tit
af ■VToan tiHally difTerent from the hcan^^
rrpabKramsm of one anable to chooK or
the gentlemen." To mcb «
the newest TwiclLenhaxn robbery,
A«aaaftBBiBaBB,.w«nvaAe welcome. That ahe pnscdher
b^^lk^ fi» evident from the last of the tain,
has death, in which be iledMC* tbM
by shewing my idle note*, which I
.** And we repe:at that the
ihaaeapavadUaa tmd eaaccsM fisi fpve a charm and a fuioeas to

rankiogthem below no fonacr

or the sparkle of their style.

last aeries, by Walpole, wiudi

for the four or five TCiy

and elaborate Bu-

to speak from theif

keaat,of jK briglilcr

persooagcB as Kings wd

gems** they might be

of the Hammer made the

do act remember, ifl

of laaoos women aa the

to hb *' aorrreign/* as

lake other devout courtiers,

aw her, besdes their roses

the

^, fsr»cr fatter^ sa

siftooao ct fHrawhecrjr
lovad to call the '
aermt to bare haa i
lilies, the flaws sad
take two of the pmosiis sa

" I receired a little ItaKaa mmt Iran Mn. Coswsy this mofniDg*
to tdl rae that» as I had Ust week met at bar basse an old aoquaiiit-
aocc without knorwing her* I might meet ha* again this evening n
tee dt cause, *a IfdOe. La Cbeva&er Oeon, who, as M '
told me, had taken it ill that I had not reconnoitred
•he must be strangely ahcred^ — the devU is in it if she
''Sot, alack f I bare foiuid her ahered again. Adiru to
dignity that I had &naed I disciaiaied; I now fuund her
iay, and vulgar: in truth, I bdievc she had dined a little
The night was hot; she had no muff or glores, and her
vms seem not to have participated of the
r fitter to carry s duir than a fkn. I am com
* accent. I asked Afondeur Barthelemy, the
was present, whether it ««« Parisian or good Krrn
•o rar from it. that the tirst time he met her, he h
' its being so bad, aiuf that her accent is strong Bur

THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

565

gundinn. You ask me, madam, why she is here? She aays, ponr
set petiies ajf'airvs, I take for granted for the same reason that
Franci.s wa^ here two years before he waa known.

" Nor was this all my entertainment this evening. As Mdlle.
Common of Two's reserve is a little subsided, there were other per-
sons present, as three foreign ministers, besides Harthelemy, Lord
Carmarthen, Wilkes, and his daughter, and the chief of the Mora-
vians. I could not hctp thinking how posterity would wish to have
been in my situation, at once with three such historic personages as
Deon, Wilkes, and Oghinski, who had so great a share in the revo-
lution of Poland, and was king of it for four-and-twenty hours. He
is a noble figure, very like the Duke of Northumberland in the face,
but stouter and better proportioned.

" I remember, many years ago, making the same kind of reflec-
tion. I was standing at my window af^er dinner, in summer, in
Arlington Street, and saw PaHy Blount (after Pope's death) with
nothing remaining of her immortal charms but her blue et/es, trudg-
ing on foot, with her petticoats pinned up^ for it rained, to visit
Blameless Bethel^ who was sick at the end of the street."

" Miss Hannah More, 1 see, has advertised her ' Bas Bleu/
which I think you will like. I don't know what her 'Florio' is.
Mrs. Frail Piozzi's iirst volume of ' Johnsoniana' is in the press,
and will be published in February."— Vol. ii. pp. 253-4.5.

What an assemblage of notables to he packed away in a single
letter I the Londoner itiay well cry: with a complaint against our
degenerate days as producing nothing one half so edifying or special.
Let us be just, however. We imagme that Lady Cork's rooms, to
the last, would have displayed menageries as choice and curious to
any painter with the true Landseer-towQh. Ho those who mourn
over the brave days of Lions as utterly gone, forget that our saloons
have in our own times enjoyed visits from such wondrous persons as a
Countess Vespucci and a Princess of Babylon (how far different from
De Orammont's !) — that we have had Nina Lassaves smuggled about
from one great mansion in May Fair to another — Bush Children
served up au naturel at aristocratic Belgravian luncheons — mesmeric
ladies telling us the wonders of the sun, moon, and seven stars,
in the back drawing-rooms of Harley-streetand Russell-square? not
to speak of such more honourable and legitimate objects of curiosity
and enthusiasm as a Lady Sale, a Rajah Brooke, &c. And who need
mourn over our epoch as not offering marvels enough for even the
most blase " man about town," — when we have lived to see the newest
of Napoleon " Pretenders " acting as special constable on the pav^ of
London on the day of a republican riot ; — when the Archimage whose
name likea charm for so many a year held all Europe in awe, Prince
Metternich himself is here — without one single TruUope to trumpet
his whereabouts or thereabouts. As for the Hannah Mures and the
Mrs. Frail Piozzis, can we not match — c-an we not exceed them
by the thousand, whether as regards the benevolence, the wit, or the
learning? But we must return for yet an instant to the Strawberry
store-house. Even within the compass of a very few pages, including
those whence our extract is drawn, the amount of stores and stories
it distracting. We dare not meddle with Mrs. Barnard. " the hen
quaker," and her cows so much coveted by her gracious and somewhat
covetous majesty Queen Charlotte, — neither with young Madame de
Choiseul, " who longed for a parrot which should be a miracle of

566

MEMOIRS AND ANECDOTES OF

eloquence/'^neither with " our Madame de Maintcnon/* Mri. De-
Uny, whobe establifthment at Windsor by royal command, U bitten
in with a very strong wash of ut/Hu-JorlU, But here i& a bkelch of a
wandering ce/trca/rix, who, like many other enterprising and eccxntric
persons, seems to have proved far tamer and more like other people,
when met face to face, than could have been expected :

" J will read no more of Rousseau/' (cries Walpole, indulging in
one of those bursts of petulance aiid prejudice, wiiich are so doubly
amusing in one so versatile, so liberal, and so far in advance of his
time.) " his confessions disgusted me beyond any book I ever opened.
Ilis hen, the schoolmistress Madame dc Genlia, the newspapers say,
is arrived in London. I nauseate her too ; the eggs of educatioo
that both he and she laid could not be hatched till the chickens would
be ready to die of old age."

Ere balf a dozen pages are turned, we find something like acl
of note. We must be allowedj too, to transcribe the earlier
lion of the letter, for the sake of ita sprightUncss, though irrelevi
to the vivacious French lioness.

July zsa. nm,

"I am very sorry to hear that the war of bad seasons, which
lasted eight months, has atfectetl your ladyship, too. I never knet
so much illness ; but as our natural season, rain, is returned. I hope
you will recover from your complaints. English consumptions arc
attributed to our insular damps, but I question whether justly
The air of the sea is an elixir, not a poison ; and in the three «uh
summers which preceded the three last, it is notorious that our fruil
were uncommonly bad, as if they did not know how to behave
hot weather. I hope 1 shall not be contradicted by the ex|
rience of last night. Mrs. Keppel had, or rather was to have
all London at her beautiful villa at Isleworth. Her grace of Dcvc
shire was to have been there, ay, you may stare, madam I and
grace of Bedford too. The deluge in the morning, the debate in
house of commons, qualms in the first duchess, and 1 don't know^
what, certainly not quabnx in the second, detained them, and not t
soul came from town but Lady Duncannon, Lady Beauchaiu}
the two Miss Vemons, the Boltons, the Norths, Lord William Riii
sell, Charles Wyndham, Colonel Gardiner, and Mr. Aston, and noi
of these arrived till ten at night. Violins were ready but c/mld n<
play to no dancers; so at eleven the young people said it was
charming night, and went to paddle on the terrace over the rivi
while we ancients, to affect being very hot too, sat with all
windows in the bow open, and might as well have been in Q\
land, &c.

" You surprise me, madam, by saying the newspapers inenti«
my disappointment of seeing IMadame de Oenlis. How can si
arrant trifles spread ? It is very true that as the hill would not
to see Aladame de Oenlis, she has come to the hill. Ten days ago
Mrs. CoHway sent me a note that 3/ac/anic desired a ticket for Straw-
berry Hill. 1 thought 1 could do no less than offer her a break-
fast, and named yesterday se'nnight. Then came a message that
she must go to Oxford, and take her doctor's degree ; and th«n
another, that I should see her yesterday, when she did arrive, with
Miss Wilkes and Pamela, whom she did not even present to mc, and
whmn shf has eductitcd to /ic t'crtf likt herself in the face. 1 told her 1,
could not attribute the honour of her visit but to my late

THE EIOnTEENTH CENTITRY-

567

friend, ATadnmedu Deffand. It rained the whole time, and was as
dark as midnight, so that she could scarce distinguish a picture :
but you will want lui .'iccuuut ul Iicr, and not of whul she baw ur
could not 6CC. Her person is agreeable, and she seems to huveLieea
pretty. Her conversntion is natunil and rea.Honable, not precieuse
and affected, and ftcarchtng to be eloc|uent, as I had expected. I
asked her if she had been pleased wiili Oxford, meaning the build-
ings,— not the wretched oafs that inhabit it. Hhc said she had had
little time; that she liad wi.shed to learn their plan of education,
which, as she said sensibly, she supposed was adapted to our constitu-
tion. I could have lold her that it is directly repugnant to our con-
stitution, that nothing is taught there but drunkenness and prero-
gaiive, or. in their language, church and king. I asked if it is true
that the new edition of Voltaire's works is prohibited. She replied.
** Severely," and then contleraned those who write against religion
and government, which was a little unlucky before her friend, Miss
Wdkcs. She staved two hours, and returns to France to-day to her
duty. "—Vol ii. pp. 231-2-3.

The above are but mere average specimens of the matter and
manner of these delightful letters: to talk about which, with anno-
tations, comparisons, elucidations, &c., as we could like, would fur-
nish us with pleasant subject-matter to tlie end of the year, making
the widest tnisccilantf too narrow for tlie publication of our gossip.
And, not only dues the variety of topics embraced, ranging from *'pre-
destination to slea silk " enBage us ; and not only are the notes on the
great events of the time (from which we have reluctantly refrained)
full of suggestion, because pregiuint with interest, shrewd mother-
wit, and widely-nurtured experience ; — and not only are the glimpses
at contemporary literature and art curious (though theKC, beinpr
taken through Claude Lorraine glasses tinged with a thousand
naodish dyes, demand some knowledge of the writer, his sympathies,
and his associates, ere wc can translate them into the natural and
trustworthy testimony,) — but the character of the Man, too, bright-
ens, deepens, and widens, as we read them, in conjunction with the
former series of letters Irom the same prolific source. On tliis it is
a pleasure to dwell — nay more, and a duty.

It was for some years a fashion to treat Walpole as a trifling
IVf acaroni, to accept the disclaimers he was somewhat too fond of ten-
dering when accused o/* sound sense, learning, genius, or philosophy,
as so many truths beyond dispute. All the world knows liow hard
it is for the mediocre, the dull, and the ill-mannered, to forgive wit
and high-breeding ; and this difficulty* also, had its part in the popu-
lar judgment of Horace Walpole. Latterlv, however, the mistake
has been gradually rectified. His clear head, his kind heart, his gay
spirits, his amazing memory, have come to be admitted. His works
are no longer treated as trifles by "a person of quality," but valued
as substantial and classical contributions to English literature. And
it may be questioned whether such as desire to know how the world
was really going on, when the Phiiosophe upset Prance and the
Blues di6{>ensed literary immortality in England, can find a work
more valuable for the purposes of study, apart from its admirable
fascination and entertainment^ than the letters, thoughts, and anec-
dotes of Conway's cousin, and Du Deffand's friend, and Lady
Ossory's c\cislC\ — the gay, gifled, graceful architect, antiquarian,
and Amphitryon of Strawberry Hill !

568

NOTES OF AN EXCURSION FROM LISBON TO A
LUSIA, ANU TO THE COAST OF MOROCCO.

BY HtS SEBBNR HIOHNBBS PBINCK L0WBNST81N.'

rrwT^^^

The Tagim and iu Banki. — Pictureftque Sceoery, and fine Clinttte. — Ai

CadiK.— First Aspect uf the City. — Streets and Prumeiiadat. — Beauty of the

AndaluAian Women. — Male and Female Coatume The Cathedral. — Tbr

Capudiin Convent. — Tlie Orphan Uovpital. and Lunatic Asylum. — Train 0/
Spaniftli Character. — A Tertulia.— Spanish Ladies. — ^VinUow lietuttxvoiu.

I BAD been Boiourning for 6ome time in Lisbon when nay IHcmb

M. de 8 and Herr E prevailed on me to accompany them

on an excursion to the south of Spain and Morocco. The time fixed
for departure was the 12th of March, 1045, and on that day we weii|fl
on board one of the Peninsular company's steamerH, then lying ia|
the harbour.

About eleven in the forenoon we weighed anchor, and favoured
by a fresh breeze from the east, we dropped rapidly down the rivi
The custom-house, the Sodre quay, the palace of the empress (D
Pedro's widow), and the Xeccssidades were soon left in the distan
and a series of splendid prospects rose successively before us as
glided along the picturesque banks of the Tagus. This enchanting
scener)) has repeatedly been the theme of glowing description, both
in prose and verse; but the magical effect of the glorious climatt
de^es description. It must be felt to be understood.

The tower of Belem stands on a projecting tongue of land, and,
viewed from a distance, it looks as if built in the midst of the waf
A battery with the Braganza frigate stationed in front of it,
roands the river both up and down. The situation of the tower
highly picturesque. As we passed by it. we saw on the batllemcn
the Duchess de Terceira with her lovely nieces, and tliey waved th
handkerchiefs as the signal of farewell. The duchess is the wife
the distinguished general who rendered such important servicv
the cause of Don Pedro, and she is one of the few Portuguese ladies
who can justly be called beautiful. Generally speaking the women
of Portugal are distinguished for intelligence, and for refined tact oT
manner; but they have few claims to personal beauty. In thj»
respect they challenge an unfavourable comparison with tlieir fair
neighbours of Spain.

A feeling of melancholy is created on beholding the now detertvd
state of the Tagus; that noble river, over whose bosom so ni
ships might float, and along whose banks the city of Lisbon exten
to the distance of several miles. But the appearance of the river if
in perfect accordance with the desolate aspect of its shores on either
aide, and indeed with the whole face of the country. Ruined
churches and convents speak of the fallen clergy ; whilst debertcd
ca«tles and dilapidated country-houses denote the poverty of nobles
and landowners. Even yet there remain visible traces of the grcal
earthquake of 1755; and the ravages of the last civil war are itfll

* First Secretary of Legaiiun to the Prussian Embaasy now in London.

lair

rt»dj

>n^H

EXCURSION FROM LISBON TO ANDALUSIA.

569

conspicuous. That war visited Portugal with disasters, from which
she will not speedily recover. In the middle of the bar at the mouth
of the Tagus, stands the light-house of Bugca; the waves of the
Atlantic wash its base, and the entrance of the river is guarded by
wveral forts.

On rising from our berths on the morning of the 14lh we found
we were rapidly approaching Cadiz Harbour. Masses of building
became gradually discernible through the morning mist which over-
spread the sea, and as we advanced we beheld the white city rising
above the waves, like a colossal swan, floating in majestic repose
over its own watery domain. The slip of land on which Cadiz is
built is so narrow, and it stretches so far into the sea, that when the
horizon is overhung with clouds, the mainland is not discernible,
and Cadiz seems to be an insular city like Venice. The rising sun,
dispelling the light mist, soon unveiled the verdant shores of the
bay, and enabled us to obtain a clear view of the town. The roofs
of the houses are flat ; some being castellated, and others having
towers which serve as belvideres. One aide of the town is protected
by a range of chalky rocks which rise along the shore. Against
these rocks the waves break with considerable fury, often scattering
their foam over the wall which bounds the Almeda. This place is the
summer promenade of the inhabitants of Cadiz, and here the
coquetiib Gaditana enjoys the cool sea breeze, half concealing her
face by the folds of her mantilla and her ever-moving fan. Along
the wall of the Almeda are planted some old rusty pieces of cannon,
venerable witnesses of past glory, but now somewhat vauntingly
turning Uieir mouths towards the sea.

On one Bide of the Almeda, and at some distance from the pro-
inenade^ are several ranges of buildings, consisting of store-houses,
the custom-house, and barracks. Here and there are scattered
groups of neat-looking private houses, having balconies fllled with
garden pot«, and windows shaded by green Venetian blinds. In the
middle of the quay^ which runs along the side of the harbour, there
lA a vast circular building, the use of which is immediately under-
stood by the traveller when he recollects that he is in Spain. It is
the circus fur bull-fighting, and, like the theatre, the building is
public property. Every considerable Spanish town contains a simi-
lar edifice. Cadiz is celebrated for its bull-fights; for owing to the
peculiar construction of the circus, the toreroM are exposed to great
danger, for. when pursued by the infuriated animals, they cannot
save themselves in the usual way by leaping over a barrier; they
can only escape by getting into little recesses made in the inner wall
of the circus.

We observed but little bustle in Cadiz harbour, for the trade of

le place has long been in a declining state. It has been transferred
tartly to Gibraltar, which is the central point of smuggling, and
Jwrtly to Puerto Hanta Maria^ whence all the Sherry wine is now
'lipped. Nor is the trade of this once flourishing commercial city

:ely to revive as long as the existing system of custom-house
lljties continues in force. The question of making Cadiz a free

»rt was at one time brought under the consideration of the Cortes;
»at it fell to the ground through the opposition it encountered from
^he deputies of the manufacturing districts of Arragon and Catalonia.
^Ve were assured on very good authority, that the city of Cadiz

VOL. xxrii. u u

570

EXCURSION FROM LISBON

might, for the sum of 30,000 dollars, purchase the silence of

doubt the possibility of thi? fa

DICH

opposition. 1 will not venture

in a country where so many objects are effected by corrupt mean!L

\Vc had no sooner set foot on the quay than we were surrounded
by a troop of noisy porters, who one and nil seized our lugeage in
their eager emulation to serve us. Neither these men nor the cus-
tom-house officers behave in a way calculated to produce a very
favourable impression on foreign visitors. Slipping a piece of money
into the hand of one of the officers, I said, " Senor," (for in Spain
every man is addressed by the title of Senor,) <*take that for yoar

trouble." M. S , who neglected this precaution, had seveial

articles taken from his portmanteau and forfeited. ^

A crowd of strange thoughts and feelings rushed to ray idH
when, for the 5rst time. I found myself on Spanish ground. From
earliest youth one is accustomed to regard Spain, and especially
the south of Spain, as the native land of romance and adventure.
Memory involuntary conjures up visions of the grandeur and glory
of the ancient dominion of the Moors; and the chivalrous conflict!
they maintained against the Christians, until the period of their
subjugation and expulsion.

On first entering Cadiz, the visitor is struck with the generate
of order, neatness, and cleanliness which pervades the whole city.
The streets are paved with free-stone, and notwithstanding ti^
narrowness and the loftiness of the houses, they are more plei^f
than the streets of many northern cities. There ift, it is true, R
little traffic of carriages and horses, a circumstance which vvry
greatly facilitates the task of keeping the streets clean.
Spaniards attach much importance to tlie outward appearan(
their houses, and they have them whitewashed regularly every
The windows extend down to the flooring of the rooms, am
fronted by balconies filled with flower-pots ; the balconies
shaded from the sun by broud awnings. As we proceeded frui
quay to our hotel, we were struck by the gay and animated api
ance of the streets ; everything seemed to wear a sort of hoi
aspect, which was exceedingly pleasing.

The hotel at which we took up our abode was a building ii
genuine Spanish style. We entered from the street into a
passage, which led to a small court-yard, paved with white and
marble, and refreshed by a fountain. The interior of the
however> presented no traces of the eastern luxury which the
court and fountain seemed to promise. The apartments were pi
fitted up, and contained merely indispensable articles of furnil
but all was particularly clean; indeed the only luxury of the
was its perfect cleanliness. This hotel, called the liOiel Ft
was the best I met with in Spain; and I may add that the cl
were exceedingly moderate, being about one dollar per day for
person. Within the court yard, a gallery extended along the
story of the building; and in this gallery were the doors which op«H|
into the apartments. Some of the rooms received light from vi^
dows opening into the court-yard ; but our windows looked intotft*
street, and it afforded us no small amusement to look out and obfcr*
the passers by. The fair Gaditanat, their heads enveloped in tb«r
mantillas, tripped gracefully along the pavement, light of f oot, s*^
to all outward appearance, no less light of heart. Most of ck

TO ANDALUSIA.

«71

women we observed were of small stature and well fortned. Their
dresses were sufficiently short to shew the elegant feet and ankles
of which the Spanish females are so justly proud.

Having rested and refreshed ourselves, we went forth to the
Paseo. The winter promenade is the sunny Plaza delln Constitu-
yion, situated in the central part of the town, and well sheltered
from the wind. Along the sitles of the Plaza there are plantations
of trees, and the middle part, which is the promenade, is paved with
large Hagstones. On this pavement the inhabitants of Cadiz throng
together in such numbers, that each person involuntarily jostles his
neighbour, whilst all other parts of the Plaza are empty and deserted.
In summer the promenaders assemble on tlieAlmeda, which is above
the city wall, on the sea-shore.

On the Plaza della Constitution we found assembled a consider-
able portion of the heau monde of Cadiz. The promenaders were
pacing to and fro in groups. Many of the ladies were remarkably
E>eautiful ; but their beauty consisted not so much in regularity of
features, as in an animated and piquant expression of countenance,
the charm of which was heightened bv large dark eyes, black hair.
an<l a graceful deportment. All were habited in black ; those of the
richer class being distinguished only by the superior quality of their
silk dresses and mantitlas. The mantilla is worn by all females save
those of the very poorest grade. It consists of a sort of scarf of silk,
fastened at the back part of the headland falling uver the shoulders.
Attiiched to this scarf is a veil, or deep border of lace^ which may be
turned back, or drawn over the face at pleasure.

The men have long ago laid aside their national costume, and
adopted the dress worn in other parts of Europe. The Spanish
national dress is, however, partially retained by men of the poorer
class; tlie short hose, the embroidered jacket, and the profusion of
ornament which once characterized the picturesque costume being
now discarded. The dress, as worn at the present time, consists of
a broad-brimmed felt hat, called a sombrero, ornamented with two
feathers on the \eft side^ a coloured handkerchief being usually
bound round Uie head, and partially seen under the hat. The jacket
la of coarse brown cloth, having on the collar and sleeves, ornaments
made of party-coloured cloth. The young beaux of the plebeian
class, who are called rnajos, wear an under-jacket or vest of silk or
6 ne cloth, adorned with silver buttons. The other portions of the
dre&s consist of small clothes, trimmed with light-blue braiding, and
gaiters of black or yellow leather, extending no higher than the calf
of the leg, so as to shew the white stockings ; a red or yellow neck-
scarf, and a Spanish mantle complete the costume.

We called on our respective consuls, and on the following day the
son of Hcrr Uthhoff, the Prussian consul, accompanied us in a stroll
through the city, for the purpose of shewing us some of its curiosi-
ties and wonders. We visited the cathedral and several of the
churches. The cathedral is a colossal building ; but its internal
magnitude is less remarkable than the massive structure of its exter-
nal masonry. The roof is crowned by a cupola, but in other respects
the building is in the renaissance style. It is characterized at once
by poverty of taste, and by a total ignorance of the laws of architect
ture. The date of its structure is traced to that period when archi-
tecture declined in Spain, in consequence of the suppression of the

V V 3

EXCURSION FROM LISBON

free-maaonsy who kept within their own body the knowledge of that
science. Alichael Angelo has been justly reproached for an undue
predilection in favour of the giguntic and the fantastic styles; with
still greater justice this reproach may be applied to the architect of
the cathedral of Cadiz.

On first entering, the eye of the spectator is attracted by two pic-
tures attributed to Murillo. They are decidedly in the style of that
master ; but, a want of transparency in the colouring, and a certain
etitfness in the grouping, render their authenticity doubtful. Cadii
is not rich in treasures of art. The Capuchin convent contaim
three genuine pictures by Murillo. One of these, the *' MarriAge of
St. Catharine," is unfinished. Whilst engaged in painting it, Mun11«
fell from the scaffold on which he was standing ; and, in consequerKt
of the injuries he received, he died at Seville six months afterwank
A peculiar interest is attached to this picture from the circumstance
of its being the last work of the great master; but. in comparittB
with his best efforts, it betrays obvious traces of declining talent

We visitetl the Orphan Hospital and the Lunatic Asylum, wbick
are in different compartments of the same building. The little io.
mates of the hospital appear to be under admirable manageinmi:
they are well-fed, well-clothed, and lodged in an airy and ipadov
building. The unfortunate lunatics, on the other hand, are th$m^
fully neglected. Those whose madness was of a violent kind
con6ned in chains, and were only half-clothed; sonae were
vided with hard beds, and others had no resting-place but the
of their narrow cells, which re^iembled dens for wild-beaats
than habitations for human beings. These cells all opened ii
sort of courtyard, in which the harmless class of lunatics wer«i
lowed to move about and amuse themselves. Our attentioo
particularly attracted by a man, who was declaiming in rythi
metre. He could not be said Io be reciting poetry, for wliat ht\
tered was sheer nonsense; but the lines were marked by rbytoei
rhythm. He was exceedingly pale and attenuated, and he hatfi
intellectual head, if one may say so of a lunatic. We were inl
that this man hud devoted himself very closely to atudy, and!
been an enthusiastic lover of poetry. His unremitting^ mentjJ
cation, by impairing his health, unfitted him for thuse exei
which his subsistence depended. He was consequently rednc

Eoverty, which, together with an unfortunate love-affair, dt
im of reason. Books, his old companions, were now his only:
of diversion. We were told that he was often earnestly eng^j
reading, and that he appeared to understand what he read.

Another portion of this building is set apart as an asylum fori
married couples. Each couple has a separate set of apartmcottl
has one of the orphan children of the hospital for an attendiDt'
the spacious courtyard, common to all the inmates of the
we saw several of the old men and women, accompanied bjl
youthful attendants. It was an exceedingly interefctincr --r*^
we were assured that the old people usually exercisetJ ;
and salutary influence over the minds of their adopted chiidi
In the evening I had an engagement to one of those little]
which the Spaniards call tcrtuUas. This afforded me an op|
of observing the truly social spirit of Uie inliabitants of the
Spaing for the itriMliat which I lubiequently attended ifl

TO ANDALUSIA.

A73

and Granada all presented the same character. The Spaniards do
not enter into company with solemn faces and reserved manners.
When they meet together in a lertulia, it is to enjoy a few hours
of sprightly conversation, freely interspersed with jesting and
merriment. The Spanish ladies, too, are exceedingly lively and
unreserved in the company uf gentlemen, and they possess a chann-
jng readiness in witty raillery, with which a stranger cannot help
being plea!>ed. In the terltiUas a guitar is generally introduced, and
ivithout pretensions either to musical talent or a fine voice, any one
of the parly will readily sing for the entertainment of the rest. The
little Spanish songs performed on these occasions owe their charm
to the words rather than to any particular beauty of melody. At
Urtulias there are usually no refreshments; but sometimes glasses
of sugared water and lemonade are handed about.

As soon as a stranger has made his obedience to the lady of the
ouse, he takes a seat wherever he chooses, and during the whole
ening he may be engaged in close conversation with one particu-
ady. without the circumstance attracting any notice. Both
dies and gentlemen call each other by their Christian names ; and
even on introductions between strangers family names are not
always mentioned. This little trait is in itself characteristic of the
tone of unceremonious freedom prevailing in Spanish society gene-
rally; a freedom which, it appears to me, is carried to somewhat
too great a length, inasmuch as it tends to mar refinement. Younff
ladies, for example, often talk on subjects of which they should
be supposed to be ignorant, and married ladies indulge in still
^cater freedom of discourse. This has given rise to a style of con-
[^ versation in which many persons have arrived at an extraordinary
P degree of proficiency ; I allude to an ingenious use of ambiguous
^ double meaning, which there would be no need to resort to if things
W Gould be called by their right names. Spanish ladies are seldom
^ highly educated; most of them, indeed, are exceedingly ignorant
J on all subjects, save those in which they are immediately interested,
P Their intelligence, like that of children, in limited to things and cir-
^ cumstances with which they are in immediate contact ; and their
F ^terary knowledge is confined to the history and the poetry of their
^Ccauntry. In their own narrow sphere they are truly charming;
^>«jt transport them to the fashionable salons of Xiondon and Paris,
'K~)d they would feel themselves out of place: in such society,
r^dee<l, they would probably never attain a footing. The Spanish
|^"onien depreciate everything foreign, and never seek to identify
temselves with things belonging to other countries. So far do
ey carry this feeling of exclusiveness, that they seldom seem to
Quire an eiiny familiarity either with foreign languages or foreign
uiions. Their fair neighbours of Portugal^ on the other hand,
ough far inferior in personal charms, and retaining but little of
t-e Portuguese individuality, have unquestionably the advantage
them in all that relates to mental attainments and cultivation.
Sw the general intercourse of society, the Spaniards do not insist
'■^*"y strictly on the forms of etiquette. A sti'anger, after having
n introduced to a family, may, if he chooftes, call every day, or
. ^ may make his calls at very long intervals. But however seldom
ir^^ visits, he is sure to be always made welcome. The Spaniards
^^Xe a favourite phrase, which is constantly on their lips : tney sayi

674

KXCURStON FROM LISBON TO

" This thing or the other is quite at your
cessantly repeat the assurance to their visitb:
Spaniard uses this phrase in reference to hii
'• Mia caxa est a a la Hisposic'wn de ustetl," it ceasi
presbitin of courtesy, but is uttered in perfect «ii
ness of the Spaniards ia less than that of other
outward form. There ia an unfeigned eame
pressions of kindness, and most especially in the
pitality. Of this I have had frequent opportui
vinceu. In fact, the Spanish character is essenl
spirit of chivalry, which manifests itself even ir
of social life. In no country are women treatec
courtesy, — such true gallantry^ as in Spain.

On leaving the teriulia I have just inentionec
nity of observing a trait characteristic of the t
ladies of Cadiz. It was rather late in the even!
passing a large and elegant house, the rcsidenci
cipal families in Cadiz, we observed a gentleni
cloak, with a guitar in his hand. He was not pla
bul he was engaged in conversation with a lad;
dows of the first floor; and the lady, the belter 1
to her, was bending over the railing of the balcor
the conversation ceased, and the gentleman U
on his guitar. I learned from the friend who
Spaniard), that the lady engaged in this ttte-ikM
uf the owner of the house ; and that she was a
beauty, to whom Senor P , the gentlcmj

ofl'ering the homage of his admiration.

" Then I presume they are betrothed lovers i

'* I do not know," replied my companion.

" But are not these nocturnal colloquies detri
lady's reputation ?**

** Oh .' by no means," answered my inform
lady is one of the greatest beauties in Cadiz ; h
and permit the nigntly rendezvous of Senor P-
where is the harm in any one conversing from
with a person in the street ? The Senurlta d<
met at the iertulia this evening, has a conversa
every night regularly, at one of the ground-fl
father's house. We are going to pass that wa
see her,"

We did so. As we were proceeding throuj
ing streets, we saw a figure, enveloped in a clot
grated window. As we advanced, a white h
tende<l from the grating, was suddenly withdraw

" That is the abode of tlie Senorita de M
panton. " She has had several novios^* and she
fascinating girl."

These window rendezvous are affairs of cor
other towns in the south of Spain, and thejfa
slightest censure. S

• Xmio, •ignifii's litemlly a bctrothwi luiibaiid. Bn«
wcHild Hppeur to hnve m iiii»ru extvndeil meaning.

575

RATTERY BROWN;

THE PRIVATEER'S CAROU8AU

BY ROBKBT POSTANS.

** Is this a dinner ? iliif a genial room ? "
*^ Ho ! it 's & BAcriBce, and a becatomb ! *'

Thb rising generation, just now beginning to reap its first crop of
mustaches, can have only a nielo-dramatic, T. P. Couke sort of notion
of the class of men which manned our privateers during the last grapple
with France, and it nmy seem treason to suppose that they could have
been more reckless than their brother tars of the Royal Navy, who so

§a11antly muzzled the Frenchman's ports, and kept the yelping of the
ogs of war from disturbing our slumbers at home.
Vet it must be admitted, that it required a peculiar courage to adopt
a service in which, sometimes, no quarter was given, and, moreover, it
must be burnc in mind, while estimating the Lazarda the privateers-
tnan had to encounter, that he was often as much an object of dislike
to the British cruiser, as the foe whose trade he so completely de-
stroyed. For " the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to
the strong," and the king's best frigates were often outwitted, as well
as outsailed, by some of those " brass bottom sa sarpints," which fre-
quently snapped up " a good tall ship," that otherwise might have
added to the prize-money of the royal cruiser.

Notwithstanding these drawbacks, the fitting out of private ships
for the purpose of destroying the enemy's trade, was very popular, the
right or wrong of the question was but little heeded on shore, such
trilling distinctions were disregarded during the feverish excitement
of the war, or were drowned in the death-struggle for foreign mastery.
Besides, it required no great effort to equip a vessel for this field oi
predatory warfare. Almost every port had its lively brig or clipper-
schooner, and the rough and ready populace of our maritime towns en-
joyed the fun, — it was of the right sort, short cruises and i)leiity of
prize-money,"— the privateer's cargo, provisions, powder, and shot, was
soon shifiped, and then, hurrah for a leading wind and a lucky cruis-
ing ground, and, with these blessings, it was little short of a miracle if
Jack didn't cut pretty considerable large thongs out of the enemy's
hide. Three weeks, nay, often three days, prowling " 'twixt Ushant
light and Cape La Hogue," easily supplied the funds for a month't
debauch ashore, and when the moucy was gone, why, as the old song
has it, "he went to sea again."

Among the many insignificant towns that sent these harassing ves-
sels to sea, there is one down on the southern part of the coast of
Devon, situated on a small and limpid stream, which, after dallying
for many miles through a romantic region^ discharges itself into the
English Channel. The cluster of tempest-torn dwellings that dis-
figured the picturesque mouth of this pleasant river, was, during the
war, the abiding place of a mixed population of pilots, fishermen,
smugglers, and privateers. They were known us a bold and hardv
race, and restless as the waters wliereon they gained their daily bread.

576

BATTERY BROWN.

IIU

As might be ima^ned, the orderly portion of
town was that occupied by the pilotii, but> in elai
useful class, might have been seen the reckle»
join any sen rover in quest of prev, while the ag<
and employed themselves with deep-sea fishing
occasion suited, had no scruples in going botch-
latf, and turning the wants of friend ss well aa
profit.

Thirty years of peace, if we may credit some c
still fondly cherish the remembrance of those
tadly altered this blissful state of things. For ti
ised coast-guard soon diverted the smuggler's g
exchequer, and, of course, when the wur ended,
the privateer. The peace brought security, and
dwellings gave place to handsome marine villas, i
and lodging-bouties, wherein the present race of V
glers and privateersmen levy black mail upon 8
bewitched by the charms of nature into loitering f
them.

Let us suppose that I had read all the novels :
seen all the conjurors, and found out all their t
good cigars in the towu, and cultivated an acq
boatman on the beach, and at last found one,
else to doj— no difficult task, bv the by, — was \
about the good old times above alluded to.

The object which introduced his dearly chei
ratcering to our particular notice, W!Ls the akel
had been at E^ome distant day hauled high and <
beacb. The old craft had apparently been usee
the land, after her voyages on tbe sea had ended
roof still partially covered her rotten decks. He
fitted with sash windoivs, but tbe glass had all d
was an air of desolation about lier that denotei^
to the furv of the winds for a lung period. fl

** Ah I' said my companion, giving at the ail
to his ouid, "there 's a queer yarn spun about th

" Inaeed," said I, enquiringly.

" I b'lieve ye. Old Kattery Brown, what liv'd
wos the rum'ist lookin' cliap you ever sot eye on
ahotten herrin', and his toggs bung about him H
a handspic,— then, he carried his head all of a
port] — he 'd lost his larboard eye, and t'other lool
gooseberry."

By the time he had sketched thiit fanciful poi
at the old brig, und as it was sunny loitering M
ourselves under her shady quarter, when he thus

" Well, you must first of all know, it 'is exyac
exyactlv two-and-thirty year come next Piffanj
one jolly fine evening, while I was down hen
French calls it, n brigand a ship hove in sight, sc
to the wesl'ard. I 'members the time well, th
wind to fan the duck of a dandy's yacht, and the
Dull Coppice's tongue, and the moon as bright as

* Epiphiny.

RATTERY BROWN.

577

" WeU, you see I wos always counted summat 'cute in dissarnment^
and so I soon diskirer'd that though the vessels wos a sailin' in com-
pany, it warn't by their mutual consent, fur they look'd to a seatr^r
about aa lovia' as a couple of pet devils. Well, what >vilh the tiat
and the light whifflin' cats' pawHj they cum up hand over fist and re-
ported themselves ; one wos this here old br^, then as smart a pri-
vateer as ever awum, and t'other wos a rich French Ingetf-uiaii, wot
Kattery Brown had captivated in a irost winnin' way, after a bard
fight, when all but under the guns of St. Alalo.

**Lor' a massy on us, what a nitty followed a'ter they fetch'd into
port. Every chup in * The Sea Hawk/ that woa the name of the pri-
vateer, when he 'd took his share o' the prize, wos as tickle as a flaw o'
wind in the horse latitudes. One day, p'r'aps, you 'd see *em togg'd
iu a pair o' gatTto'sail boots, and breeks a taunto, and then the next,
they'd ship a long-tuil'd coat, and one o' your flush-built weskits, and
a broad brim'd sky-scraper over all."

" And the captain's share wa*! enough to build a church or found a
hospital, I suppose."

*' Well, I don't know, for old Rattery wosn't exzactly the feller to
]et everybody into his secrets, but it must 'a pretty well HJl'd his
lockers, for he wos a hungry dog, and it so moUilicd him, chat he never
went to sea again."

" Perhaps, as the war had ceased, he had no opportunity of taking
any more prizes."

" Well, sartinly, that did put a stopper over all, and so, d'ye see,
he hauled the * See Hawk' into this here berth, where her old bones
are now rottin', detarmined, as he said, to die as he had liv'd, on the
deck of the craft where he made his furtin."

*' Besides* he 6aved rent and taxes by this novel arrangement,"
8uid I.

" Ilent and taxes be damn'd ; he needn't 'a minded rent and taxen,
no, nor cesses, nor work'us rates either ; no, he didn't jam the ' Sea
Hawk' ta this here no-man's-land sort of a place, for they, — no, no,
that had nothin' to do with itj — there wos a screw loose about the
prize, the rights o' which was never logg'd ; 'twas whisper'd she wos
took a'ter the peace was sign'd, and though the lawyers settled it all
the right way fur the captors, yet summut stuck in old Rattery's giz-
zard, for the rhinu never did him no good whatsumever."
'* How so ? "

" Huw so?" my maritime friend went on apouting like a whale,
"why just unravel me this if you can: afore he grappled with the
Frenchman, he wos as fine hearted a feller as ever chipp'd a biskil,
but a'ter he'd finger 'd their gold a bit, dam'me if it didn't transmo-
grify'n into a timid, gripin', eour, old miser; took to lendin' money
at interest; hud a reg'iitr built lawyer chap always danglin' in his
wake, who soon convart'd the ' Sea Hawk* into a sort of marine pawu
shop, 1 tell ye."

"And all this time the Captain lived aboard the brig ? " said I.
"Liv'd, no; 1 didn't say liv'd ; he starv'd in her, if you like, for
though he *d f^ot the writin's o' half the town in his clutches, and

Elenty of readi^ to boot, yet he messM about as well as a rat in a
allast-lighter. Ho^vsoniever, 'twas n't banyan day with old Rattery

treated hisself to a good blow

how

day

year

any-

578

RATTERY BROWN.

" His birth-day," said I, hazarding a conjecture.

'* No, no, not his birth-day ; don't suppose he *d got one,
the same thinfr. 'twasn't logg'd in his mem'ry. No, it was on tbe
anne-wersary of his bapgin' the French In^e-man ; then he did hare
a glorious shindy sure/y ; dinner was reg'larly set out for a round
dozen."

" A sort of sea-Waterloo banquet to some of his companions in arms,"
I suppose. M

" Yes, they wos his companions in arms with a wengeancOi" f^
plied old Sindbad^ with a peculiar grin ; '* but. Lor' bless ye," he con-
tinued, " they wasn't human kreturs wot dined with old Rattery."

" Pray, who were his guests then ? "

** The nim'ist you ever yeard on, p'r'aps. What d'ye think o* dini
with twelve old eij;htet'n-pounder guns for messmates? '*

" Rather ironical cumpanions^ certainly."

" Well, old Rattery on that day always gave a grand feast to tbe
twelve guns, that sarv'd his turn in winnin' the fight ag'in the French
Ingee-man."

'*Ali, I understand/' said I; "tbe guns were always on board,
and "

"I means to say," said the old tar, interrupting, "that be'd a
regiar built table made out o' the mainmabt of the Frenchman,
shipp'd fore and aft along his quarter-deck, flush up to which his
guns was ranged chock-a-block, with their great black muzzles a
frownin' and yawnin' over the crockery, as if they meant to Iwlt every
thing nfore 'em. Right under their mouths was piled on platters tbe
sort o' bhot best kalkilated for the nature of each partic'lor gun. Tbe
long eighteens had round, bar, and chain, as best suited to their diges-
tive organs, and tbe carronades tickled their gums with langridge,
grupe, and cannister; lighted port-fires fizx'd and smok'd away at
their breechin's, 'sides which there wos a dubble allowance o' powder
sarvM uut on the centre of the table, and fire-buckets full o' water to
slake the burnin' throats o' the guns, wos plac'd alongside of their side
tackles, while Hghtin' lanthorns, wads, ramrods, and sponges^ tvos spread
abimt, just for all the world as if the signal for battle wos flyin' at tbe
main. Well, then, by way of mokin' nil ship shape and brister fashua,
the Union Jack was h'isted to a staff, as a sort o' rice- president to
mad old Rattery, who sot at the head o* the table, with a spankio*
bowl u* smoking hot punch, 'ticing enough to make a feller wish his
throat wos a mile long, and every inch on it palate, right afore him ;
and then he'd stick a queer outlandish mundungo built pipo in his
mouth, and puff away like a limekiln, I tell ye."

" What an eccentric fancy," said I.

"'Centric fancy, I b'lieveye; but avast a bit, the queerest Btniiil
in tiie yard is yet uulaid. Well, in course, the guns had large mou
and, as they 'd been invited out to dinner, why, in course, they m
be fed on summat *Hides their common fare, so, what d'ye think Le
cram'd into their iron jaws, by way of a treat ? "

*• Can't say," said I, " hav'n't the least idea."

"No, nor nobody else 'cept Old Rattery; why the fusty, tnusfir
yallor parchments wot sarv'd as duplicates fur the money he'd lenoJI
for half the town was pawn'd to htm<^Lor' bless us how the old fellff
used to grin at the notion of making his trusty guns first win the gold
and then do duty as iron safes, and fire-proof deed boxes."

RATTERY BROWN.

579

js surrounded by his blazin' bullies he'd larf an' talk to
tbem, ana oe as happy as if he wos in the midet of his rovin' old sea-
dogs of his youug d-AyA. It wos as good as a reg'Iar-built play to see
the waiter at the hotel yonder— who always attended on these occa*
sions — mimic the old miser when the punch had set his liead-suihi a
shiverin' three sheets in the wind. Fur then Old Kattery would rise
on his hind legs as solemn as a judge, and, a'ter makin' a grand
salaam to the union jack, as in duty bound, he 'd turn to his guns
and begin with, ' Here 's a bumper to you. Old Bone Crusher/ for you
mast know," said my companion, '* that Old Kattery had christened bis
guns after a fu«hion of his own."

"'Here's a bumper to you, Old Bone Crusher/ says he, *I ve not
forgot bow you sarv'd out your grape and canister- Hurrah ! here 's
a full bumper to you/

" ' Hero 's to yon, Old Sudden Death, ah ! ah !' and the miser al-
ways giggled at the remembrance of a desolatia' shot from this gun,
fired with hisi own hand, which scatter'd a bunch o' chatterin' French-
men to the winds.

" ' Here 's to you, my twin beauties. Slaughtering Bess and Tor-
menting Sue. \ our sweet voices, loaded with weighty arguments,
help'd to quicken the slow wits of the rascally Frenchmen. Here 'a a
bumper to you. Hurrah ! hurrah !

" * And here 's to you, Old GrowliT, think not you're forgotten ; nor

you. Old Spitfire, nor you. Old Smasher, nor you, Old Blood and
Thunder. No, no, you 're all fiu'tlifuUy logg'd here,' laying his hand
upon his heart, ' hurrah I hurrah 1 here 's bumpers to you all/ "

" The heartless old viper !" said I.

"'Twas a little skeery like, wasn't it? Well, the day a'ter his
anne-wersary carousal Old Battery always treated his self to another
lark. Early in the morning he used to go out fur a ride in u reg'lar-
built chaise and pair, always coming back to the hotel yonder, where
he 'd try to pass his self ofl^ for a stranger, and sham to know nobody.
Well, of course, everybody humoured himj and, a'ter dinner, he d
stick hisself ut the winder and pick his teeth, and loom as large us a
pass'd midshipman about to dine with an admiral. 'Who lives there ? '
says he."

" Meaning this old brig," said I.

** Sartingly. Well, you might as well 'a clapp'd a blister on a
wooden leg as try to tiiwart hiui, and so the landlord lorfs in his &leevc>
and says it bplongs to one Kattery Broun."

" * Kattery Broun,' ses he, appearing to overhaul his mem'ry.
• What ! does my old shipmate hang his flag out there ? ' Up goes the
winder, and he begins a hailin', ' Broun — Kattery— Old Broun. I say,'
in course nobody answers. ' Well/ ses he, ' the old boy never would
forgive me if I don't give him a hail,' so he takes his hat and stick,
opens his own dour, and goes on a starvin' for another year."

"And what became of this mad old privateersman/' said I, auxious
to hear why he left his brig —

*• Handsomely there," said my companion ; "small helm, no yawing,
get on a xvrong course if I don't mind. Well, you see, we 'd a larky
sprightly feller here, one Tom Collins by name, he'd been captain of
the fo'kisle of the Sea Hawk when the Tngee-man struck to her sides,
whicJi he an* Kattery had sail'd together bye and large, man and boy
for years, until I'm blow'd what with being summak alike at startin'

680

RATTERY BROWN,

if tbey didn't copy one another's acti&n and speech, nntil at last they
£iiiih''d by betn^ as like as a couple o' roand shot. UowsomeTer, ther
parted compuiv otct the »ettlin' of the prite-cnoney ; for a'ter thst,
tbry ooaldn't coil their ropes together nohow. Tom thoo^t he 'd
been diddled, and determined to bare his spite out.

" WelU the time comes round agen fur Kattery Broun to go tbroiigh
lus anooal tomfoolery, and Collins^ who did ererything with a «ort o'
sudden jerk — like when a man bites his own ear off — nays nothin* ta
nobody 'cept one or two of his mstes wot wos to be in the joke, asd
alily slips into the brig through one o' the stam winders* and bii'
time when Old Raitery hails the Sea Hawk firm the hotel.

"Well, let's s* pose that the old miser had taken bis annual
cniae. finish'd kis dinner, and is a standin* at the winder of the holcL
* A snne beith that,* meaning the brig, sea he, ' 'loogt to mndc old tar,

"' Yon 're right,* ses the landlord a larfin', 'it's Rattery Broun's.*"

""'Deed, why he'd never forgive me if I don't give him a bail
^Vlsat bo, there ! Rattery Broun I — what cheer, mate I — Sea Hawk,
ahoy!'"

** It was now Tom Collins' turn to have his joke, so openin* a winder
in the brig, he shores out his bald head a shinin' like a bladder o' lard
IB the dog days* with his whiskers trimm'd juU like Old Kattery'»» and
■nawen in a loud voice, * What d've want f — who hails, eh ? "*

" Well, at the sight of his doubfe, back the miser recoils like a rusty
carronade, and you may be sartio there wos the devil to pay and no
pitch hot when he found that somebody was aboard his brig
haultn* his money-bags and parchments."

'"Are you Rattery Brown?' ses he, in a thick and bosky
and turning as many colours as a dying ilulpfain."

" ' In oourve, I am,' cried out Tom Collins, and he grinned and
friendly over. ' D*ye want anything ? ' **

" ' I 'm he, too/ said the miser MMruwfully, and be b^uo to wriag
his hands, and cut as many capers as wou'd a sars'd hia legs o* muttfli
for a month o' Sundays."

"' You 're out o' your rcck'nin', my fine feller,' screech 'd out Tom;
' you 're only the thirteenth. Come over, and we '11 have a broadside
together.' "

'^ ' Waiter, my hat and stick,' ses Broun, discomfolidated with Ik
f«an» and his voice sounded as holler as a southerly wind in an empty
grog-bottle. 'The devil's boarded my brig/ so sayin*, he left the
room.

" Well, there stuck Tom Collins at the brig's winder, all the titac
lookin' as happy as a king. He watch'd Old Rattery hobble acroa the
shingle, take bis key from his pocket, unlock the door in the veaeTt
side and enter, and then down he dives to meet him.

" Well, those wot was in the joke larf' d, but the landlord, and the
rest, who know'd nothin' about it, were quite flabbergasted. Cor I'a
bleu'd if Tom hadn't rigg'd hisself so like Old Rattery that if thi
devil had come to claim his due, he couldn't 'a told one from t'utbcT*
Presently, we hears a jabl»ering, and a noi&e like somebody a ruaaai*
about on the decks o' the brig. WeU, the confusion soon incr«aHi»
id, while we wos wunderine: whut it could bo, we hears a moct Mk

rthly sound, a sort o cross twiic a creak and a scream, sharp eooagi

Jun a feller's teeth, come out of the bull o' the brig.

RATTERY BROWN.

581

'In course we all looks in the whites of one anotlier'a eyes for a
minnit, for this screecltin' and bollerio' wasn't in the bill o' the pl^y-
Well, presently, somebody said they ftee'd Old Rattery chos'd by Tom
Collins rush past the open purl, and then we hcaM a thunderiu'
sniHshin' o' glasses, and a heavy fall on the deck, and then all was as
still as murder. We began to think thut Tom had carried his joke too
Ikr, and somebody knock'd at the duor« but the only answers woe the
echoes from the inside o' the old craft. At hist it gets loo tanterlizin'
to stand any longer^ and so I and one * Punchy Abbot/ the stroke-
oar in the 'Daisy' yonder, manhandles a heavy maul and smashes
in the door, and up all sorts o' dark windiug passages we rushes to the
quarter-deck.

*' And what did you see?"

" The wreck of Old lottery's fea^t, with the guns still at the din-
ner-table, which wus covered with broken wine-glasses and capsized
bottles; on it, flat on his back, stretch'd right atliwart ships, his one
eye wide open, and rwidy to start out of his head, with his teeth
clincb'd, and grinnin' like the bars of a helmet, lay Old Rattery
Brown. He'd t;nsi[mled some of his precious parchmints in his
fright, and he gnpp'ci 'em as tight as a shark wou'd a dead marine-"
" But you recovered him from his fit, I suppose."
" Fit, he warn't in a fit; no, bis line had run out, his cable was at
short stay peak, and afore the doctor could be fetch'd, he wait as stiff
as a horse mack'rcl."
" What, dead ! '* said I.

" Dead," said my companion ; " kill'd with fright at the thoughts of
being robbed* — for Tom never laid a finger on him, — 'sides, the doctor
»aid there wasn't a scratch on his body."

" And what account did Tom Collins give of the affair ? "
"Well, to wind up and make a finish on it, nobody ever could
diskiver the right 'arnest joinetry o' the bisness, and Old Rattrey's
kinsfolk all got on the wrong course when they tried to fathom it to
the bottom. The coroner's jury sot on the body, but nothin' par-
lic'lar leak'd out then, though they reg'lnrly overhauled the consarn
o' both sides, turn'd it ind lor ind, and sides into middle* and took
soundiu's and Uearin's o' Tom hisaelf."
"Cross-examined him, you mean."

"P'r'aps I do. Howsomever, the lawyers let loose their jawing
tackle at him, and said they wou'dn't take his Typsy Dick Sitl,
though, for the matter o* that, Tom was sober enough at the time, and
so they swore him on his Bible oath. Yet, a'ter all their palaverin'
and chatteriu' they cou'd do nothin' with him, and the jury, driven
at last to their wit's end, brought in a happy-go-lucky sort o' verdict,
that nobody 'cept theirselvcs could understand, and what d'ye think it
was, eh ? "

** Manslaughter, perhaps."
"Manslaughter; no, no, worse nor that."

"Worse than maushiughter. What could it have been then?"
"Why," — here mv companion rolled his huge quid from one side
of his mouth to the other, as though he wi^thed to make room for the
hard words he was about to utter, — "why, d'ye see," said he, *' the
jury said that the Old Miser died o' the powers o' consciencei brought
on by fright, being at the time in a onsound state o* mind, or Cobbler's
Mentis,

THE FAIRY CUP

BT ALFBBD CBOWQUILI^

Hmxt Tcan •{•» whea the people oo tke eftrtfa were free, ud it
tomftke a |iriaceor a pnaoesstkaa it dotm in tin |Hi>tf»| ilii .
wbcB pMpie were ndi vpaa a liule. aad evcrriltiqg wm nsfadkOj
Ibctr 4i«ra tiMt ikey etold eatdi ; cither is the vild wmada <
nlvrr iiiiwi : wfcen a kinig was the posHiTe reptcaentadye

•f the peofileyaBd ao taAepeademt aa to an rerf Uttla abant
aBd,wketi pT * *

plCB^

arlaiid if he happened tabe
OQt — ^whts aekoawledgiBg

after the
to kick

right, acralv ihrageed hia ahaidden aad wended kia way
ir aoo^tcae weaker

bf his atmoger neigfafaaory whea

It, iBuely ihnigged hia ahMuden aad W4
', or aao^ cae weaker than hiiiwtlf, aod
aa he had heea aerrcd br his atmocer ni

him in

eat a man'a bfatat waa thaaght nAtr a ■pinted thing, and the
derer was rewarded accordingly by being called by anything hot hii
real title.

Oh ! happy " many yean ago," called by ns the Galdeo Age, iarl
other fcainn than for the great acaraty of that metaJ. which, in^
wbnndaff^] with strange anomaly, bai only produced this Ij
which annean ererj day to get more nuty.

Oh I that now waa " a good while ago," when romanoe walked with
atatdy step and a poaitiTe suit of tin, throogh the wild
rodcy paasnn, and yon bad a chance if you could knock bard
out soBie niark, and taking pOMeasion without ijue^tiou of his
castle. On, ^'PPT times, when yau never went to law, that not
inrented, but to loggerheads^ which is mach the same thing, only leal
more for the combatants.

In thoee days — when all the world lived by what we cail,
refinement of this age» robbery, merely because now every thhi^
in the mo«t anacooantable manner to be claimed by aooaebody.
roan migbt ride through the luxuriant woods and lurely slopin-* plsdsb
oecasioiullT meeting with a fat buck that be could afaoot duvrn
mighty will and pleaaore, and dine thereon without asking my li
ny ]aay,then calitnly take a nap under the spreading branchea of i
noble tree, upon a bed of most unexceptionable mci»s, and all
anvthing to pay for tre^posaing.

feven the authors and poets of that day were to be envied ; far
had the power of publishing their own works, and getting a
living by it. Ooe of these envied beings was indeed a wl
lating library in himself; for when any impatient damsel or ex\
cutcne languished for some particular storVf they were obliged to
for the author, who only yielded his treasures by word of
They were also the great origin of our present neA^ti papers, for ihroogb
them alone, collecting, as they did, aU the news in their wandariag^
could be obtained the chit-chat and morders of the prorince : vtjf
considering their opportunities, tbey did not lie more than their prinlM
representatives of the present day. which is cerUinly a chalk in t^|
favour. All this ability was rewarded with the warmest comer, tbt
deepest dagon, and the buest cut from the chine. This is not oftco

THE FAIRY CUP.

5AS

case with the poets of this miserahie nge, who foolishly print their
effusions, and stay at home in their gnrrets, very often without any
dinner at all.

Pleasant times, indeed, were ihey for all erring humanity. Young
gentlemen of expensive habits, and irregularity in their cash pay-
ments, instead of being summoned themselves, summnned the devil,
■who immediately put in an appearance, took a little I. O. U of them,
to be claimed at some iudetinite period : and lo! they were again freer
to run out the reel of their folly to the end.

Now, younff gentlemen go to the devil in a very different way, cer-
tainly in one less romantic

Fairies, of a kind and beneficent nature, took under their particular
care, young handsome travellers, who did not travel as they do in the
present day, for any particular house, but who went out to seek their
fortunes — rather an indefinite term certainly. But in that golden time
there were a great many waifs and strays, almost crying ** come take
me " upon every high^vay. So that a man blessed with a sharp wit
and a sharp sword — for a little fighting was often necessary — might
tumble, as it were, headlong into luck, and find himself the husband of
some princess, and the owner of a castle of very respectable rubble and
limestone.

Gold, then, was pointed out by amiable gnomes, who did not know
what to do with it themselves, enriching some fortunate mortal who
had lost his way and his inheritance. Kings and bank clerks are the
only privileged ones now who are allowed to gloat upon so much col-
lected treasure.

In fine, then, there was enough for every body and to spare. Those
kind beings have uil gone into some more refined sphere than this
matter-of-fact world ; railroads and bricks and mortar have desecrated
their little shady nooks and gold-burthcncd caverns, and all that we
have got left is the sweet remembrances of their freaks and goodness
" Once upon n time."

Therefiire I love to rake up the old stores of my memory, and intro-
duce to my readers some few of those quaint mortals, for, that they
did exist, and do exist now, there can be little doubt, or how other*
wise could their private histories and actions have been chronicled in
all our early works, or been the constant theme of the ancients, who
are our authority in all learning and accomplishments, oven in the pre-
sent day ? If we doubt their Nips, and gnomes, and fairies, wliy do
we believe their Heros and Leanders, their Antonys, their Cleopatras,
and a host of other historical beings?

I would not, for the world, tear out the early leaves from my book
of life, for I have to turn to them too often to solace me for the many
after pages of sorrow and gloom that fate has chronicled with her
changcfuJ pen. So, reader, you must let me lead you back into fairy
land, and 1 will shew you pictures both pleasing and instructive. In
my experience I have found that it would be as well if we could be
children oftener than we are.

Without further lament over what has gone by, fix your eyes upon
my erratic page and see what is to come.

684

THE FAIHY CUP.

CJ)t dTatVu Cup.

"Once upon a time "there dwelt in the wf
primeval wood a happy woodman, named Hubert
aud russet'cheeked children. It was the sweetea
could rest on. Its peaked thatched roof was m
the early dews shed by the overhanging gigantic
their branches over its lowly roof, to shelter it fro
mother-bird spreads her winga over her culloi
twinkling casement caught the first rays of tli
sparkled in the most cheering manner, whilst the
smoke rolled playfully amidst the gnarled brai
amidst abundant foliage, startling the young bird
with its sweet odour. Oh, it was a happy-looki
the very dwelling of peace, who flies from the pa
ing crowd, to 6nd only in the simplicity of Nat
place for her pure spirit.

And here she dwelt indeed ; simple love p<
peace sat upon their threshold, whilst contentme
their enjoyments. There could be no solitude tl
laugh of childhood disturbed the echoes in the de4
and the birds answered from the high branches t
the gamboUers beneath tliem.

Tlie mother watched them in their play as
whilst a happy smile played in her eyes with a
love and fondness, that the last ray of the sii
dudgeon at beins surpassed by the holy light.

The night staTked forth over hill and valley, si
shadowy arms afar and near as he gathered up
dark wallet, when Hubert turned hh weary foots
has been pictured. He pluJded through the
heavy tread, but still lie whistled out a blitheaoi
was on tlic path before him, and he thought of r
self and his home.

But there was something in his path that, env
and lightsome heart, cowered with spite amidst
threw forth before him the twining thorny bram
his way. It was one of the evil fairies of the
gathered the deadly bright berries from the brar
in a huge stone caldron in the deep recesses of the
dogging the footsteps of mortals to persuade t1
wiles, to drink from her fairy cup, which quickly
of all beside in nature; fur so strong was the drai
dark yawning precipice ap[»ear to the bewi]dere<
a luring field of sweet-scented ftowersi and br
until, in bis insanity, the poor deluded victim dc
all he loved, and found too lute that he had sol
his wily and deceitful tempter.

At a sudden turn of his path he started, on bel
a gnarled tree, a beautiful female figure, with i
ture, girded with a bright cincture round her 3
beautiful limbs appearing and disappearing under
like those of a swimmer who disports himself am

THE FAIRY CUP.

585

of the sea. She aroae with downcast looks as he timidly approached.
Iler bright eyes fell aa if with timid modestv, and the deep roseate
tinge of htT enamelled cheek ^rew deeper under his unlent gaze,

Hubert doffcMl his ctip* an this beautiful being rose from lier recum*
l>ent posture* but stood irresolute and embarrassed by the aue-inspiring
charms of the creature l>efore him. At last, after guzingfur a moment
Diore> be tiumnioned up his courtige and addre88e<l her. ** Liidy," said
he, " fear me not, I will not harm you ; if you have wandered from
your home, or missed your friends in the intricacies of the forest, you
can have no surer guide thun your humble servant."

A smile flitted like a bright light across the fair face of the faicy*
her lips unclosed, and forth issued a voice as melodious and enchanting
as the softest flute.

"Child of earth," said she> "these woods are my hornet I am the
spirit of perfect happiness. Behold my magic cup." As she spoke,
she held up to his view a smnit cup of rare workmanship, funned in
the fashion of the wild blue bell. It sparkled with a sapphire-like
lustre iit every movement, as drops of liquor fell like diamonds from its
brim. " This eup," continued she, ** was given me by the fairy Hope,
who never looks behind her, thnt past sorrows iind misfortune may not
cast u shadow on the future. Without Hope mortals would all wither
and die in the black vulU-y of desjmir; she was sent to encourage them
as n guiding-siar through the troubles of the world, that they might
reach the abode of perfect happiness. Few mortals meet with me
while living. I appear occiisionully, and let them drink of my cup,
when I think tlicy deserve from their goodness to participate in the
like drauglit. You have I chosen to be one of the favoured ;
rink, then, and you shnll become jireater than a king; your burthen
shall be as down upon your back, and your feet shall ]o«e their weari-
ness; your heart shnll bound with tlie full pulse of felicity, and you
shall be borne on your way upon wings stronger than those of the
mighty eagle.'*

Hubert hesitated as the bright being held the cup still nearer to his
grasp. His extended hand appeared us ready to clutch it, but doubts
and fear witldield htm from grasping its slender stem. Another mo-
ment of indecision, and it was pressed within his palm I

" Drink, mortal !" siiid slie, ''and become almost as immortal as
myself. It will encase your heart with armour impervious to the
shafts of care, and raise your crest to the bearing of the fearless war-
rior. You shall be no longer serf and vassal, but the lord of all that
surrounds ym ; seeing through its influence the hidden treasures of
the world that now unheeded sparkle beneath your feet ; where the
gnomes who hate mankind, have hidden it from the sight of all hut
those who have courage to face the dangers of the Fairy world. The
fiends of avarice and ambition seized upon the heart of the simple
wo*«lman. To be rich ! to he great! perfect happiness! what golden
promises ! The soft bewitching voice of the fairy still whispered with
silvery tones in his ear the fascinating words. Foolish mortal I was he
nut already richer than a king in the love of his wife and children ;
was he not great in his honest simplicity; and had he not enjoyed
perfect happiness beneath the roof of hia lowly sequestered cot.

He looked for one moment upon the lustrous eyes of the being before
bim, and, as if fascinated, drnined the magic goblet at a draught.

What gushes of enrapturing pleasure rushed through bis boundin;;

VOL. XXIIT. X X

THE FAIRY

Yeina — hi* stalwart frame seemed to dilate aa be yielded the cup
rendT hand of his tempter.

The vistned trees melted, as it were, from their rugged forms
towering pillars of ahiaing marble of the most dazzling whiteness;
greensward rolled like wuves from beneath his feet, and he stood, with
the my&teriuus being by his side, upon a tiight of porphyry step* thai
led to a palace of iiiterminuble terraceAi towering in their magiiificezia
even to the blue nrch of the heavens. ^1

The load fvll from his shoulders, and was seen no more ; the trd^
left his heart as be gazed ujmn the wonders around him. nnd he feltti
if he had wings that would carry him to the topmost height of thil
wondrous paluce. Vases tempted him on either hand, laden with tb
treasures of the mine, whiUt jewels invtiluable were scattered at his f<«(
in numbers vieing with the pebbleu on the sea-nhore. Mu&ic, softaad
delicious, wrapped his senses in a delicious delirium, ever and ooM
swelling into a lively measure, promptin;; him to bound forward in i
wild and rapid dance. As he progressed throuf^h the magnificent halli,
the attendant fuiry kept plying him with draughts from her bewiider-
ing goblet of sapphire; until he, erown bolder at every draught, tan
it from her grasp and quaifed with a maddening delight the preciott
liquid ; when suddenly the palace and its wonders quivered befure hii
sight like motes iu the suubeam, and gradually melting into splendid
rainbow tints, sunk into a black and sudden darkness — the rest
all oblivion !

The voice of lament rang through the forest as Hubert's wife
over his unconscious form ; the cry of children arose shrilly oaj
night-air, and awakened him to a half-dreamy consciou&neaa. A
of almost idiotcy upon his pale and haggard face, as he ^azed
miserable and distracted group that surrounded him, made their
hearts turn cold.

Tiiey had sought for hours for him in the mazes of the fureat,
last discovered him app^irenlly dead ut the fout of an aged ottk.
trembling and uncertain foot he accompanied them to hia
muttering strange words as he went, to the dismay of hia fond

and children. When they arrived at their hitherto peaceful hot

sank powerless upon the humble pallet, and fell into a deep slumlRA

The next morning harsh wards, for the first time, answered ta hil
wife's anxious inrpiiries as to what had been the cause of bi*i stl
accident. Without tasting the morning simple mealj he ahouh
his axei and wended his way moodily into the recesses of the
leaving a deep shadow over the brightness uf his home. As be
peared through tlie trees* his wife pressed her little onea to her
and wept aloud.

Days and months, weary and sad, rolled on, and the nuble fv
the woodman became a wretched ruin. He saw his once-loved c*
its inhabitauts withering dailv before his eyes, yet still he sough!
fascinating being who giive fiim a fleeting heaven for a la^uiog
The drooping wretch no longer raised his hand to labour, but ItngefW
listlessly through the glades of the forest, craving for the appeanatt
of the being who was to lead him, ut such a fearful co»C, to iMMkJttd
TiMon and madness.

Morning, with her rosy fingers and balmy breath, opened

THE FA FRY CUP.

«87

flowers through the woods and valleys, shooting as if in sport her gold-
en arrows through the whispering leaves, startling the birds from their
sleep to sing their early matins.

Nii;ht gathered up the dark folds of her robe, and retreated majes-
tically before the coming light, leaving her sparkling gems of dew
trembling upon every stem and flower.

With downcast look and melancholy brow came the young mother;
her eye beheld not the flowers that strewed her path, and her ear was
deaf to the early songs of the birds ; tears trembled on her eyelids, and
fell unconsciously down her pule cheek. Her lingering step ceased as
she approached a rustic basin, formed of rude blocks of stone, into which
the water had been turned from some neighbouring springs.

As she raised the vessel which she carried in her hands to immerge
it in the sparkling waters, she was startled by seeing them bubble and
rise until they leaped over their stone boundary in copious streams to
her feet. Hardly had she time to wonder at this strange phenomenon,
when she beheld a dwnrf-like figure rise from the midst. He waa
dressed in a quaint coHtume and looped-up hat, which was drippine
with moisture, apparently not at all to his inconvenience, for he leaned
upon the edge (if the bfisiu, while his little figure continued still half
submerged, with a comfortable and satisfied look.

As she continued to gaze at the odd object before her, undetermined
whether to stay or fly, he politely raised his hat, and bade her not be
alarmed. " For 1 have come out," said he, " this morning on purpose
to meet you, and to Iry and remedy the sorrow which is devouring you.
I say 'remedy/ for you must understand 1 am the natural universal
doctor. In fact," continued he, while a sly smile passed across his co-
mic little face, "your human doctors apply to me upon all occasions;
indeed, without me they could not exist, though they never let their
patients know it, for, if they did, they would all, poor deluded
wretches ! come direct to me, and ruin the whole of the fraternity.

" I have more power than any sprite, fairy, or gnome that exists ;
the whole earth itself is under my control. Tliese mighty trees would
never raise their towering heads without me ; no flower would bloom
at their rugged feet, nor would the soft mossy carpet so grateful to
your feet live for a moment if I did not sustain it by my magic aid. I
am ordiiined to yield continual good wherever I am present. I creep
amidst the wild flowers and bid them bloom; I climb the snake-like
vine, and hang it ^vith the rich clustering grape, and all the fruits of
the earth await my summons to burst their bonds and yield their trea-
tures to the human race.

"I waader into other lands, and bear back rich argosies laden with
jewels and gold to deck the brow of noble beauty ; I dash down from
rocky heights headlong, to fertilize the teeming valleys; my voice is
beard like the roaring thunder, and anon like the softest music in the
shady aolitudcs, as I whisper on my way through the reeds and the
water-lilies. Where I am not, all must droop and die.

" I have watched you long, when you sought me in your early days
of happiness and love, until young blossoms like yourself sprung up
around you, and paddled with their tiny feet in my cool and crystal
waters. Then your song was of the merriest measure, but now the
echoes mourn in silence the absence of your melodious voice, and your
siglis alone break the stillness. Your pale face has been reflected in

X X 3

688

THE FAIRY CUP.

these waten, until I felt and knew that ftotue blight had fallen upon
your boppiiiew which as yet had never shrunk under the cankering
bre^ith of care.

A little bright rill, that had wandered to pUy with the wild Uos-
Boms in this wuod, returned to me, and, pnittliug by my side, told nve
of the dreadful delusion under which your hitherto good and stalwart
husband laboured. I watched him aa he came, with dejected look, lo
unlike his former self, to Uve his buruiuj? brow in my cooling waterv
I quickly saw what fairy demon's hand had so destroyed the goodly
form and uoble heart of my poor woodman. Here was the shadow
$hat fell over your pure brow, drained your young heart, and silenc«d
the song that made this no lunger a gohtude.

*' Listen to me/' continued ne^ " and I will endeavour to save him.
If you can persuade him by the eloquence of your We, and the pictun*
of the ruin that day by day encompaiises your all, to attend strictly to
my warnings I will' rescue him from the overpowering spell of the
£iscinating demon that enthrals him.

** I will give him a talisman so powerful, that the scales shall drop
from his eyes, and his destroyer appear in her own proper bideou
colours, when, if he has any love left fur those whose sole dependence
is on him, he will resolutely baffle all the attempts made Co seduce bin
again into the world of vicious dreams and indolence/*

As he concluded, he sunk beneath the waters. The young wife
stood entrunced, with hojTe beating in her heart, and her eyes fixed
Upon the bubbles as they roiie to the surface, doubting almost whether
what she had heard was not a delusion of her distracted brain.

Another moment> and the benevolent sprite again npi>eared, huld-
ing in his hand a globe containing a liquid that shone like a pore
diamond.

*' Take this, and let your husband keep it with him, and when tbc
deluding demon approaclies him, to mystify him with her machinatians,
let him drink from the small aperture in this globe, and he will in-
stantly see her in her demoniac form. Let him persevere, and sbtf
will Hy from him, and you and he will be saved and restored to praon
Farewell."

As she clasped the bottle with eager hand, he sank amidst a thoo-
sand sparkling bubbles, and she was alone. Quickly she sped throng
the tangled way, fur her feet were winged by love, and by hope ibit
had long lain drooping. The cottage door was soon reachedj when
tat the pule form of her husband, his bloodshot eyes turned languidlj
towards her as she approached. But he was soon roused from hii
listless posture by seeing the excitement of her manner, and li^tenlag
to her strange tule, which he would have doubted, had she not »hovn
him in triumph the bright globe given her by the sprite of the ${iria^
Her almoHt childit>h delight, strange to say, hardly met with a ic-
spouse in his bosom, for the charm of his daily enchantments he seemed
to feel a hesitation to relinquish, they appeared to his bewildered seatf
all that waH worth living for.

Her heart itunk with almost a death-like pang, but she bade kia
drink from the jewel-like bottle. A deep shudder shook bia alie-
nuated frame as he did so. One moment, and his pallid featara
flushed as he beheld, for the 6rst time, the ruin and desolation of hit
Home. He stood an abashed and guilty man before his loving wife
id little innoci-nt children.

GOD WILL BEFRIEND THE RIGHT.

589

Hubert, armed ^'ith good resolves and his stout axe, again entered
the forest, his heart jmlpitating with an indescribable feeling, us if in
doubt of the pi»wpr of the talisman to shield bim from the fnscination
of his deluder. Hardly hud the strike of his axe awakened the echoes
of the forest, when, tlircmgh a sliady vistH, lie saw the light form of
the fairy tripping over the ^iroenswartt, with upraised cup and joyous
Intigh, OS she recognihed him at hia lubntir. Strange thrills rutthed
through his frame as she approached nearer and nearer ; strange
thoughts hovered in hia mind of throwing his wife's talisman from
him, and once more clasping that tempting cup that shone «Ten in the
distance like a bright amethyst.

But a shadow fell over the bright form, and her resplendent eye*
glared with a fiendish luok as it approached nearer to the spot.

He seized the tatitiman, and drank of its pure and bright contents.
On the instant, the forms of his wife and chitdrrn encircled liim in
fond union, as a barrier between him and the evil spirit. Again be
drank, and as he did so, shuddered with horror us he beheld a lambent
flame rise from the hitherto craved gohlet of the liend.

The beautiful locks which played round the brow of the false one,
twined into writhing snakes, and bright burning scales rose upon her
fair bosom, her face became distorted with horrible passion. Hubert
could behold uu more ; he placed hJs band across his eyes to shut out
the fiend, and in a moment he was alone.

• • • * •

That night, as the moon threw her silver tribute on the rippling
waters of the lowly well, Hubert stood with his arm around the waist
of his happy wife. They were silent and expectant. They both
hoped to see the benevolent being who had given them the powerful
talisman to free them from the deetruyiugiij^irit.

They saw him not, but a voice fell on their listening ears, saying,

"Go, Hubert, and he happy in the love of your wife and children.
True happiness dwells only with the innocent and temperate. The
talisman I gave you is the pure water of the earth, that yields it for
the U<>od of all nature, animate and inanimate, on its bosom.

"The Fiend you have escaped is called Intemperance."

GOD WILL BEFRIEND THE RIGHT.

OT G. LIMMAUS VANXB.

Mav, in thy MUcer's imftge made,

Bom to a glorious heritage ;
Shall piuuion'ii voira thy soul invade.

And blot the f.tir eternal paf^e ?
Dittmi» the tyrant from thy brcant !

Be pure and spotless in His sight ;
Whatever pangs prevent thy re*t,

Bv 8ur«, Qod viU befriend the H^ht.

Not wealth, hut Tirtue has His care,

The worldly great He passes by,
Vet liHtene to the humhlest prayer,
_ And lifts the fainting spirit high.

The tolling one may suffer ihame.
May feel tlie world's hard blow and
alight ;

Bring no dishonour on tliy name,
Aud then. Ood will befriend the right.

A)>ove the fiercest storm of life.

Pure peace awuits the soul's repose,
M'hcre, having conc^uer'd human strife*

It dwells, and smiles upon IM foM.
To triumph in that cloudless spherSf

Arm, for the hloodlens mortal fight,
Thy buckler /rtiM, and truth thy spear ;

God tecs, and will befriend the right.

590

CAREER OP LOUIS PHILIPPE AS A SOVEREIGN.

BY J. WARD.

Wb shall pass over the incidents of the fallen monarch's early life^j
which everyboily is presumed to know, — hia long and bitter trials,,
which everybody commiserates, — the wisdom and sagacity whidij
experience was said to have taught him, and which everybody UM
to extol, — and place ourselves in his presence on the eve of his av
tending the throne of France, the facts connected with which arc
known to few. although they form the keystone to his after-life.

On the 31st of July, 1830, we were detained for an hour at Auxcrr
on our road from Lyons to Paris. We had left much excilcmei
behind at Lyons ; but as we approached the metropolis the stori
visibly increased. At Alehjn the whole population, men, wonn
and children, were anxiously looking out for the diligmce aouil
ward. The definitive success of the revolution was known, but
the form into which the government would be resolved. The
pie were not only prepared for a republic, but expected it ; and wh<
the conductcur of the dilisence informed them that the Duke of ~
leans had accepted the Tieutenance gen^rale of the kingdom, th<
were evidently surprised, disappointed, and morti6ed.

But, how had Alonsieur le Conducteur obtained his inforrnation,
for he had by some hours anticipated the denouement ? It was xu
until the noon of the day that Louis Philippe and Lafayette came
an understanding ; and up to the last moment the people in Pi
were in the dark. How did it happen that the " coming event
its shadow before " at a distance of fifty miles from Paris, while ll
Parisians themf^lves had no apprehensions of it ? They do
appear even to have suspected such an event, until they «1
Louis Philippe escorted by the deputies to the Hotel de Vilfe, a(
even then they did not know in what capacity they were lo recog^
nise him. His reception was so cold and lioubtful, that he wtll
might have dreaded the d^bui he was about to make as a king,
there been one audacious demagogue to shout a veto upon his
mination to the throne, he would have been undone, for the pul
felt that they were about to be deceived. But the clap-trap was
on his side, Lafayette waved over his head the flag of the o!d
public, and the githly people believed that by this idle spell be hi
reconciled monarchy with democracy. A bargain so lightly nu
was not likely to be much respected on either side, and it was
broken.

That Louis Philippe had long speculated upon a possible rev<
lion, which would offer him a chance of the crown, there can "
question. His close intimacy with the republicans, and the su]
which he lent to their cause both in purse and person, are
known to all. For this he must have had some strong motive — love
of his country, or love of the house of Orleani. That he had
narrowly watched the conduct of the Hutel de Ville committet
during the three " days of July," is evident from the errors whick
he has since committed, and the false conclusion which he drew
from their want of spirit and decision on that occasion. How-
ever ready the populace of France may be to precipitate thcoi-

CA£EER OF LOUIS PHILIFPE.

191

•elves into a revolution, her professed politicians have usually
shewn much caution in mistaking treason for patriotism ; and in
1830 they especially betrayed a want of unanimity and decision.
On the 26th of Jidy, AI. Labortle called a meeting at his own
house, at which, with a few others, he contended for proclaiming
the people absolved from their allegiance, by the King's violation
of the charter; but M. Perier, on the contrary, maintained that,
in point of strict law, the obnoxious ordonnances might be recon-
ciled with the letter of the constitution. It whj^ neither their privi.
lege nor their duly to assert either the will or the rights of the
people, lie was for leaving the King and the people to fight the
quarrel out between themselves. He and other leaders {?) of the
people were content to hold what he termed unc position superhe ;
but they kept aloof from the struggle, and contended that all woidd
be lost if they abandoned the strict line of legality. This was a very
convenient doctrine to preach.

M. Lafayette now appeared on the stage (on the 28th) ; but even
his enthusiasm could not warm the sang froid of his colleagues.
Guizot, Sebastiani, Dupin, and others, still refused to stir without
the pale of tlie law, and dared not venture to compromise their own
safety. They lingered on the safe side of the line of demarcation
between loyalty and rebellion, afraid of quitting the neutral position
of mediation ; and even the greatness which they were destined to
achieve in the course of the next twenty-fuur hours was thrust upon
them by one of the most singular hoaxes on record. An ingenious
person, M. Berard, conceived that the people would be much more
animated in their proceedings, if they had the semblance of some
authority to back them ; and he, therefore, boldly announced an
imaginary p^ovi^ional government of his own creation, consisting of
Generals Lafayette and Gerard, and the Due de Choiseul. This
government of course had no existence ; but the people believed in
it, and their faith gave a new impulse to their fury, which before
had betrayed some symptoms of exhaustion. The troops reeled
under the shock— the throne trembled ; and when Perier and
Guizot saw what a charm there was in the name of a provisional
government, though a fictitious one, they no longer withheld their
assent from the formation of a real one.

There can be little doubt as to Louts Philippe being minutely in-
formed of the vacillation and timidity of the liberal hummes d'etat of
France during the three days ; and he must have been excessively
provoked by the want of decision and spirit which kept him so long
in suspense about his chance of the crown. Nor must we be sur-
prised that, once safely seated on the throne (as he thought), he
ihould ever afterwards feel a certain degree of contempt for them.
He must have seen that he had little to fear from them, if he could
manage the people by 6nesse and force ; and he appears to have
thought that the people themselves had only been successful against
Charles, because tliey had been deluded into an unmerited con-
fidence in their leaders, which was not likely to be repeated after
their sorry performances in the great drama of July. His error
consisted in not perceiving that he would be a loser instead of
a gainer by the alienation of the people from such milk-and-water
conspirators; that, if these men bad retaine<l their hold upon the
confidence of the people, the proved incapacity of the former for

59S

CAREER OF

organizing another revolution, and their personal fears of the aw-
wqucnces of such an experiment, would have been the best jpu^
rantee of his security. He did not reflect that the people, oo
another occasion, might have other leaders, men more unoon-
p^orai!^ing and audacious, who would have touch lesa to risk, and
much more to gain, by a bold da«h at the govemment than the
hesitating gentlemen of the Hotel de Ville.

The coalition of the republicans and legitimijta agmrmt Ixidi
Philippe commenced almost from the very first day of his resga;
but it was effectually crushed in the ^tneuie of 1832. The Due de
firoglie, LaBtte, and Perier had then successively essayed the tjik
of forming a firm administration ; but they had all failed, sad
Lafitte, hopelessly excluded from the cabinet while the king rokd
it, began openly to organize an agitation fur a republic. One bo^
dred and forty deputies assembled at his house, and signed a
rendu of their objects, but prudently confined themselves to

stitutional means for their achievement. There were so many

turbing forces in action at that period, that it is impoMible to dcfiw
clearly the share which this complc rendu had in producing the oot-
break at the funeral of Lnmarque ; but, although warrants weft
issued against M. Garnier Pages and others of the party, it ij qnicr
certain that they abstaine<l from personal compromise, as they did
in 1830. Nothing could be brougnt home to them, and it is fair t»
assume that they did not know exactly what they intended to do.

From this time Louis Philippe threw off* all affectation of attach-
ing the republicans to his dynasty. He felt satisfied that be taX^-
mated their courage and power rightly; and, with this imprcsiaon
on his mind, as he had nothing to fear from them^ he leJEt
nothing to hope from him. Had he conducted himself ot
towards them, it is possible that the republicans might have
away, as tl)e Carlists did, in the subsequent ten years ; but hai
declared his final separation from them, they boldly declared
utter detestation both of his principles and his ingratitude.

Louis gave a last audience to the republican leaders, AIM.
Arago, and Odillon Barrot ; but it was not to reason with or
them. Paris was, at the moment, in a stale of siege ; the
artillery and the shrieks of the people were a filling introdu(
the conversation which ensued ; and the monarch himself bftd
returned from the conflict animated by the consciousness of
Odillon Barrot l>egan by deploring the fatal disorders wl
taken place, and begged the King to put an end to the eflij
blood. Louis appeared unmoved, except that a flush of cHl
passed over his brow, when Barrot assumed a diflerent tone.
plorable as these disorders were," he desired to add, <* the pi
were fully excused by the conduct of the government, which
to have forgotten the principles of July, and whose meannesa
not only led to the calamities, but would load eventually to anai
and civil war." The King asked him to be precise, and explain
telligibly what he wanted. Barrot replied, " That he and his fri<
had come to implore the king to Ailencf the cannon, which
even then hurling destruction among the citizens, and to prei
further calamities by an immediate and complete return to the
ciples which had placed him on the throne."

" No/' replied the king, haughtily, "audaciously attacked by'

LOUIS PHILIPPE.

enemies, I am only exercising my legitimate right of self defence.
The time is come, gentlemen, when the principle of revolt must be
put down ; and I employ cannon only to have done with it the
sooner. As to the pretended engagemenU and republican pledges,
into which it is said I entered at tlie Hotel de Ville on the day of my
acces.sion, I know not what they mean. I have overfulfilled all the
promises 1 made, and revived more than enuugh of republtcanitim in
the in&titutiutiB of the state. Those pledges exist only in the imagi-
nation of AI. Lafnyette, who is certainly under some delusion."

Barrot said that he was sorry to hear that they had all been under
a delusion, and that he »aw no hope uf repose for France unless the
administration was entrusted to those in whom they could contide.

*' That is another delusion/' retorted the king. " You blame my
ministers ; but it is unjust to give them either the blame or the praise
of the system which 1 have followed. It is my own; the result of
my own experience and reHection. It is founded on the principles
upon which I tvoiiUI have consented to take the crown; and they
shall hash me in a mortar before I wU\ abandon it."

The two most arbitrary sovereigns by %vhom France had ever beea
ruled, Louis the XIV. and Napoleon, never asserted greater preten-
sions than did Louis Philip[>e at the meeting we have just described.
Louis the XIV. had his mot, teiut c'est inoi ; Napoleon copied it^^'e
suis Vctai ; and Louis Philippe very closely imitated it when he
answered, je sitis le goitvernernetii.

*' Don't trouble yourself about my ministers, gentlemen/' quoth
the monarch, "if there is anything wrong, it is / am the author
of it."

The king, however, and his friends of the '* Three days" stood in
a wrong relation to each other from the first. The latter never could
divest themselves of the idea that Louis was under a personal ohliga-
tion to them for his throne, and, presuming too much upon this,
they soon made themselves disagreeable at Court. They lioped,
also, to gain something for themselves by the revolution, and what
were the loaves and tithes at the king's disposal — though in France
the government is not without patronage — among so many? They
also considerefl themselves entitled not only to beg, but, more odious
still, to advise. Louis might have borne with tht^ir importunities,
but their impertinences were intolerable; he became disgusted, and
shook them oif, to use M. Sarran's expession, *'lo starve under the
eye of a throne of which they were the pedestals." Siill, he did not
behave well ; he could not, because his professions of principle, and
still more his promises uf personal favours, had excited expectations
wliich it was out of his power to fulfil.

After the suppression of the cmeute in 1832, Louis reigned with
tolerable comfort for nearly four years. He played with Dupjn,
but found him untractable. The crotchety lawyer refused to be
made a puliiical machine. Louis Philippe next tried his hand upon
Soult, whose discipline under Napoleon, rendered him more manage-
able. With Guizot, Thiers, and Broglie, a working cabinet was
formed, which struggled through many difficulties, until I83d^ when
the opprcs'iive *' laws of September " against the press were enacted^
and the fall of the ministry was consummated.

From "35 to '40, when the re-establishment of Guizot in power was
perm'meut, the government of Louis Philippe was continually indif-

tfe«

botif «i
■»qmi»ed vbcn he iMt
hmd Fndmdk
wythoat tbe

lor hisa to eoaaarfi
tWy- gmitcd him a supply of nntf
the chaiBbcT with unbliulhKDgc&aalm
KWq«c«iM ia tbc ■«{><>*• ^V »oung the sum Ri|iitni
• bodyc—Mtoitiyw todfm the face of Europe, tci^
kare cobm ta be tgmmdered as a privilc^ ; and there c» be
tele dmO^ that, m adcfician to the enonaoos sams wbicfa tbe t* —
bers Ta«cd lor their own oorrapbon, the Ktn^ from bb immtm
prirate roourcea aa well as ha exorbitant civil Im, afticrilft
OMtiUd bis JkiinutcTf in tbe work of political proatjtutioo.

We BOW arrire at the laA link in that lon|p chain of tivjfiiiii^liw
which Louis Philippe had so indostrioiisly fornd for accomtHdat^
hiapofitical atam Wben M. Guixot seized the reins of power lit
pwHlical BtmoBphcie wu completely tainted, no man could biiilfa
freely, or assume an indepenuetit attitude, e^-ery one felt siViid,a
all were conscious of having rrceired, directly or indirectly, mm
favour from the reigning influence of the day. Men viewed esd
other with distrust, as no one knew to what extent they were indif^
dually compromised ; but all felt a conTiction that they were otf
sinless and untainted.

During the Utter years of his reign, Louis Philippe affected Uok
secrecy in tbe uses to which his enormous resources were appUedfcr
fttrengthcning and extending the dynasty of his family; and its
some palliation for his seeming selfishness, in letting his servants don
the wind when he had dune with them, that few of them had doai
anything for him which they had not been paid for befbrehad
Untler tiuch a system as this, so rotten at the core, can we wondv
that the ex-roonarch had scarcely one friend in his extremity? Btfl
he had sown the seed, and he had no alternative but to reoptte
harvest.

We have not apace to detail the arts and contrivances by whieb
Louis Philippe attempted to establish his dynasty. Every obserrioi
and reflecting man in £urDpe foresaw that Louis Philippe's svatca
could at the utmost only last his own lime, even if he did not pw-
cipitutr its destruction by some blunder of his oivn. Society M
France uus becoming so thoroughly disorganised that it could nt<
be iicld to(^t'ther when relieved fron» the pressure of his own hand
even could he have niainiained his grasp during his life-tiroe. Iti
recohbtruction by a revolution had become asocial necessity whic^
rotJ&t have brcn obeyed within the next ten years, and it adds »oms.
thing Xu the force of the lesson that he should have surviveil to wit-
tiCM the catastrophe of a drama in which he played so important a pi/t

S96

rOURNEY FROM SHIRAZ TO THE PERSIAN GULF,

TITU AN ACCOUKT OP

GAZELLE-HUNTINO ON THE PLAIN OF BUSHTRE.
BY TBS HON. C. B. 8ATILS.

Un the 2Sth of March, we took our departure from Shiraz. Our
first day's journey loy along a circuitous detile leading through the
lofty mountains which bound the soutbem extremity of the plain of
Shiraz; so rugged was the road along which lay our course, that it was
not until long after sunset that we arrived at Cawal, a small and soli-
tary village, nine fursoks (ahout thirty-two miles) distant from Shiraz.
The howling and squalling ot the waives and jackals commenced imme-
diately after dark, and continued without intermission during the
night.

The following morning, when about a furaok from Cawal» we arrived
at the banks of a very rapid river, which we crossed bv means of a
bridge, in such a ruinous state, that it appeared scarcely able to suslaia
the weight of our mules. It was fortunate, however, that it was pass-
able, as it would have been completely impossible for us to have forded
the river, on account of its rapidity and depth. We now arrived at the
fc»ot of a very atcep and rocky cotall, (mountain-pass,) where we break-
fasted beneath some almond-trees in full blossom. A quantity of beau-
tiful flowers grew upon this spot, which was one of the most lovely I
bad seen, since leaving "the smiling Georgia." Having finished our
meal, we proceeded to ascend the pass, which was rendered a task of no
ordinary difficulty by the steepness and ruggedness of the rocks.

On arriving at the central point of the cotall, we came upon one of
the must maguificent cataracts I had ever beheld, it was of greater
breadth and depth than the falls of the Rhine; the scene, indeed, was
most imposing, and the noise of the waters almost deafening. On
descending upon the plain we were overtaken by a thunder-storm, the
terrible effects of which will remain for ever engraved upon my memory.
For about half-an-hour there was some interval between the flashes of
lightning and the pealu of thunder, but at length the storm broke ju6t
over our heads. The heavens became one blaze of fire, while crash
followed crash so rapidly, that not even a momentary pause ensued
between the peals.

Late in the afternoon we began to ascend a cotall, in comparison to
which the mountain-passes we bad previously crossed were as level
plains. After great toiling we arrived at the summit, to look down
from which made us giddy. We descended, however, in safety to the
valley below, thanks to the gurefootedness of our excellent horses, and
shortly afterwards arrived at Firousabad, a villafre beautifully sitnated in
the midst of date-groves. The inhabitant!* were most civil and hospi-
table, and having conducted us to an excellent lodging, Lhey supplied us
with milk, rice, and dales. The sheik soon afterwards paid us a visit.
He was an Arab of exceedingly agreeable address and informed us that
we were the first Taringees he had ever seen.

It would be well worth while for an antiquary to remain a few months

596

A JOURNEY FROM 8HIRAZ

at Firousabad, as it presents numerous appearances of hariag- in fomur
day» been a place of gruat importance, size, and strength. There are i
quantity of ruins nroimd it, bearing many signs and marks of fortifies*
tions, of which several watch-towers are in a good state of preservatioo.
The village is surrounded on every side by mountains, exceedingly diffi-
cult of access, and is plenufully supplied with water.

Shortly after resuming our journey we arrived at the banks of a rapid
river, or rather mountain-torrent, the bridge across which having been
washed away, we attempted to ford it in several places, but without
success, as it was far out of the depths of our horses, and the stream
was of such force and velocity that to have essayed swimming acnMt
would have been madness. Just as we were beginning to despair u(
getting across that day, and were about to retrace our steps towards
Firousabad, we espied some peasants on the opposite bank, whom baring
hailed* they directed us to a ford about a mile down the stream, the
passage, however, was not performed without danger, and we wen
nearly losing all our baggage-mules.

We had ridden for several hours along the plain when, just as wv
were passing by a small grove of dwarf oaks, wc started a wild boar, and
as our guns were slung over our shoulders, we could not resist the
temptation of chasing it, and away we gallopped in pursuit. I soon suc-
ceeded in heading the monster, and in lodging a ball in his back, which
did not appear to take much effect. One of our Persian servants now
rode up, when the boar suddenly wheeling round, charged funouslv it
the steed, which was only juat :!^aved by the admirable horsemanship of
the rider, from having its legs ripped up. The Persian having wheeled
round, came again to the attack, and firing, the ball broke the foreleg of
the grisly brute who, notwithstanding his wounds, held on at a rapid
pace. I had, however, by this time procured a spear from another of
the servants, and having again come up with the boar, I made a thniK
at his left shoulder and was fortunate enough to pierce him to the heart,
when he fell over with such force that the weapon snapped in my hand.
The scenery of the extensive plain over which we were joumeyii^
was most beautiful, and plentifully wooded with almond-trees and d«aif
cwkf. Some of the neighbouring mountains were covered to the rer^
summit with these species of tree, which prevented them having that
barren and rugged appearance common to the hills of the northern ia4
central provinces of Persia. Quantities of rhododendron grew ai
which gave the appearance of artificial shrubt>eries to portions of
route.

At the extremity of the plain of Firousabad wc crossed another cotall
covered with stunted wood and luxuriant grasses, and having deaeended
to the opposite side of the mountains, we breakfasted near a rivulvi
flowing through a small wood. The ground was covered with thousands
of flowers, and looked like a richly-ornamented carpet fresh from the
looms of Homadan or Yezd. The climate was very much warmer than
(hat of Shiras, as we were fast descending to the level of the setu The
plain on which we were now travelling was dotted with the black tents
of many Eliaut encampments. For several hours after sunset we
rode along, lighted by a most brilliant moon, and about ten o'clock we
halted at one of the tents just mentioned, where we were plentifuUr
supplied with milk and eggs, and having reposed for a white, w« agui
resumed our journey.

TO THE PERSIAN GULF.

The Eliauts, or wandering tribes of Persia, resemble the Turcomans,
it are much more civilised. They have oAen been described, and one
good picture serves for all, for they arc little subject, to change; and,
while every tradition, and every work on the ancient history of Persia,
proves that many of its more southern inhabitants, particularly those of
the mountains of Kerman and Lauristan, have been noroade or wander-
ing tribes from time immemorial, we lind in the Turkish Eliauts, who
have overrun the northern provinces, the language, the habits, and the
appearance of the Tartar race, to which they belong-. The qualities
inost prized amongst these tribes are courage in men and chastity in
women.

About midnight we arrived at an isolated village, where we passed the
remainder of the night, having, during the course of that day's route,
performed the distance of fifteen fursuka, without counting the ground
gone over duriog the chase after the wild boar.

Early on the foUowiug morning, we crossed another cotall, and then
breakfasted at an Eliaut encampment, where our wants were attended to
by some very handsome women, whose bright black eyes and cheerful
countenances helped to enliven the repast.

Our route^ during the greater portion of the day, lay along a valley
covered with trees and thick crops of barley nearly ready for the sickle.
The surrounding country was green to the very mountain tops, and it
seemed to us that we were riding over a magnificent carpet of various
hues and colours. I was fortunate enough in the afternoon to gel with-
in a hundred and fifty yards of a large antelope, which I killed with a
shot from my ride. This was a much more valuable prize to ua than
the wild boar of the previous day, as Mussulmans hare no ecruplea
with regard to the flesh of the deer.

In the evening, we halted at a village, the inhabitiuits of which con-
sisted partly of Arabs, partly of Persians. The chief or sheik paid us a
very long visit. He was an old roan, and exceedingly talkative. Among
other topics he introduced that of Hindostan, which country ho had seen
a little of, some thirty years previously^ His notions, however, of geo-
graphy were very imperfect, and all our explanations cQu\d not make
him comprehend that England was not in India; and although he was
too polite to say so, he evidently did not give the slightest credeuce to
onr assertions of London (which he knew very well by name) being
more than four months' sea voyage from Calcutta.

The villagers having by some chance heard that one of our party wa«
a hakim (doctor), began immodiately to flock to the house at which we
were lodging, and bring in their sick brethren. One of the first invalids
whose case came under examination was an old man, for whom the doc-
tor prescribed a moderate use of wine. Now the juice of the grape, and
indeed all fermented liquors, are rigorously forbidden to Mussulmans
by the law of their prophet ; but should it be prescribed by a hakim, a
dispensation can be granted by a moolah (Persian Mahometan priest).
No sooner, therefore, was the remedy bruited abroad, than every one
present seemed to have been seized with illness, and many persons of
both sexes pushed themselves forward, complaining of low spirits, cramps
in the stomach, and general debility, in the hope of obtaining the wished-
for dispensation ; for the love of wine nud money, and the gratification
of their sensual passions, are the prominent features in the Persian cha-
racter. In the present instance, it was the first time that the villagers

598

A JOURNEV FROM SUIRAZ

had ever beheld a Frank hakim; and as in the East the medical akiU of
Europeans is magnified to a degree almost beyond belief, our arrival bad
occasioned a most intense degree of excitement among the inhabitanti
of this usually quiet spot. Much curiosity was also raised by our guns;
some debating, however, took place about their being fit for use, as se-
veral veterans considered them as Mrviceable in the way of omameot
only, notwithstanding we bore with us a trophy in the body of the ante-
lope 1 had shot that aflerooon. To convince the good people of their
error, we took our fire-arras into the open air, and, having loaded flome
of them with shot and the remainder with ball, we fired the former at
some sparrows seated upon a tree at a short distance, and made consi-
derable havoc among them. This exploit caused great admiration, whichH
was increased to absolute wonder, when we fired some bullets into ^^
wooden board at the distance of eighty yards. What roosts however,
surprised the villagers was the depth to which the balls bad penetrated*^
Our firearms were now lauded to the skies, and various bints were givctH
that a present of a gun would be most acceptable, as it would serve to
kill the wolves that infested the country during the winter ; and mucti
sadness appeared on the visages of all, when we replaced the much dei^
aired firearms in our lodging, without replying to the numerous hinuf
given, the usual Persian phrase of ** It is not mine, but yours."

I had been asleep for about two hours, when I was awakened by a
slight noise, which seemed to be occasioned by some one stealthily creep-
ing along the room. On my crying out " Who is there?" I received no
answer, while at the same time the noise ceased. Having, however, my
suspicions aroused, I struck a light, and made a narrow search through
the chamber, when, on looking behind some yekdons (large trunks) aod
saddle-bags, I discovered a man concealed there. I immediately grap-
pled with him, when he drew his cummar and made a stab at me, which
fortunately missed my breast, aud but slightly wounded me in the 1«A
shoulder. Seizing hold of the armed hand of the miscreant, I raised an
alarm, when my companiona and our scr\*ants came to my assistanet;
and in n few minutes the robber was securely bound with corda. On
searching his person, we found a brace of pistols and a bag of kertll^Ht
which he had Just utolcn from a portmanteau. The man now bcseecbcdoi
to lot him go, swearing by Allah and Ali that he would never be gdky
of such a crime again. As, however, he had added an attempt at aaats-
sination to that of robbery, we kept him a prisoner until daylight, tod
then conducted him before the sheik, who of course appeared most in-
dignant at what had happened* and talked of sending him to Shirat
execution.

During the whole of this day, which was the first of April, we f
the weather excessively hot, as we were fast descending to the level
the sea, and were besides in a very southern latitude. The oounlrT
over which we rode was at times exceedingly rocky and precipitous, but
at the same time covered with verdure of the most luxuriant freshnes*.
and variegated with innumerable fiowera. Hero was a spot for a botanist
to revel in ! for such an one would be continually discovering planti
hitherto unknown to European Linnaeus.

In the course of our day's journey, we passed by many date grovBt,
which five a very picturesque appearance to any apot on which ihft
grow. Dates are so plentiful here, that the natives feed their horses

ift in- ,

rouafl
rel d^

them.

upoa

TO THE PERSIAN GULF.

The following morning, having ridden for several hours under a very
hot sun, we came upon a beautiful mountain stream, the very sight of
which refreshed our thirsty souls. But, alas ! all is not gold that glit-
ters ; for, upon taking a long draught, I felt as though I were poisoned,
for nothing was ever more nauseous or bitter than the waters of this
stream, which seemed a combination of Epsom, Cheltenham, Harrow-
gate, and every other spa that has existed since the world began. Every
stream we now passed was of the »ame flavour ; and, although almost
raging from the effects of thirst, we were unable to appease our suffer-
ings, as DO villages lay along our path. AU we could do, therefore, was
to smoke the pipe of patience, until, after the lapse of several hours, we
came upon an Eliaiit encampment, where we procured some goat's milk,
which appeared to our parched throats like a draught from the goblet of
Hebe, although it was brought to us by a hideous old crone.

In the evening, we arrived at the brink of a precipice of almost per-
pendicular steepness, to descend which appeared, at first siglit, totally
impracticable. We reached the base, however, in safety, though not
without having undergone much fatigue and incurred great danger. All
the colalls I had previously passed over, excepting that to the north of
Firousabad, were as gentle descents in comparison ; and it was to our
great joy that we were informed that it was the last mountain pass we
should meet with, as we were nearly on the level of the sea, and within
six fursuks of the Persian Gulf.

Having reached the hose of the precipice, we perceived at a short dis-
tance some Eliaut tents, to which we proceeded and requested a lodging
for the night. We were, according to the usual custom of the nomade
tribes, most hospitably treated, and the best of their simple fare was laid
out before us. The condition of these Eliauls was far from being as
happy as that of the wandering races we had hitherto encountered ; for
although they were encamped in a beautiful and fertile country, they
were deprived of that chief necessity of life, good water. Their situa-
tion was that of Tantalus, for thoy were surrounded on all sides by lim-
pid streams, of which they were unable to drink from their brackishness.
Rain-water collected in pits formed their sole resource, excepting during
the autumnal months, when melons and other juicy fruits abound. Their
cattle, however, drink of the brackish waters, without sustaining any
injury.

It is not out of place here to compare one pass with another; and in-
deed, after having for the first lime crossed any celebrated range of hills,
one naturally calls to mind the journeys which one may have made
across other mountains, and the comparative interest with which such
routes have been attended.

I have never crosged either Mount Cenis or the Simplon : I cannot,
therefore speak of them. The most celebrated passes with which I am
acquainted are, — St. Gotthard. Mount Albula, the pass by the source of
the Rhine, the Rh^tian Alps, the Brenner, the limh of the Pic du Midi,
the pass of the Pyrenees from Perpignaii to Catalonia, from Gavamic
bv the Br^che de Roland to Arragon, some of the mountain posses of
Norway, the Spanish Sierras, the Caucasus, the northern Elborz between
Meanah and Casvin, and the stupendous cotalls in the south of Persia,
which I have just described. Now, it may appear singular that of those
the lower passages should be the finest ; yet so it is, in my estimation.
Mount Albula and the BrJicho de Roland are certainly lower than St.

•w

JOURNEY FROM SHIRAZ

Cotthard, and yet tbeir features are more striking'. And the (rutli ii,
that besides the causes I have already mentioned, arising from dii
in conformation and surface, the very lowness is itself the chief
superiority. Nor is this apparent paradox difficult to explain : for
a road traverses the 9ummit of a Tnountain, there cannot be predi
aboTc; and the mere fad that a road is necessarily led over the
port of the range, is itself a proof that it is not indented hj tho«e
valleys, clefts, and ravines, which, did they exist, would perroit the
to be conducted across at a lower elevation. Where a road travi
summit of a roouniain, the views may certainly be extensive; but!
must greatly yield in sublimity to those which are presented «l
road conducts the traveller through the heart of the mountain,
deep recesses, its forests and cataracts.

Looking back and upward to the mountains I had just travi
different parses I have just enumerated^ were successivply recalled
mind ; 1 again contemplated, as it were, the rocky grandeur and
tion of Mount Albula and the Northern Klbora ; the icy horrors
Breche de Roland; the picturesque beauties of the Khzetian Alps;
wide pastures of the Pic du Midi, with its 6elds of purple iris;
gloomy sublimity of the pine-clad mountains of Scandinavia and the io<
hospitable Caucasus ; the arid desert, and far-up solitudes of the Scrn
Morena; and the rich variegated carpet that overspreads the
the western Pyrenees, More sublime than some of these, more
ful than others, the mountain-passes between Shiraz and the
Gulf, have their own peculiar charms; they could easily bear,
risen with the western Pyrenees, and hold an equal, ancl even
place in my memory with the p«68e» of Switxerland.

On the jrd of April, after a short ride over some uneven gi
rcachedthenorthemextremity of the plain of Bushire, when, leavii
mules and baggage to follow us, we pushed on rapidly, intending to
at Bushire early in the day. The weather was almost broiling : 'm6tti
I had never hitherto felt such beat during the same season of the

We had arrived within four fiirauks of our journey's end.
perceived before us a very large encampment, some of tlie
which, were of the most gorgcoos appearance. At this m<
horsemen came up and informed us that the Prince-Governor
had sent them to us with an iuvitatioo. We accordingly accorai
the messengers to the royal tent, where we were most gi
received by the prince, who was seated on some magnificent cushions «lC
cachemere. He was a very handsome, 6ne-looking young- man, of aljfl
two-and-iwcnty years of age, and was ihe eldest son^ by his chief «V
of Hussein Mecrza, Farmoon Farroah of Shirax, and son of Faih AG,
King of Persia. His royal hi<;hue»s had been for several days oa a
hunting expedition, and was about to proceed on the following moroio|
to Bushire. He invited us to stay that night with him, and to ac
pany him afterwards on his return homewards, informing us ai the
time that we should enjoy some excellent gazelle-himting and hai
on the way. Alibough we were much fatigued with our long ant
dious journey from Shiraz, we accepted of the invitation, and the
willingly, as we were aware thai it would afford us an opporturti
witnessing a royal eastern huut in all its splendour. Hussein All M(
for that was the name of the prince, entertained us during the
der <jf the day roost hospitably, and did us the honour of

W TO THE PERSIAN ftULF. 801

f conducting us over tiis hunting and hawking establishment, which con-
I sistpd of above a Imndrcd fine Arab horsca, eighty-four greyhounds, and
I ninety-three hawks, besides a quantity of yaboos (hacks), of an inferior
quality, for the use of the camp-followers. In the evening he ordered
out bis body guard to practise at a n^ark, which consisted of a large he-
goat placed at three hundred and fifty yards distance from the marks-
men, who fired with huge, unwieldy matchlocks, about twelve feet in
length, and so heavy that they could not be used without a rest. The
men shot tolerably well, several balls striking the ground close to the
goat Two tofinckchis hit the stake to which the animal was tied, which
pleased thp prince so much that he immediately ordered a kalaat (dress
of honour) to be given to each. JIaviug returned with ua to his tent,
he directed a bottle to be places! at a hundred paces distant at which he
fireti about twenty shots ; he did not^ however, prove himself a very
I good marksman, or rathiT the rifle he used was so very unwieldy, that
he did not go near the mark. The prince, although evidtntly some-
what annoyed at the itl-success of his attempts, laughed at his awk-
wardness, as he termed it, and asked us to try our skill. Upon which
having sent for one of ray rifles, I was fortunate enbugh to lireak three
bottles in as many shots ; but, in order that his royal highness should
not be vexed at being bcalcu by me, I hinted to him that his want of
success was owing to the hardness of his gun-locks, and propoiied that
he should make a trial of ray rifle. Whether it was the result of acci-
dent, or that he was really a belter shot than I gave him credit for, he
hit the mark at the third shot, and appeared so delighted with the gun,
that I could not hulp making use of tlie sentence, " It is not mine, but
yours/' In return for this present, Hussein Ali Meerza sent me after-
wards, a beautiful Nedjee Arab, perfectly white, and which, 1 believe,
became in ihe following year one of the chief favourites of the Bombay
turf, to which city it was taken by an Arab horsedealer, to whom I sold
the animal on my quitting Per!<ia,

Around the royal tent were pitched several others, belonging to the
chief khans and meerzas of the province. The assemblage of Arabs
and Persians, composing the retinue, was very numerous, and presented
more the appearance of an array on a campaign, than that of q hunting-
party. A traveller in the East can, indeed, easily understand how
Nirarod of old, "who was a mighty hunter before the Lord," became a
powerful monarch. The most warlike Persian kings have always been
great hunters. The illustrious eunuch, Aga Mahomed, uncle and pre-
decessor to Fath AH, was the best horseman and most expert marksman
of his day, as well as being the best general, the most vaUant warrior,
and the ablest statesman.

After sunset the prince sent for his musicians, who played and sang
before us for several hours. One of their songs was composed in
honour of Mr. Littlejohn, general of the forces at Shiraz, and was re-
plete with praises of hie great martial deeds and military skill. The
performerSf indeed, with all the licence of Persian poetry, went so far
as to say, " that Zaul and Rustum were great heroes, the very fathers
of heroes, but that their exploits were as dirt compared to those of the
brave, lion-hearted, eagle-eyed Faringce, whose voice was as the winds
of Heaven, whose appearance was that of Eusoff, whose limbs were as
graceful as those of an antelope, whose strength was as that of an
elephant, and whose agility was that of a Ooorkhur."

VOL. XXllI. V "<

AbcUUhl
thegcr r •* His tellers

wish Oie 6\th of aU
aft a van frotn a
oo all Mlaa ; as f or tte i
fitalk4WMt Mboaiecsi^aabbban
fimly UipeClMr, wtak
tfaa bodly of luB he had
Ttmt m my aiiod
the won I laAectt
Inaaiahmilthatarben ihe
were by no
liaa. It 9ffeagr4t moreover, thai these sospicloiu
to Mjrjclf ilopc for ID a few njioatn a horaesDan rude
op, mxt^mmmgr " M« boo ! ray aon ! where is he?** Thta
wBj, u hjs words sBfJkKt the fioher of the dead Arab. I
boheid a eoosteikaDce so full of agony as that of the old
gued apoa Iha corpse ; a moment afterward^ however, it
itfclved with rage, for some one had whispered in his
fthanuo by whose hand his son had fallen. As if anii
' "^ir of youtb» he spurred his hors« violently, and at the"

TO THE PERSIAN GULF.

COS

I drawing his ^word, he rushed up to the slayer of his son and aimed a
blow at his head, which the other narrowly avoided. Before there was
I time to renew the blow, the bystanders interfered, and attempted to
I calm the old roan's rage, by observing that what had occurred was the
I effect of accident. " An accident," cried the Arab ; " it was never an
i accident that turned the muzzle of the assassin's gun towards my poor
I boy'ti heart ; bad any other but Ali Acmah fired the shot, I might have

I believed it was accident ; but Ali Acmah has long desired the blood of
his victim ; I am ready to swear nn the koran that the murder was pre-
I meditated. But why do you hold mc ? let me strike at the foul heart

>of the wretch I let me send his soul to hell ?"
It was in vain that his friends essaye<l to pacify the old man ; in vain
they attempted to hold him back, his struggles were so violent, and the
I horse be bestrode so spirited, that he would soon have disengaged him-
^ »elf from their hold, had not the prince rode up. His presence caused a
naomenlary silence, which was, however, immediately broken by the old
Arab, who, darting from his horse, threw himself upon his knees before
Hussein Ali Meerza, and having loudly accused Ali Acmah of wilfully
niurdoring bis son, claimed the right of revenging the blood, as being
the nearest relative to ihe fallen man. The prince having dismounted,
proceeded to seat himself upon a nummud, which was spread for him on
the ground, and bade both accused and accuser to be brought before
him. The latter soon told his tale, which was, '^Thnt Ali Acmah and
his victim had been at bitter enmity with each other for some time, and
that the former had bcou more than once heard to say, thut he longed
for young Abdullah's blood ; that, in fact, this was not the first attempt
he had made at assassination, for a few months before Abdullah had
been shot at while silting under a date tree, in the vicinity of Bushirc,
and it was strongly suspected that Ali Acmah had fired the ball, which
^jlUd then lodged in the turban of the young man."
^^■To this accusation Ali Acmah replied, that he had never felt any
^Ktred towards Abdullah; that as for the shot fired in the date grove,
he wished that his beard might be plucked from its roots, if he knew
IVom whom it came. " It was an unlucky fate," he continued, *' that
caused the ball from ray rifle to enter the body of the young man, for I
had aimed at a gazelle; as Allah is Allah, and Mahomed is his prophet,
I speak no Ues. I am ready to pay the price of blood, it is due from
me, for I have slain a man, although unintenlionally."

** You lie, vile wretch ! foul swine ! bunit father ! goromsog !" cried
tbe old Arab. ** You are an assassin, you wished to kill my son. O
most noble prince, issue of the king of kings, give me the life of this
man; — let me slay him with mine own hand I Does he think that
blood-money can ever repay me for the loss of my child ? Oh, no ! —
zoay tbe ashes of my ancestors be defiled, if I accept of any ransom !
Let me have blood for blood, vengeance for vengeance."

An investigation of some length now ensued: witnesses were called ;
tbe mutual positions of the dead man, Ali Acmah. and the gazelle, at the
moment of the shot being fired, were examined into ; and at length it be-
came clear to every one present that the fatal event was the result of no
accident, but of a premeditated vengeance. The prince had now no
second course to pursue ; and having asked the bereaved father whether
he was inclined to accept of the price of blood, the old man returned in
a firm and solemn voice :

V ¥ 2

605

SHES GONE TO BATH

BY 0BEKNSLEEVE8.

Betty opened the door.

'* Please, ma'am, she 's gone to Bath.

The lea-table rose en masse.

"Gone to Bath !" echoed the party, amazed, and for three mortal
seconds the tea-tuble was dumb. Nature could stand it no longer ;
the prisoned members broke loose, and the air was rent with excla-
mations and apostrophes.

''Well!" "There!" "Nowi" *' Could you !"

" I always thought it ! I always said it ! I always knew it !'* said
a little sharp-featured woman, striking the table forcibly at each an-
nouncement.

"Hush !" cried the lady of the house; but she cried in vain. All
spoke ; no one listened — certainly not the best way to gratify
curiosity, or gain information. The stronger minds seemed sud-
denly struck with this conviction. " Hush !" cried they, and they
made signs, nodded, opened their mouths, and pointed to Betty.
The pantomime succeeded ; all eyes were turned upon the round
red face; all tongues attacked its owner.

"Are you sure?" " Did jrou listen?" "Can she be trusted?"
'* Looks stupid I" ** And, may be, libs 1"

Betty hud not her rival in S» • • * • •. She was housemaid, parlour-
maid, laundry-maid, lady's-maid railed up in one: the best cook
and the kindest nurse in the parish, too. Betty was a treasure;
Betty was a favourite: Betty was aware of it, and— Betty was
saucy. Her mistress, old, weak, and a little fidgety, would have
doubled her wages rather than lose her,

Betty heard the " impident observations," twirled the door-
handle, and gazed stolidly at the bald mandarin on the mantel-
shelf.

" You don't speak, woman," exclaimed the vivacious lady who
had so oracularly declared her intelligence.

" I ain't no woman at all, Mrs. Wiper," said Betty, exploding.
" I ain't so stoopid as some folks think ; I never tells no lies ; anclj
thank my granny as larnt me better, [ knows it ain't genteel to talk
when somebody else is speakin'."

" What 's that she says ?"

"Did you ever !"

" Such a very extraordinary licence of speech !*'

"Hold your tongue, Betty," prayed Mrs. Willetts ; "it's only
ber way ; and, to be surej I never ^ncfv her to make a mistake.
Who did you sec, Betty ?"

"The old lady."

" Mrs. Maunder ?'*

" There ain't no other old lady at Helen Cottage as I know on."

"Not now, certainly, Betty," interposed her mistress ; "but, re-
member that common courtesy "

" I never was no hand at curtseyin*," muttered Betty, dropping
an awkward bob ; " Granny took a world o' pains a learuiu' uie, but
I can't do no better."

TO BATH.

^ md her miacren, mildly

lemvc*
tm Cuihinl and trustworthy,'

thtt can't bear, poor thing!

Wt myvcIC* Shr gianced rather

re J

-V«y

tfriL W. I I can^hi yoar look, and
I aolj dabbed ho* woman ; and,
ItOBtnt. I cannot see any great

knociE at the atreet door : two
vfcrtbe faiinda.
cried uMT, IB ecataaj.

Man CmBafaaw mabed into th« rooo.
gaiped the. The tea-table wprmng up.
CI ltd toe memberar

to be sare ; — harejeit ?*"

-To

-Savt&ir

-Sealyr

"Sodoaer

«*SacbKfess>Ber

! — tmd I net her yeatcrday. a«ked
Had It r luta Cranuhaw
cyca Bp to tbe eeifin^ a«d herself into a
: - qaavered Mr*. Vinetts, " Betty
and ttw old Mn. Maunder. ' Where *■
Dmvcnf and Betty. * Gome Cu Batk; sud the old lady.**
The vary thcag ifaat she told me. I saw her watenn^
I aemed by ; ' Where *• your niece ?' said I.
she. ' Gone to BAth !* &aid I ; ' bli
r— * Ay/ aaid the old dame. And $he bent her
and p«K her and ap to her en* ; — a trick only ; ' how
L 'L«r% ia hr vombled the old lady ; 'well, I thoi
rather cUOy.' Stttf! said I, but I mw jU a glance the
Bvm ? for the old lady went ioto the cottage and shut the dg^
Let the cat oat of ^e ba|(r phun enoogh."
ICisft Cranshaw n|iiitaoand feoked wIm.
Ah !* sighed If rs. Spoonbill, a matron wliose daughter
** this is a warning for George Benson : Ar ^all
God. Ify Uarr Anne ne%'er could bear that Alias

says ahe, * she *ft so artful, and such a flirt T If roa'^
seen, ladies, how the hassy angles for George — I *m sure it *i ihaoe
fiiir

*'/ always foresaw how it would end," cried Alra. VJper,
rolttbiUty bore down all before her ; " such extraragance,-
fally — ntvU absolute din'egard of — 1 may almost say commi
nesty. First, to rent an elegant little collage fit only for
foUcs."

Old Mrs. Wllletts shook her head and took snuff. " V^ery iapn-
" dioruised the ladies.

SHE S GONE TO BATH.

607

[mprudenti — unprincipled!" retorted the censor; "bad she
ley in hand — a husband — a shop — or means to pay for it? No!
H^iBt is she? a poor officer's daughter. What is her aunt? — a
purser's widow. They 've nothing between theni}— -nothing at all
bo live on."

. "' Mrs. Maunder has a pension," ventured a good-natured young
\t/dy, hitherto silent.

" A pension — fiddlestick !" cried Mrs. Viper, snapping her fingersi
" I wouldn't give that for it: Viper gets more in fees in a summer*
month. I wonder they 're not asnnmed to go on as they do ! Rent
I beautiful house, buy furniture, carpets, and chairs, and tables, and
mirrors. I never heard of such infamous proceedings." The lady's
rapid enunciation exhausted her breath.

" Possibly they hope to increaso their income by boarders^" sug-
gested the good-natured young Udy.

" Do they, Miss Vernon, — hum ! And what right have strangers
ko come to tlii» favourite watering-place and rob the old inhabitants
irf their profits and the preference due to them? I 've been unlet
[lalf the season, so has Mrs. Swasher,— and poor Miss Agrimony."
, " If she 's gone to Bath, it 's to be hoped she *1I stay," said Mrs.
Spoonbill.

" Gone to Bath," sneered Mrs. Viper ; " ah I that 's the end of it,
»— that's the wind up and 6nale. A fortnight ago, had in a new
ftofa covered with green velvet, carved u la renaissance, — hist week
[ saw a large chimney glass go up to the cottage, neat, gold and
burnished. Lord knows trfuit price; and no later than Monday, a
dozen fashionable chairs, that I *m sure Viper couldn't afford me.
Hid the influenza raging. / knew how it would end ; and as to
Qeorge Benson ~"
. " He 's a fttol, that 's all," snarled Mrs. Spoonbill.

^Jl's a sad thing," sighed 3Irs. Willetts, tapping her snuff-box.

! it 's shocking. Philips sent in his bill three months ago ;
l)aker received a promise instead of payment; and as to Bull
the butcher, J pity the man! he's a sick wife and eleven children."

'* Is Miss Danvers in his debt .^" asked the good-natured young
lady ; " X was told she paid ready money."

•• Ready money," hissed Mrs. Viper ; " I don't think much oi' that
coin passes into her hands, and of course it would be hard to expect
|t to pass out. Why, she 's not let her apartments or bad a boarder,
to my certain knowledge, these six months."

"Six months!" said the good-nature<l young lady; '' who was
the Mrs. Mountjoy that went away last week, after staying the
hammer ?"

"A friend, I believe ; one that paid nothing, or next to nothing,
IS friends mostly do. George Benson was always going in and out
pf the house then ; one would have thought he was paying court to
the old lady instead of the young one."

''But who was she? she had the maimers and appearance of a
gentlewoman."

" Nobody knows and nobody cares, I dare say." cried ]\Irs. Viper.
'She was a very unpleasant, sharp, satirical old woman, I 'ra sure.
Visited noboily — spoke to nobody ; and always eyed them as if they
nrere dirt."

Ihe took the wall of me twice," said Mrs. Spoonbill : *' and was

«» ^K S €OaE TD

'IcBtaprbuc-a^ I ^&«d tike l^k oT ^K old U7;aBldr

SUE L ^**T SBT ufer DCSBEr BBT iBl^ CnMTVCn JUL

3r A suns :iiise.
*I ■■I*' ■■■«—■ seeja^ ^er 31a

jaiiMif k

K "'**^T ^T^r gngg-

7 'i^iiir. 1E» VeTBoa.' snd t!ae fa mh ; ** qsite m •-
s. Pernam t^ «Mi fadr h^umtj to kaw te
2nd 3Ga> >aop ahe wnikes to settle.**
*Xj. !sa. Itjry.'' crfed Its^ V3&eas. 'fc'^" ^ ber fei^; "May
v3l aic ajrjec sr piMr Dbo, iboeigh he 's frr avsy. God hkm

lEa» Dkurrcn eoojd aHCeeeC her aigs^c^ieDts, and watlkr^

^ a» Bae& in ^e hope of et^linjf fao* cvediftar% wu

br a ■B^ksnCT. What the kmOonl vooJd tkt olnl the

vuui f&iL* jDki vhac Goody Mwiwht woaU ihi^ woe

dbnc to be OETrksseil. when the stmt'bcU nn^.

•*■ T\aL *5 :^ Sitzber w^=^ a toeetUcjd," end Jkln^ WiUcCti ; * I
Skrm 21:3 riZas i^e "w-jiojv '

- E-n ; 'ttt =-' cr»i Mrs. Viper. ^ it voalJ be ooIt Cfaristna to

"^ &C v-^i:$ «ceY^ i=- it:*: "- •fc-^g his best bow, stood dooe to the

* We !»->*««£ u see t.-^:. BciT.' b<$an Mrs. Viper, »^nr rcMlLV.

- Ye*. =a*i=:.' safe :i< batciwr.

-We wlii j:<; w="JL Bj.!!" Ball *^ ni*de a le^." "And, from
a pare 5«iir;£ ct cbxrttr teL toc thai Mas DanTen U gom^ to Bo£k.*'

" G-:oe tc Klz}l. ^ sii. niXtsn : Lord lore b"" P^^tt t face ! she "s
a «vee^ J^^^^^^ -^7-* vbeejed B:^ viih a rar of ania&ation in his
hs^ cx-eje Tn^if wxs see:* jurpriae.

" Z>: Tcs -rctr>Ci=.i. B-H? ?hb'* gone to Bath," said Mr*.
\':p«T. Ujirx extrfc'-'-nifrjnr espb^sis 00 the vordiw

" To Biih — ciiiJ TO Bath ' chorusaed the rest of the companT,
aZvar* exc»*pT~ - the gvxxi-riat^^red Tocne Udy.

- To drink the water? r'" said stupid BuU ; *' much good may it
do ber. ina'isi ; »he s as fair spoken a young lady as erer I had to
deal with."

*' Sot* word? butter no pirFnirs." cried Mrs. Spoonbill, forgetting
her eenti'iity of speech- ** My Mary Ann hates palaver.**

" Ail.iw m: to speak. Mrsl Spoonbill, if you please," said Mr*.
Viper, »ith dignity. ** Fair speaking is otie thing. Bull, but fair
dealing 's another! Vou 're a man saddled with a sick wife and
eleven children, ali hearty four-meals-a-day boys, I believe?"

** Just so, ma'am," sighed the puzsled batcher.

SHE 8 GONE TO BATH,

609

" You ought to know your duty."

" I humbly hope I du^ ma'am," cried Bull, still more perplexed;
" F fear God and honour the queen ; damn the French, and go to
church of a Sunday; pay tithes and taxes, send the young 'un8 to
echuo), keep a nuss to wait on my misbib^ and never backbite no-
body."

*' Blesa me ! how intensely stupid you are, BuH/' screamed Mrs.
Viper. " JMisa Danvers, I tell you, is qonk to Bath."

" What 's that to me, ma'am ?" said Bull, growing surly.

"Doesn't she owe you money? — hasn't sne run a long bill with
you.^ — isn't the gone to Bat/tf — and do you Hatter yourself «he'll
come back to pay you, eh ? '*

"In course, Mrs. Viper,*' said Bull, "when a customer's honour,
ubly paid a bill once, he *8 a d — d rogue that hopes to get it twice.
Seg pardon, ladies, Miss Danvers paid me yesterday morning a little
bill sne owed me, and what 's more gave young Bob a shilling. Any
cfrders, ladies.^ Good evening, Mrs. Willetts — Mrs. Viper, your
sarvant."

Bull rolled out of the room, and shut the street-door rather
roughly after him,

"Paid him! — well I'm sure! — Miss Danvers paid him! — can't
believe it ! — very odd !"

Another ring : Betty came in.

"Please, ma'am, Mioter Philips is stepped up to know if you 'U
have the cabinet, as a lady thinks uf taking it if you don't."

"Tell Philips I don't wish it," said Mrs. Willetts.

"Goodness me! don't send him away," cried Mrs. Viper; "let
him come in, my dear Mrs. W. Good evening, Mr. Philips : how is
Miss Phihps?"

"Quite charming, Mrs. Viper," smirked the upholsterer. "I
hope I see you well, ladies," and he swept off his hat, and bowed all
round, "quite charming, I thank you."

" By the bye those were uncommon stylish chairs you sent in yes-
terday to Elm Cottage."

"A slap-up article, ladies, London*made — solid rosewood — silk
damask, ninc-aiid-threepence a yard."

Up went the hands, eyes, and noses of the majority.

" And the sofa^ you sent that in, too ? "

" I did, ma'am ; very handsome thing. Genoa velvcU— all carved
—light and tasteful, yet durable as steel,"

" I am truly sorry, Philips."

" The chimney glass ! " squealed Mrs. Spoonbill : " my Mary Ann
took pariicular notice of that."

"Ah I that," said Philips, " Ashby supplied; I had not one
large enough — magnificent plate from Havt?nhead, sixty inches by
thirty.six — matchless frame — splendidly mouliled."

" Hum ! ha ! upon my word, she has grand notions," writhed
Mrs. Viper ; " but are you and Mr. Aahby aware that Miss Danvers
/las gone to Bath ? "

" Gone to Bath ! " shrieked all but the gcx}d-natured young lady
and old Mrs. Willetts.

" Gone to Bath ! " said Philips, very tranquilly.

"Yes, gone to Bath I suddenly and secretly. Don't look as if it
meant notliing — the thing means much — it speaks volumes— folios.

SHE S GONE TO BATH.

611

A bandsome manly face looked in at the parlour- w indow :
trighter curls or merrier blue eyes, ruddier lips or blither smile,
never claimed a glance of favour/' so said Miss Cramshaw.
Jack Ketch and Tyburn tree ! "

'* At seventeen I took a wife.
She was the glory of my }ife.
And to roaiDCain her fine and gay,
A-rDbbingc went on the highway.**

fo carolling, George Benson pushed aside the dwarf Venetian,
and vaulted in at the window. " There, 1 've furnished you with a
rhyming illustration of your text, showing in right lamentable strain
how a 'prentice bold, snared by the golden locks of a loving damsel,
juniued over the broomstick, and then full gallantly took to the
roacf to buy hur buubles.'*

" Ah ! " said Mrs. Viper.

" Oh I " sighed Miss Cramshaw.

" Eh dearee me ! " chirped Mrs. Spoonbill.

Mrs. Willetts was silt;nt; Miss Vernon alone looked trusting and
cheerful.

" But heyday ! what 'a the matter, ladies ? " cried George Benson,
half seating himself on the pier-table, and looking gaily round.

" Mrs. Willetts, I hope you have no bad news. Poll 's well, I
sec; Pug better?"

The old lady bowed.

" How is Miss Danvers ?'* inquired Mrs. Viper.

" In high health and spirits, I tru^t," replied the young man, " I 've
not seen her to-day."

" I dare say you have not," said Mrs. Viper drily*

'* But, I 'm going up now. Have yon any message or three-cor-
nered note?"

" O dear, no," bridled Mrs. Viper. •• Mrs. Willeta, la<lies, have
you ?"

*• O dear, no ; thank you."

" That is fortunate ; for, I rather think that if we had," continued
Airs. Viper, "you would lind some difficulty in delivering it, Mr.
Benson."

" Indeed! why so?"

** You ore not awurc^ then, — you really do not know — " the
speaker paused.

"What, my dear madam?"

"That you can't see Aliss Danvers r"

" Can't aee her — by Jove 1 not I. Kate 's always at home to me
-when her aunt's with her."

"Aht very proper, of course; appearances must be consulted.'

" Appearances^ madam I" cried young Benson, with fla&hing eyes.
" Miss Danvers is purity itself."

" No doubt, sir," said Mrs. Viper coldly.

" And carved sofas, rosewood chairs, silver tea-iets, and chimney-

f lasses, may for a time keep up appearances too," c^himed in Mrs.
poonbill.
" This passes a jest, ladies," said the young man sternly.
" So I think, sir," replied Mr^ Viper ; " so do these ladies ; and
it pains roe much to he 5rBt to tell you — "

" Speak, for God's sake, madam !" cried George Benson, quivering
with emotion.

SHE 8 GONE TO BATH,

«TS

ogn Ricliar*! Sutton Willetta, — th Foot, to be Lieutenant without
purchase, vice \Vai*riji<^Um, deceased."

**So it is !" cried the old lady, in smothered accents.— " and you,
/ou darling child ! were coming to give me this pride, and joy
While I, poor wicked old creature! was letting spite and malice
tMcVhite and slander you. Will you — can you forgive me?"
JNlifis Danvers gnKcd on the pleader in alarm and surprise.

You are too trusting, Mra. Willetts," warned Mrs. Viper. " Have
forgotten ?"and she put her hanfl on the old lady. Mrs. Willetta
tpatiently shook it ofT.

'* Qo I" she said sharply, — *'go ! every one of you, but that sweet-
tempered Mary Vernon."

•' Lor' ! Mrs. Willetts," exclaimed Mary Ann's mother, " did you
-not hear it yourself?"

" I did, and more shame to my old ears to listen to such evil
tongues."

*' Betty !— where 'a Betty? Here! come in, this moment T* cried
Mrs. Viper, fiercely, calling in the maid, *' filiat did Mrs. Maunder
tell you to-day of Miss Oanvers?"
*• As she was gone to Bath."

*'Gone to Bath, you hear !" cried Mrs. Viper, casting a nuuiling
look at Miss Danvers. "KUen Cramshaw, what did Mrs. Maunder
tell ,yoM, 1 beg to inquire."

• That Miss Danvers was gone to Bath."

'' To Bath I" said Kate Danvers, springing up with a silvery
laugh.

A fly dashed up to the door ; there was a thundering rap, that
knocked the plates off the dresser, woke Pug^ and frightened Poll.

" George Benson!" cried Mrs. Spoonbill. The parlour-door waa
flung wide, and two old ladies entered the room, followed by young
Benson.

*' My dearest aunt! My dear — dear Mrs. Mountjoy !" said Kate.
Jy'"g forward, " when did you return? What has brought you
Kere?" and she kisse<l the old lady on the cheek.
^ Mrs. Willetts pointed to chairs.

" My darling Aliss Danvers. beg your aunt and the stranger-lad
, to be seated. 1 am happy to see you, ladies."
^ Mrs, Mountjoy cast a quick glance at the speaker.

'* Child ! present me to Mrs. Captain Willetts," said she to Kate.

Her order was obeyed. The two old ladies exchanged stately

^ courtesies, and Mrs. Mountjoy, with a look of peculiar benevolence

at Miss Vernon, sat down. Mrs. Maunder was deaf, and heard but

half of what was said; but she seemed very excited, and would not

take a chair

" It *s my fault !" she cried, — " all my fault ! but, could I ever
have supposed that mischief would be made of it? Oh. for shame !
for shame !"

*' Never mind, aunt," cried Kate ; "don't put yourself in a pas-
sion nnw ; it can be so easily explained."

" I will explain this terrible mystery/* said George Benson, speak-
ing in a tempered, cheerful tone» for Mrs. Maunder appeared cha.
grined.

*' Mrs. Spoonbill — my dear Miss Cramshaw, if you are ready, we
may take leave, I think," said Mrs. Viper.

,:» tAX *^"

ei5

'RANGE AND HER NATIONAL ASSEMBLIES.

WITB A PORTRAIT OF MIRABEAU.

BY JAMES WARD.

UBN we read the accounts of the National Aaseixibly in France, and
ir in mind the sinf^ular events which have railed it into existence, to
by nothing of the heterogeneous elements of which it is composed, we
naturally induced to compare it with its great prototype of 1789.
CHistory is continually repeating herself; and, with a slig-ht variation of
Exacts, the features of the present age are but a fac-»imile of the past, the
principles of human action being uniform and unchanf^cable. It is that
\^ight caruuiou, however, which we ought to note, as it forms the only
l^est by which we can measure the onward or retrograde movement of a
^ople.

I After 6fty years of schooling, during which period she has passed
> through almost every phase of political ini^tructiun. France has come
. round to the very point from whence she started ; and, although her Brst
' lesson cost her so much labour, and so many agonizing efforts, to tho-
roughly understand, it was apparently all thrown away upon her. She
appears to-day as really ignorant of its spirit and import as she was half
a century ago; and ere she reaches the pons ffjf/«or«;n, even of her pre*
I sent course, we venture to predict that she will abandon it for some
other, which we earnestly hope may be more congenial to her tastes, and
better adapted to her peculiar capacity.

The French are delighted with a ion tnot^ which they bitterly pointed
against the old Bourbon dynasty, " that they had learnt nothing, and
I forgotten nothing;" but, does it not strike our lively and sensitive
' neighbours that the sarcasm would lose none of its severity were it ap-
I pUed to themselves ? After all the experience of the last fifty years
what have they learnt, and what have they forgotten ? They have
I passed through the ordeal of a republic, a consulate, an empire, a re-
storation, a republican-monarchy, and are once more in the midst of a
republic; and have they, with all this instruction, forgotten the empty
follies, the theatrical tomfonleries, the showy and wasteful displays of
their progenitors ? Not a bit of it. Again, what have they learnt
during that period ? Their political proceedings at the present moment ;
their internal slate ; their whole industrial condition — agricultural, manu-
I facturing, and commercial,' — will a^ord the readiest answer to that question.
' It is a great pity, and a serious loss to mankind, that a nation like
France, with her active and lively mind, with her vast and inventive re-
sources, should not take a more practical, sagacious, and enlarged view
of her political necessities ; that she should fritter away her time and
' strength in galvanic eff'orts to establish the Utopian nonsense of " liber-
ty, equality, and fraternity." After all her efforts, gigantic and splendid
as they really are, she 6nds herself simply whirling round and round in
; a vicious and destructive circle. It is the old game of*' labour in vain,"
although played out on a grand and magnificent scale. But, this is the
foible of France, and she must be fooled "to the top of her bent." Flat-
tering herself with the notion that she is the great political laboratory of
age— the eTperimentum cruciii^i\\rough which must pass all social

tke poor Ailb««M
hr iMiilf «M jilaBgi il cbia.
to fcr ■■totJ ■adtr the

to faa bit fl£ kftd «kl&

rUck in cauils vpoa him; b«t

AND HKR NATIONAX- ASSEMBLIES.

617

n1wa)'9 this hope — somewhat vague, and not distinctly defined to him-
self, much less expressed to others — that sornething will turn up, he
cannot tell what, to ease him of his load, and free him from his burden.
The land he loves with all its sterility, — it is a bit of property which he
can cliug to in the event of any fresh whirl or upset in the state of
thing<t, many of which he has witnessed with his own eyes, and more
that he has heard of from his father's lips; and let the worst come to
the worst, he has only to s/ta/xo^ the usurer and mortgagee- -the fiends
that nightly haunt him, the tyrants, infinitely more oppressive than the
** lord" of whom he has a traditional dread, — then the bit of property
will be his own. And to this condition Trance must come at last. The
thirteen mlUions of landed proprietors will shake off the annual interest
of twenty>eight millions sterling some of these fine revolutionary morn-
ings, with as much case as the dew-drop is shaken from the lion's mane.
In imagination it is already done by a great many of them — nine-tenths
— and then comes the struggle, compared to which the knocking-down
of a dynasty, or her Parisian em^ittes^ will be but mere milk-and-water.
Nothing, in our opinion, can avert this frightful catastrophe 1

The consideration of this question brings us naturally to the recent
elections in France. Many have expressed surprise, taking a mere
superficial view of the question, at the cvnset'vutive tendency of the
National Assembly, and seem to augur a belter future for France than
circumstances would have led them to infer. With the new experiment
of univen^al suffrage, and the supposed influence of republican opinions,
so openly expressed and so industriously inculcated, it was confidenlly
atfirmed that the representatives of the new assembly would bu thorough-
ly imbued with the spirit of republicanism ; and that their k'gitnlative
labours must naturally terminate in producing alarm, confusiou. and
something a great deal worse I Well ; these anticipations have neither
been realized nor falsified. Wait awhile ; they are just as likelv to be
the one as the other. The consercattoe feeling in the Assembly arises
from the fact that throe-founlTs of the electors of France are possessed
of a hit of property, and that they have chosen their representatives from
their own class, from an identity of interest ; and the mass of those re-
presenlativea have this notion deeply engraven on their minds, that
whatever may be done in the legislature, they are doteriuiued to protect
their "bits" of property, and those of their constiiucnta, They have
been sent there more to watch over their parcelled of land, than to con-
sult the general interests of the country. Tliia was the cause of the cir-
culars of Carnot, and the emissaries of Ledru HoltiD, meeting with so
much opposition in the provinces.

The terra " republican," with the mass of the peasant-proprietors, is
synonymous with spoliation ; their ignorance and indilTLTence not at-
taching any importance to political distinctions,^ — the one is as good as
the other ao long as ibey are left untouched. They imagined that the
old game of confiscation was going to be played over again ; hence their
dread of republicanism. But, let any question of a general nature come
before these conservative representatives, which involves any financial,
commercial, or manufacturing interests — about which the majority
know as much as they do of the antipodes, — then you will see the value
of their conservative tendencies tested; and you will learn, also, the real
nature of their legislative dispositions, when any deficienov in the
revenue is to be made up, or any new levy of troops to be provided for.

VOL. XXII r. X x

618

FRAKCE»

Whatever interest tfee irapoflt may fall upon, they have mndc up their
minds that their "bits" of land shall not bear it. In the meantime,
allhotigh thus much may bo predicated of them, let us hope for the be* ;
but, knowing Trance, and ihc chnrncler of her people, from long Mud|^
and experience, we roust confess that wc are hoping almost agaiusi hopei|

The functions of the old and the new assembly arc essentially opposed
to each other; the old was purely destructive; the new will be purely
couBtructive. The fir?t had comparatively an easy task ; the lost nil)
have an Herculean labour to perform. To knock down an old dynasty.
already tottering to its fall from innate decay, is not so difficult a job as
to build up a new system from old materials, especially when those ma-
terials have little vitality and cohesion in their nature. But before wc
can estimate fairly the relative difficulty of the destructives that have
passed away, and the constructivcs who arc just commencing their
labours* we must glance at the work already completed ; then we may
possibly arrive at something like a clue by which wc can measure tbf
nature and extent of the work to be done.

On the 5th of May, 1789, the great National Convention met at Ver*
saillcs, in the magnificent hall of the palace — la eaile des meninf^ Thti
body had not met for a hundred and seventy-five years before this date.
The legislative and executive powers of the state were invested in t'
monarch, his grandees, and his '* beds of justice T and the people fou
this a peculiarly oppressive and exacting piece of state machinery, whi
they were determined to reconstruct; and if they could not succeed
reconstructing it, they were equally deterroiued to break it to piecrt.
They did break it to pieces, and with a vengeance, too, which may
affurd us some idea of the weight of its pressure aud the cruelty of its
exactions. It is the last straw that breaks the back of the burdrnrd
beast ; and even that would have been added to the load, had not the
poor creature, in very despair even, flung it off altogether. The
of France were literally ground to the dust by arbitrary taxation, ex
ing privileges, and oppressive monopolies. Her rulers were blinded
ignorance and prejudice, or swayed by the most debasing passions ; ftjid.
whenever a transient light broke in upon them — like Turgot, with hi«
salutary views aud practical reforms — it was instantly extinguished,
which shewed the darkness in which, apparently, they were content to
dwell. The whole fabric of power, in short, was undermined, and ercfj
thing denoted a thorough and speedy break-up.

** Qnem tleus vult perdifre, prius denrwiitat,"

The result might have been predicted from the causes that bad
been in operation. Louis XIV. cost millions in playing the
trick of royalty" with effect ; Louis XV. had his mistresaes, his warv
and his other costly items, all of which plunged the country deeper aod
deeper in debt ; and when Louis XVI. ascended the throne — a compan-
lively good and harmless prince — everything was culminating to lb*
point of dissolution. Had the latter monarch been less swayed by hi)
confessor and his Queen ; had he been what he really was not, — a flrm
and decisive character, — he might have passed through the fearful critii
of his reign with more credit to himself and with greater advaotage \a
the country. Hut every element of his mind told against him in actkn:
and had the democratic party desired a prince ready made to their hamb
for furthering their designs against the throne, they could not even bav«
imagined a better than Louis XVI. The ministers, too, in whoso bandi

ercfj-

AND HER NATIONAL ASSEMBLIES.

power was placed, were utterly incapable of grappling with the thfficul-
lies which starod them in the face; and the reins dropped from their
paralyzed hands in rapid succession. Brienne was a vain, weak-minded
prelate, who ruli*d tlie Kinir thrnngh his bigotry* and the court by pan-
dering to its unscnipulons demands. Calonne was a dexterous ndminis-
trator, Imt reckless and extravagant, and completely neutralized his
otherwise able powers by his indolence, his pleasures, and his rapacity.
He augmented the financial difficulty by his administrative extrava-
gance, and left the country more deeply involved than he found it.
Necker was the idol of the daVj flnd^ from the simple fart of his heing a
successful banker, it was ignorantly argued that be would make a good
minister oF finance ; as though the knowledge of the dytatls of a trade,
which are invariably simple and uniform, would enable a man to com-
prehend the principles by which that trade is governed. A mere dealer
in money does not necessarily undtTstand the laws by which it is regu-
lated ; a greater reasoning power and a higher range of intellect are de-
manded for such a purpose. Yet Necker was as incompetent to master
the difficulties as his predecessors, and quitted his post with a deficiency
in the budget of I U"> millions of livres, or about £VJ 50,ii(}{y — an enor-
mous item, which swamped the goveranient and crushed the crown.

At this stage of the crisis there appeared upon the scone one of those
daring and energetic spirits who instinctively lake the lead, and arc as
instinctively obeyed- Mirabeau was the man of his age. It was hia
undaunted and capacious mind that gave a direction to the National As-
sembly in every critical emergency, and has left the impress of his
geuius upon all its proceedings. The life of that extraordinary man was
& perfect reflex of the revolution ; of the causes which led to it, in the
corrupt and disorganized state of society ; of the characters who played
a prominent part in it, and the peculiar ability required to direct it to a
right end. In dwelling, therefore, upon his character and movements
for a short space, we shall be enabled to give indirectly a sketch of that
remarkable epochs which forms the model of the comparatively moderate
movements in France at the present moment.

It would he a waste of time to dwell upon the follies of his youth,
which, in great measure, were caused by the eccentric conduct of his
lather, and the general depravity of the times. His intrigues in after
life, and his infidelity to his wife, are only to be palliated on the ground
that the moral injunctions of the time bung loosely about !>ociety, and
that his strong passions and eccentric character gave a more than ordi-
nary prominence to his vices. Great men have seldom liitle vices. The
persecutions of his father were cruel, unnatural, and detestable; yet
they gave a peculiar turn to Mirabeau's mind, which augnienled its
power and shaped his subsequent action. His flight to Holland to
escape the cruelty of the former, and the vengeance of the law, com-
pelled him to work for a Dutch bookseller from six in the morning till
nine at night for a bare subsistence ; and his subsequent imprisonment
at Vincennes threw him upon his mind for resources, which naturally
quickened its thought and disciplined his intellect. But these irregu-
larities of his youth — elopemnnts, dissipation, and imprisonments — pre-
pared him for the part he was afterwards to play in the great drama of
the age.

That Mirabeau had long foreseen the lime when the people would
assume their proper position in the legislature, may be inferred from his

z X 3

620

FRANCE,

letter to Calonne, which he wrote from Berlin. " I should," he
" hold myselt' intinitely honoured in being secretary to an assembl
which 1 had the happiness to suggest the idea.**

Ou his arrival in France, he started for his native province as a repre-
sentative, but was rejected by the nobility on a mere informality, which
exasperated his feeling's, and flung him into the ranks of the people. His
remonstrance upon that occasion embodies sonic line truths^ which are
always seasonable, and sometimes pointedly applicable.

" In what, then," said he, ''have I been so culpable? 1 have desired
that the order to which i belong should give to-day what will infallibly
be extorted from it to-morrow. Behold the crime of him who ia called

the enemy of the nobles and of peace ! But I am still more

criminal than you suppose, for I firmly believe that the people, whea
they complain, are always in the right; that they always wait the la8l<
extremity of oppression before they resolve to resist ; that the people do
not knovi the secret, that to be formidable to their enemies, they need
only Ktand still; and that the most iimoccnt, ns the most invincible of^
all faculties, is that of refusing to act. I think all this. Punish me,fl
the enemy of your order, and of peace."

This was the armoury from which O'Connell drew his weapons of
** passive resistance," and had stereotyped, in his own mind, many of the
practical truths which Mirabeau gave utterance to.

The fops and fribbles about the court taunted him with his new &3Mh
ciates, and nick-numed him the ** plebeian count;" but be returned the
compliment with threefold energy, and treated them with contempt. And
when the title of the Assembly was discussed, having proposed thai of
*' Representatives of the French People," some one sneering at the ex
pression, he burst forth with one of those impromptu truths for whi
he was so remarkable : —

*' I am told,*' he exclaimed. " that the acceptaUon of this woi
'people' is mean and exclusive; I care little for the «tigni6catioo uf
words in the absurd language of prejudice. I speak the languagv
freedom here. I rely upon the example of the ]*lnglish, who hare
secrated the word in their declarations, laws^ and policy. ... It
because the name of * people' is not sufGciently respected in F
because it is pronounced contemptuously, that we should chooM I
that we should not only raise, but ennoble it."

Mis object in this adroit proposition wa» to limit the democ
power; which clearly proves that, although he had doffed hi» nobil
for the noucft he had not lost sight of its spirit, and of the position
it really ought to occupy in the commonwealth. The proposiiioo
National Assembly by Legrand was, however, preferred-
There was a prophetic forecast in most of his oratorical efforts, whicb
will be found singularly appUcablu at the present time. In this respKt
he resembled Burke, who, from the storehouse of his opulent mind, flung
out great truths which are always full of life, and almost always adapted
to passing events. The well-known bankruptcy-speech of Miraboan.
which elecirified the Assembly of 1798, reads as fresh at the present
day as it did when uttered ; and ought to be printed and placed upoc
every seat in the Assembly of 1818, to scare the nascent members vi
that body from the hideous gulf which already yawns to receive
as it did their ancestors half a ci>ntury ago.

'* 1 would say to those who familiarise their minds with the
plation of bauktuv^cy* '♦i^'A \% V^vsOiTxwjVt^ Wt the most cruel, tb«

AND nER NATIONAL ASSEMBLIES.

62r

iniquitous, the most unequal, the most disastrous of imposts? My
friends, bear me a word — but one word. Two centuries of depredation
and robbery have opened the gulf which is about to swallow up the
kingdom. This frightful pilf must be closed. Well, here is the list of
the French landowners ; choose among the richest, in order to sacriBco
the fewest citizens. Choose — choose, at all events : for must not a
small number perish to save the mass ? Come ; there are two thou-
sand notables, possessing the means of filling up the deticit. Restore
order to the 6nance«j, peare and prosperity to the kingdom. Strike —
immolate, without mercy, those unhappy victims ; precipitate them into
the abyss, and instantly it closes ! You start back with horror I In-
consistent, pusillanimous men t Do you not perceive that in decreeing
bankruptcy, or, what is still more odious, in rendering it inevitable with-
out decreeing it, you cover yourselves with the infamy of an act a thou-
sand times more criminal ; for the sacrifice, horrible ns it is, would not
close the gulf. Do you suppose that, because you will not have paid, you
will therefore cease to be in debt ? Do you suppose that the thousands,
the millions of men, who shall lose in an instant, by the terrific explosion
or its rebound, all that was their comfort in life, and perhaps their solo
means of existence, will leave you in the peaceable enjoyment of your
crime? No, you will perish; and in the general conflagration which
you do not shudder to light up, the loss of your honour will not save
even a single one of yonr vile enjoyments. Vote, then, this extraordi-
nary subsidy ; and may it suffice. Beware of demanding time; cala-
mity never allows it. You have heard pronounced, with rage, the
words, • Catiline is at the gates I and they deliberate I' Certainly, we
have neither Catiline, nor danger, nor faction, nor Rome; but bank-
ruptcy, hideous bankruptcy, is upon us I threatens to devour you, your
properties, your honour — and you deliberate."

Let the members of the National Assembly bear this speech in mind,
and make every effort to supply the deficiency in the financial accounts,
by fair and equitable means ; and not countenance the wild propositions
of spoliators and plunderers. Increased taxation, fairly and justly
leviedj is the only plan to extricate Prance from her difficulties; and
not by confiscating property, whether in the shape of railroads or the
deposits of a savings' bank. The public credit, above all, ought to
be kept inviolate, or the most hideous calamities must inevitably befall
her.

Mirabeau took an active part in the proceedings of the Assembly,
and his first appearance among that body, from his preceding reputation
and character, made a great impression. " A movement arose,*' says an
eye-witness, '* at the sight of Mirabeau ; but his look, his step, awed the
Assembly." He vowed vengeance against his enemies, and entered the
hall with an embittered feeling against the clasis which had tabooed
him. A friend observed to bim, as be took his seat, that he ought to
conciliate them — that he ought to ask pardon for his preceding conduct,
" I am come here," he exclaimed with fiery energy, •' to be asked, not
to ask pardon."

The bankruptcy speech made n great impression upon the Assembly,
and enabled Necker to carry his point; and such was the excitement
when the orator had finished, that, when a member rose and said, ** I
rise to reply to M. Mirabeau," the whole body looked at him with silent
wonder, and, after standing for a moment with his mouth open and hiri
arm raised, he sat down without uttering another word.

FEJJKX* ASfD HES VAUOVAL A88EinKLtB&

■Ttfe

waakM ; far vc iaA hboo^ ifce ■Miifi iTunMirrt MODe importaBt &cto

Mid gwemagt — such u tfa« Ubotj

ioos vonkm; ciTt] and penal jan»-

of tba diiiMua of-property mwl'w

•f «n, as e?cty odMT in aoaie OMMve if

we any nfclj p«Bi to tbat body. Erected bj A«t

•rUiebf^hlcst and belt uMBbi^n tfatt

w toe vmU recoraa*

far tbe ■■■■it^y* for Fraoce* and, w« nnst atj, ftr
tbe world, Mirabeaa died at the «arlf age of torij-tmo. He was H|h
posed lo have beea pohooed^ akheiogh ooUiiflg aatheatic is kaowa «f
aoch a ciffeBHHiaBee ; baft, «■ his iWath brd. be gare otteraaee to s
tn^ wbM^ was spee£ly rcaliaed: " I shaD carry the mooarcfay wiA
ne," he observed to his summndiag fiieods, ^ aod a few factioos ^tbitt
will share what U left.** His lass was looked upon as a public cals-
■iiy, and a pablic funera] was accorded him, which was celebrated with
great pomp; yet, within two short yean — such is popularity — his ashes
were exhamed from their resting-place in the Pantheon, uid scattsrcd
to tbe winds ; his bust was burnt in the Place de Grdve, as an eocmy to
tbe public, and be Terified in his remains a truth which be bad uUeied
m\ule in the prime of life, " that the Capitol was close to tbe Tarpeias
rock, and that the same people who flattered him, would hare had eqail
pleasure in seeing him hanged."

We look in vain for the ** coming man'^ in the present crisis of
France. All eyes are turned to that fine country, now ^"»»ing ia ths
stormy waters of revolution, to catch the outline of him whose geaios
and capacity are capable of steering ber to the destined port of safety aad
repose. Kan over the list of her leading characters, who are *^ fretting
their hour" upon the political stage, aod ask yourself a few plain practi-
cal questions, such as the mind of an Englishman is accustomed to ask
— is there one man, or two men, or half-a-dozen combined, could f on
melt all their minds into one, gifted with the requisite stuff; the sterl-
ing, practical knowledge, which sees eren the real situation of Frasiot
at the present moment ? Who can fathom the depth of the disease, ta
the shape of the land-question, which is eating into her vitals, paupe-
rising her in every direction, and must he, until arrested, the pervniuil
source of future revulsions and crimes, of which it would ho difficult
form a notion. We shall say nothing of her Bnancial difficulties, whi
are atresdy too gigantic for the puny pretenders who have been receni
playing at accounts; they will force themselves on her attention, k)n|
before France is capable of dealing with them. But her land -question,
with iu minute subdivision of proprietors, is at the botiom of all her
present diJlBcuIties. As long as the laws relating to property remain a
they do at present, sho will never rear up a class, which would be bsf
salvation — a class of capitalists, who form in every industrious cutnxDU>
nity the heart and soul of its existence. Without your capitalist vou
can have hut little employment for labour ; and the law of pitrta^t hi>si
is daily striking down this class of men in France, to say nothing of tb«
hair-brained schemes and wild projects of Louis Blanc, and that class et
rcoiioniiHts.

^ i

623

THE DECISIVE BATTLES OP THE WORLD,

BY PBOPBSSOR CBEASr.

TJu>»o few ImttlM of which a contrary evenc would have eMeutiully varied iha
draou of tlie world in aU its suUsequeat loeaes. — Uallak.

THE BATTLE OF VALMY.

Purpurei metmint tyranni
Injurioso lie jwde prortias
8caj)t<.'m ailuinnatn ; iicu popului fretjaenft
Ad anna coMantet, ad orma
CuDcil«t imperiiimqtte frangat,

HOBAT. Od. I. 36.
A Httle fire is quickly crudden out,
Whichj beiug Kuffcrcd, rivers caunot quench.

BUAKtPXAXE.

A PKW miles distant from the little town of St MenehouU, in the
north-east of France, are the village and hill of Valmy; and near
the crest of that liill a simple monument points out the burial-place
of the heart of a genernl of the French rt^puhiic, and a marshal of
the French empire.

The elder Kellerman, (father of the distinguished officer of that
name, whose cavalry-charge decided the battle of JMarengo,) held
high commands in the French armies throughout the wars of the
Convention, the Directory, the Consulate, and the Empire. He
survived those wars, and the Empire itself, dying in extreme old
age in 1820. The lust wish of the veteran on his death-bed was,
that his heart should be deposited in the battle-field of Valmy,
there to repose among the remains of his old companions-in-arms,
who had fallen at his side on that spot twenty-eight years before,
on the memorable day when they wun the primal victory of Revo-
lutionary France, and prevented the armies of Brunswick and the
emigrant bands of Conde from marching on defenceless Paris, and
destroying the immature democracy in its cradle.

The Duke of Vahny (for Kellerman, when made one of Napo.
Icon's military peers in 1H02, took his title from this same battle-
field) had participated during his long nnd active career, in the gain-
ing of many a victory far more immediutely dazzling than the one,
the remembrance of which he thus cherished. He had been present
at many a scene of carnage where blood flowed in deluges, compared
with which, the libations of slaughter poured out at Valmy would
have seemed scant and insigniticant. But he rightly estimated the
paramount importance of the battle with which he thus wi.shed his
appellation while living, and his memory after his death, to be iden-
tified. The successful resistance which the raw Carmagnole levies,
and the disorganised relics of the old monarchy's army then opposed
to the combined hosts and chosen leaders of Prussia, Austria, and
the French refugee noblesse, determined at once and for ever the
belligerent character of the Revolution. The raw artisans and trades-
men, the clumsy burghers, the base mechanics and low peasant-

the tvo
. TbercwBl
ia
ia tiuA fviwfalic womhd

to dkc utmth o€

wtr with thif eonm^try, QmA

if, for a timt^ prercot —A edK>

And whenever, aid

Fraftee dedares var« that war «31

Fraoce ia too dcarlj do

military

thakc the old world to iti

bat thef
wWb

ridlly bccMBe Koropaa
ere ofa freah cyde
aad iCcra reactiant, wbkh
tiona.

One of the gravMl reflexsoas that arises from the conteaiplatxia o^
the dvtl reatlcaneM aad military eoihanaim, which the cloae of tht

THR BATTLE OF VALMT.

625

last century sow nationalized in France, is the consideration that
these disturbinf^ influences have become perpetual. This volcanic
people seems destined neither to know nor to suifer permanent rest.
No settled system of government, that shall endure from generation
to generation, that shall be proof against corruption and popular
violence, seems ca|>ab1e of taking root among them. And while we
cannot hope to see France calmed and sot\ened down by healing
processes from within, there is still less prospect of seeing her eflect-
ively curbed, and thoroughly tamed by force from without. No hos-
tile exertions, however formidably they may be organized, however
ably they mny be conducted, however triumphant they maybe for a
time, can trample France out from the list of the living nationulilies
of Europe, and dismiss her ambition and her power to the Hades of
the Past, to the Phantom Memories of Babylon, of Nineveh, of
Tyre, of Carthage, and of Rome. A compact and homogeneous
nation of thirty-six millions, — nil zealous a<lorers of military fame,
and readily susceptible of military habits, — all intensely and arro-
gantly convinced of their own superiority to the rest of mankind, —
all eager for adventure and display, and almost all scoSingly impa-
tient of the control of ancient law or ancient faith — such a nation
can never be brought to enduring submission by the results of mo-
dern battles; and the stern, exterminating spirit of ancient warfare
can never be revived in Europe. Cirsar effectually subdued Gaul by
slaughtering one-third of its population, and selling thousands of the
residue into slavery. France has no such horrors to dread from any
defeats, however disastrous, that may be the results of such wars as
it may please her from time to time to inflict upon the world. As
for dismembering her, like Poland, her geographical position, and
that of her antagonists, would render such a scheme futile. The
severed provinces would reunite, and the republic *' one and indi-
visible" wuuld re-appear, as soon as the gripe of the conquerors was
relaxed by distance, or by disunion among themselves. Indeed, no
Anti-Gallican can dream of seeing France more effectively broken
down than she was in UiI5. Paris was then for the second time in
fifteen months occupied by triumphant invaders. Years of de-
structive, and latterly of disastrous warfare, had drained the land of
its youth. Every region, from the sands of Syria to the snows of
Muscovy, was strewn with Frenchmen's bones. Every river, from
the Dnieper to the Beresina, the Vistula, the Danube, the Elbe, the
Rhine, the Tagus, the Douro, the Bidassoa, the Aube, the Marne,
and the Seine, had been crimsoned with her defeats. Her flag had
been swept from every sea. Powerful foreign armies were cantoned
in her territory, and garrisoned her strongholds, A sense of com-
mon interest, the recollection of former joint sufferings, and sympa-
thetic exultation for recent joint successes, banded the powers of the
earth against her. They seemed knit together in stern watchfulness
over the fallen oppressor, that lay chained before them, like the wolf
Fenris beneath tne Asse of the Scandinavian mythology. Men
judged of the future accordingly. They deemed that revolution had
been for ever put down, and that legitimate authority was re-cbta-
bliiihed on an immutable basis. But the power of France waa like
the tree of Pallas in the Athenian citadel, which, though hewn down
by the Persian invader to the very roots, revived, and put forth its

THK DCC3SETS

OF THE WORLD.

_ A few ftm »J

flf tke iMid ; and m. gmuatwn
Waurint, «r colj koew it as m waCcbword 6ri
Ib 183D^ tfca ihriMCv wkkk fiitcn bayonets had
Frames wa^AakMmmt; aad mbb bcBbfed at tk expected
of Frcadh — irrlij -id ika beaded amada of Fraxh
TWy^'kwkad gbgwatdwiA Ifiadnft anietx «» ■ P««al rf ^-w*
tiflB ndv ta tfait wldck tfe Roaun world evpencnoed abait ^
•f thetbMcnteryof ovr enL"* Look Philippe c^
•Crovewilh ■maiay turtrfia Co itifle it. BiLB
of Kaxhi Uwi, ia ifice of the dassle of AJ^arian naim mi
^g^ incite rfhandreda of armed fiati^ ■<

to 0el free. Fmee had no qoiet, and £arope no

heaved rertlenly beneath ** the mooaicfajj
At latt, n the present ^esr, thci'
«f ki^gi-csalt vai at anee teat and scattered to the wo
the BpriMv af the l^inau denoaacr ; and insurrectMoi,
cadei, aMi dcthnNKVcnfti, the downfilb of oorooets and cnr«H{
the armed eoHidon* of parties, mtens, and popiUatioaa. ten]
hfroiae Cor the last few immth* the coiamooplaces ot Evnm'

It ia inaccante to apeak of the first, the aecoad» an^ tb*
FVcBcfa Rerolatioo : as if thej were distiDCt uncoooected
arbttrarilj dittarbing the regalar course of events. TTiere haa
and is, but one French Revolution ; and its third and grcatm mt
is now bursting orer us. There hsve been temporarr InlUafck
ttorm, but never any settled calm. The republic which was p^
rfaimrd to Paris last month, is the mere coniinu&tion bv adjftg^
meat of the republic which was first proclaimed on the'30w Sl^
tcmber. 17^, on the very day of the battle of \'aln]y, to wl
owed its preservation, and from which the imperishable actii
its principles may be dated.

Far different seemed the prospects of democracy in Europe oa ifce^
eve of that battle ; and far different would have been the
position and influence of the French nation, if Brunswick's (
had charged with more boldness, and Dumouriez's lines milurt
with less firmness. When France in 171^ declared war with ihc
great powers of Europe, she was far from possessing that flplAi
did military organiieation which the experience of a few nn-
lutionary campaigns taught her to assume, and which she hsi
never abandoned. The army of the old monarchy had, durinf
the latter part of the reign of Louis XV., sunk into gradual d«Ci|
both in numerical force and in efficiency of equipment and spiriL
The laurels gained by the auxiliary regiments which I*uois XVL
sent to the American war did but L'ttle to restore the geMfd
tone of the army. And the insubordination and licence whick
Uie revolt of the French guards, and the participation of other
troops in many of the first excesses of the revolution introduced
among the soldiery, were soon rapirlly disseminated through iB
the ranks. Under tlie Legislative Assembly every complaint d

t Niebuhr'* PraTace lo the Socuud voluui« u£ bis Uislory of Rome, «dt^
ber. 1830.

THE BATTLE OF VALMY.

627

Lhe soldier against his officer, however frivolous or ilUfounded,
Was eagerly listened to and parltally investigated, on the prin-
E:;]p1es of liberty and equality. Discipline accurdingty became
more and mure relaxed. And ttie dissolution of several of the old
corps, under the pretext of their being tainted with an aristocratic
reeling, aggravated the confuaion and inefficiency of the war-depart-
knent. Alany of the must effectiive re^^inientij during the last period
pf the monarchy had conaiated of foreigners. These hud either
been slaughtered in defence of the throne against insurrections, like
the Swiss; or had been disbanded, and had cro3.sed the frontier to
recruit the forces which were as&emblTng for the invasion of France.
Above all, the emigration of the uablcssc had stripped the French
army of nearly all its officers of high rank, and of the greatest por-
tion of its subalterns. Above twelve thousand of the high-born
youth of France, who had been trained to regard military com-
roand as their exclusive patrimony, and to whom the nation had
been accustome<l to look up as it:s natural guides and champions in
the storm of war, were now marshalled beneath the banner of Conde
and the other emigrant princes, for the overthrow of the French
armies, and the reduction of the French capital. Their successors in
the French regiments and brigades had as yet acquired neither skill
nor ex|>erience; they possessed neither self-reliance, nor the respect

•the men who were under them.
Such was the state of the wrecks of the old army ; but the bulk
the forces with which France began the war, consisted of raw in-
surrectionary levies, which were even less to be depended on. The
Carmagnoles, as the revolutionary volunteers were called, flocked,
indeed, readily la the frontier from every department when the war
■was proclaimed, and the fierce leaders of the Jacobins shouted that
the country was in danger. They were full of zeal and courage,
*' heated and excited by the scenes of the revolution, and inflamed
by the florid eloquence, the songs, dances, and signal-words with
which it had been celebrated." • But they were utterly undis-
ciplined, and turbulently impatient of superior authority, or syste-
inatic control. jMany rurtians, also, who were sullied with partici-
pation in the most sanguinary horrors of Paris, joined the camps,
and were pre-eminent alike for misconduct befure the enemy, and
for savage insubordination against their own officers. On one occa-
sion during the campaign of Valmy, eight battalions of federates,
intoxicated with massacre and sedition, joined the forces under Du-
inouriez, and soon threatened to uproot all diHcipline, saying openly
that the ancient oflicers were traitors, and that it was necessary to
purge the army as they had Paris uf its aristocrats. Dumouriez
posted these battalions apart from the others, placed a strong force
of cavalry behind them, and two pieces of cannon on their flank.
Then affecting to review them, he hailed at the bead of the line, sur-
rounded by all his staff*, and an escort of a hundred hussars. " Fel-
lows," said he, " for J will not call you either citizens or soldiers,
you see before you this artillery, behind you tliis cavalry ; you are
stained with crimes, and I do not tolerate here assassins or execu-
tioners. J know that there are scoundrels amongst you charged to
^uate you to crime. Drive them from amongst you, or denounce

^^L * EJuiHt. Life uf Napuk'Oiif vol. i. c. viii.

628

THE DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

them to me, for I shall hold you responsible for their coo-

duct," •

One of our recent historians of the revolution, who narrate* thij
incident,+ thus apostrophises the French general : —

" Patience, O Duinouriez, this uncertain heap of shriekcrs^ muti-
neert, were they once drilled and inured, will hccome a phaUnsfl^
maM of fighters ; and wheel and whirl to order awii\l^, like tlfl
wind, or the whirlwind ; tanned mustachio-figures ; often barefoot,
even barebacked, with sinews of iron ; who require only bread and
gunpowder ; very sons of fire, the adroitest, hastiest, hottest ever
seen perhaps Htnce Attila's time."

Such phalanxed musseit of Hgliters did the Carmagnoles ultiniatcly
become; but France ran a fearful risk in having to rely on theni
when the procesis of their transmutation had barely coronienced.

The first events, indeed, of the Wiir were disastrous and disgrace-
ful to France, even beyond what might have been expected from
the chaotic state in which it found her armies as well as her govern-
ment. In the hopes of profiling by the unprepareil state of Austria,
then the mistress of the Netherlands, the French opened the cam-
paign of 17^2 by an invasion of Flanders, with forces whose muster-
rolls showed a numerical overwhelming superiority to the enemy.
and seemed to promise a speedy conquest of that old battle-field of
Europe. But the first flash of an Austrian sabre, or the first
of an Austrian gun, was enough to discomfit the French. Ti
first corps, four thousand strong, that advanced from Lille
the frontier, came suddenly upon a far inferior detachment of
Austrian garrison of Tournay. Not a shot was fired, not a bayi
levelled. With one simultaneous cry of panic the French hi
and ran headlong back to Lille, where they completed the specirot
of insubordination which they had given in the field, by murrlering
their general and several of their chief officers. On the same day
another division under Biron, mustering ten thousand sabres and
bayonets, saw a few Austrian skirmishers reconnoitring their posi-
tion. The French advanced posts had scarcely given and received
a volley, and only a few halls from the enemy's field-pitrces had
fallen among the lines, when two regimcnis of French dragoons
raised the cry " We are betrayed," galloped off, and were followed
in disgraceful rout by the rest of the whole army. Similar panich
or repulses almost equally dit^creditahle, occurred w-heiievrr ' "
chambeau, or Luckner, or La Fayette, the cnrhest French gcneri
in the war, brought their troops into the presence of the encray.

Meanwhile the allied sovereigns had gradtially collected on
Bhine a veteran and finely-disciplined army for the invasion of
France, which for numbers, equipment, and martial renown both
generals and men, was equal to any that Germany had ever
forth to conquer. Their design was to strike boldly and decisivi
at the heart of France, and penetrating the country through
Ardennes, to proceed by Chalons upon Paris, The obstacles tl
lay in their way seemed insignificant. The disorder and iral>ecili|
of the French armies had been even augmented by the forcetl flji
of Lafayette, and a sudden change of generals. The only in
posted on or near the track by which the allies wera about to

Lamartine.

f Carljrlo.

THE BATTLE OF VALMY.

6Sd

vaiice, were the twenty-three thousand raen at Sedan, whom La-
fayette had coniinanded, and a corps of twenty thousand near Aletz,
tiie command of which hsd just been transferred from Luckner to
Kellerman. There were only three fortresses which it was necessary
for the allies to capture or masque — Sedan, Longwy, and Verdun,
The defences and stores of all these thrte were known to be wretch-
edly dismantled and insiiffieient ; and when once these feeble barriers
were overcome, and Chalons reached, a lertile and unprotected
country seemed to invite the invdiders to that " military promenade
to Pans," which they gaily talked of accomplishing.

At the end of July the allied army, having fully completed all
preparations for the campaign, broke up from its cantonments, and
marching from Luxembourg upon Longwy, crossed the French
frontier. Sixty thousand Prussians, trained in the school, and many
of them under the eye of the Great Frederick, heirs of the glories of
the Seven years' war. and universally esteemed the best troops in
Burope, marched in one column against the central point of attack.
Forty- five thousand Austrians. the greater part of whom were pick-
ed troops, and had served in the recent Turkish war, supplied two
formidable corps that supported the flanks of the Prussians. There
was also a powerful body of Hessians ; and, leagued with the Ger-
mans agaittst the Parisian democracy, came fifteen thousand of the
noblest and the bravest amongst the sons of France. In these corps
of emigrants, many of the highest born of the French nobility,
scions of houses whose chivalric trophies had far centuries Hlled
£urope with renown, served as rank and file. They looked on the
road to Paris as the path which they were to carve out by their
swords to victory, to honour, to the rescue of their king, to reunion
with their families, to the recovery of their patrimony, and to the
restoration of their order. •

Over this imposing army the Allied Sovereigns placed as gene-
ralissimo the Duke of Brunswick, one of the minor reigning princes
of Germany, a statesman of no mean capacity, and who had ac<)uired
in the Seven years war a military reputation second only to that of
the Great Frederick himself. He had been deputed a few years be-
fore to quell the popular movements which then took place in Hol-
land; and he had put down the attempted revolution in that coun-
try with a proiuptitude and completeness, which appeared to augur
equal success to the army that now marched under his orders on a
similar mission into France.

Aloving majestically forward, with leisurely deliberation, that
seemed to show the consciousness of superior strength, and a steady
purpose of doing their work thoroughly, the allies appeared before
Longwy on tlie 20th oC August, and the diicpirited and despondent
garrison opened the gates of that fortress to them after the first
shower of bombs. On the 2nd of September the still more import-
ant strong-hold of Verdun capitulated, afier scarcely the tthadow of
resistance.

Brunswick's superior force was now interposed between Keller-
man's troops on the left, and the other French army near Sedan,
which Lafayette's flight had, for the time, left destitute of a com-
uiander. It was in the |>ower of the German general, by striking
witli an overwhelming mass to the right and the left, to crush in
* Soc Scoit. Life of Napotcoii^ vol. i. c. xi.

THE DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

•uccesnoQ emch of thete weak armies ; snd the allies migbt thn
loiTC mwched irrcnaible and unresMted upon Paris. Bat ai tkii
cricit DnmnmcSy the new conmumder-in-cliief of the French. »•
ri«cd Bt the camp near Sedan, and com— cnccd a scriea of nore-
inet)t» bj which he reunited the dupencd and dsaarganiaed foreii
of hit covOtrj^ checked the Pras«ian columns at the very monoK
when the last ob*tac1et to their triumph seemed to hare jpvcn Wf,
and inaUy roUed back the ude of inrasion far acroas the etwny'i

The Frcndi fbrtreMCft had fallen ; hut nature herself still ofereA
to brare and vigoraua defenders of the land the means of oppotiBc
a barrier to the pfOgrc» of the allies. A ridge of broken grovni
called the Argonne, extends from the vicinitr of Sedan towardi \ht
iooth-vcst for about fifteen or sixteen leases. The country vi
L'Armuie has now been cleared and drained ; but in 17^2 it Wft>
thickly wooded, and the lower portions of its unequal surface
filled with rirulets and marshes. It thus presented a natural bir '
of from four to five leagues broad, which was absolutely impsiv*
trable to an army, except by a few defiles, such as an inferior forte
mig'ht easily fortif;f and defend. Dumouriez succeeded in march-
ing his army down from Sedan behind the Argonne, and in occupy-
ing it! passes, while the Prussians still lingered on the north-eastcn
side of the forest line. Ordering Kcllerman to wheel round fruin
Metx to St. Menehould, and the reinforcements from the iDtrrior
and extreme north also to concentrate at that spot, Dumouriez trv«(-
cd to assemble a powerful force in the rear of the south-west extre-
mity of the Argonne, while with the twenty-five thousand men
under his immediate command, he held the enemy at bav beforr tbtr
passes, or forced him to a long circumvolution round one exliefflin
of the forest ridge, during which, favourable opportunities of anstl-
ing hh flank were almost certain to occur. Dumouriez fortifietl the
principal defiles, and boasted of the Thermopylae which be htJ
found for the invaders ; but the analogy was nearly rendered faulir
complete for the defending force. A pass, which was thought of
inferior importance, had been but slightly manned, and an Austrian
corps under Clairfayt, forced it after some hharp fighting. Du-
mouriez with great difficulty saved him^lf from being enveloped
and destroyed by the hostile columns that now pushed through the
forest. But instead oi^ despairing at the failure of his plans, and
falling back into the interior to be completely severed from Kellcr-
man'a army, to be hunted as a fugitive under the walls of Paris br
the victorious Germans, and to lose all chance of ever rallying bii
dispirited troops, he resolved to cling to the difficult country in
which the armies still were grouped, to force a junction with Kelier-
man, and so to place himself at the head of a force which the lo-
vaders would not dare to disregard, and by which he might drag
them back from the advance on Paris, which he had not fa^n able
to bar. Accordingly, by a rapid movement to the south, during
which, in his own words, " France was within a hair's-breadth of]
destruction," and after with difficulty checking several panics of hit|
troops, in which they ran by thousands at the sight of a few Pruft*!
sian hussars, Dumouriez succeeded in establishing his head-quart cn^
in a strong position at St. Menehouldj protected by the marahei<
and shallons of the rivers Aisne and Aubc, beyond which, to the:

THE BATTLE OF VALMY.

681

north-west, rose a firm and elevntetl pUtcAU, called Dampierre'a
camp, admirably aituatetl for comm.intiing the road by CImlons to
Paris, and where he intended to pos^t Kellernian's arm^ so soon as
it came up.*

The news of Dumouriez's retreat from the Argonne passes, and of
the panic flight of some divisions of his troops, spread rapidly
throughout the country, and Kellermaii^ who believed that his com-
rade's army had been annthilnted, and feared to fall among the vic-
torious musses of the Prussians, hnd halted on his march from Metz
■when almost close to St. AFenehould. He had actually commenced
a relrojfrade movement, when couriers from his commander-in-chief
checked hrm from that fatal course ; and, continuing to whfel round
the rear and left flank of the troops at St. Menehoulil. Kfllermart,
with twenty thousand of the army of Aletx, and some thousands of
volunteers, who had joined him in the march, made his appearance
to the west of DumourieK's position, on the very evening when
Westcrman and Thouvenol, two of Dumouriez's staff-orders, gallop-
ed in with the tidings that Brunswick's army had come through the
upper passes of the Argonne in full force, and was deploying on the
heights of La Lune, a chain of eminences that stretch obliquely from
south-west to north-east, opposite the high ground which Dumou«
riez held, and also opposite, but at a shorter distance from, the posi-
tion which Kelternian was designed to occupy.

The allies were now, in fact, nearer to Paris than were the French-
troops themselves; but, as Dumouriez had foreseen, Brunswick
deemed it unsafe to march upon the capital with so large a hos-
tile force lef\ in his rear between his advancing columns and his
base of operations. The young King of Prussia, who was in the
allied camp, and the emigrant princes eagerly advocated an instant
attack upon the nearest French general, and Kellernian had laid
himself uniiectssarily open, by advancing heyonil Dampierre's camp,
which Duiiiouriea had designed Car him, and moving forward across
the Aube to the plateau of Valmy, a post inferior in strength and
space to that which lie had lelt, and which brought him close upon
the Prussian liues, leaving him separated, by a dangerous interval,
from the troops un<ler Dumouricz himself. It seemed easy for the
Prussian army to overwhelm him while thus isolated, and then they
might surround and crush Dumuurie:& at their leisure.

Accordingly the right wing of ihe allied army moved forward in
the grey of the morning of the SOlh of September, to gain Keller-
man's left flank and rear, and cut him off from retreat upon Chalons,
while the rest of the army moving from the heights of La Lune,
which here converge scraicircularly round the plateau ofValmy,
were to assail his position in front, and interpose between him and
Dumouriez. Au unexpected collision between some of the advanced
cavalry of each side in the low ground, warned Kellerman of the
enemy's approach, Dumouriez had not been unobservant of the
danger of his comrade, thus isolated and involved ; and he had or-
dered up troops to support Kellerman on either flank in the event
of bis being attacked. These troops, however, moved forward

* Some late writers repreMnt ihat Brunswick did nut wish h> eruftli Dumon-
riez. There is nn vtiffici^nt autborily Tur tliiii iiuitiuutiun, wliicli S4«nit to huve
litftrn Hmt promptcsl by a desire to toothe the wounded military prido of the Prui-

68S THE DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD.

•lowly ; and Kellerman's army ranged on the plateau of \'t\my.
" projected like a cape into the midst of the lines of the Prucun
bayonets/'* A thicK autumnal mist floated in waves of vapou
over the plains and ravines that lay between the two armies, learing
only the crests and peaks of the hills glittering in the early ligbt
About ten o'clock the fog began to clear off, and then the Freocii
from their promontory saw emerging from the white wreaths ftf
mist, and glittering in the sunshine, the countless Prussian ciraJrf
which were to envelope them as in a net, if once driven from their
position, the solid columns of the infantry that moved forward u if
animated by a single will, the bristling butteries of the artillery, aiid
the glancing clouds of the Austrian light troops, fresh from (hdr
contests with the Spahis of the cast.

The bt'st and bravest of the French roust have beheld this ipcc-
tacle with secret npprehcnsion and awe. However bold and m^
lute a man may be in the discharge of duty, it is an anxious and
fearful diing to be odled on to encounter danger among corondet
of whose steadiness you can feel no certainty. £ach soldier of
Kellermnn's army must have remembered the series of panic rooti
which had hitherto invariably taken place on the French side during
the war; and roust have cast restless glances to the right and led
to see if any symptoms of wavering began to show themselvei^ lanl
to calculate how long it was likely to be before a general rush ofhts
comrades to the rear would either hurry him off with involuntsrj
disgrace, or leave him alone and helpless to be cut down by assttl-
ing multitudes.

On that very morning, and at the self-same hour in which the
allied forces and the emigrants began to descend from La Lune to
the attack of Valmy, and while the cannonade was opening between
the Prussian and the Revolutionary batteries, tlie debate in the Na-
tional Convention at Paris commenced on the proposal to procUi
France a Republic.

The old monarchy had little change of support in the hall of
Convention ; but if its more effective advocates at VaJmy \
triumphed, there were yet the elements existing in Prance for
effective revival of the better nsrt of the ancient )nstitutions» and tat
substituting Reform for Revolution. Only a few weeks before, ■•-
nierou^ly signed addresses from the middle classes in Paris, Rnucn,
and other Urge cities, had been presented to the king expre<«i«r of
their horror of the anarchists, and their readiness to uphold the ri^ht«
of the crown, together with the liberties of the subject. Thr inef-
fable atrocities of the September massacres had just occarred« and
the reaction produced by them among thousands who hAd pf»>
viously been active on the ultra*deroocratic side, was fVesfa and
powerful. The nobility had not yet been made utter aliens in the
eyes of the nation by long expatriation and civil mar. There mm
not yet a generation of youth educatet) in revolutionary prim
and knowing no worship save that of military g\oty, I«ociis
was just and humane, and deeply sensible oC the necessity of a g
extension of political rights among all classes of his subjects.
Bourbon throne, if rescued in IJl^. would have bad the chances ef
•ubility such as did not exist for it in 1814, and aeem nerer likely
to be found again in France.

6m Uuaanixie, IliM, Giraad. Utrr rrtt., J Iwrt Awn
ing 4cacr«f lk» (mm htm.

»ere mm

;«. nUm

escf
ikel.

THE nATTLE OF VALMY,

633

P Serving under Kellertnan on that day was one who has experi-
enced, perhaps the most deeply of all men, the changes for good
and for evil which the Frencli Revolution has produced. He who
now, in his second exile, bears the name of the Count de Neuilty in
this country, and who lately wa^ Louis Philippe, King oi' the French,
figured in the French lines at Valray as a young and gallant officer,
cool and sagacious beyond his years, and trusted accordingly by
Kellerman and Dumouriez with an iraportant station in the national
army. The Due de Chartres (the title he then bore) commanded the
French right, General Valence wait on the lef^, and Kellerman him-
Belf took his post in the centre, which was the strength and key of
hi* position.

Contrary to the expectations of both friends and foes, the French
infantry held their ground steadily under the Are of the Prussian
^uns, which thundered on them from Lfi Lune ; and their own ar-
tillery replied with equal spirit and greater effect ou the denser
masses of the allied army. TJiinkiiig that the Prussians were
slackening in their fire, Kellerman formed a column in charging
order, and dashed down into the valley in the hones of capturing
some of the nearest guns of the enemy. A ma^keu battery opened
its (ire on the French column, and drove it back in disorder, Kel-
lerman having his horse shot under him, and being with difficulty
carried off* by his men. The Prussian columns now advanced in
turn. The French artillerynien began to wuver and desert their
posts, but were rallied by the efforts and example of their officers,
and Kellerman, reorganising the tine of hiih infantry, look his station
in the ranks on foot, and called out to his men to let the enemy
come close up, and then to charge them with the bayonet. The
troops caught the enthusiasm of their general, and a cheerful shout
of f ive la naiion, taken up by one battalion from another, pealed
across the vatley to the assailants. The Prussians hesitated from a
charge up bill against a force that seemed ao resolute and fornii-
dable; they halted for a while in the hollow, and then slowly re-
treated up their own side of the valley.

Indignant at being thus repulsed by such a foe, the King of
Prussia formed the flower of his men in person, and, riding along
the column, bitterly reproached them with letting their standard
be thus humiliated. Tlien he led them on again to the attack,
inarching in the front line, and seeing his staff* mowed down around
bim by the deadly (ire which the French artillery reopened. But
the troops sent by Dumouriez were now co-operating effectually
with Ketlerman, and that general's own men, flushed by success,

f presented a firmer front than ever. Again the Prussians retreated,
eaving eight hundred dead behind, and at nightfall the French re-
mained victors on the heights of ^''almy.

All hopes of crushing the Revolutionary armies, and of the pro-
menade to Paris, had now vanished, though Brunswick lingered
long in the Argonne, till distress and sickness wasted away his once
splendid force, and finally but a mere wreck of it recrossed the
frontier. France, meanwhile felt that she possessed a giant's
strength, and, like a giant, did she use it. Before the close of that
vear all Belgium obeyed the National Convention at Paris, and the
Kings of Kurope, alter the lapse of eighteen centuries, trembled
once more before a conquering military Republic.

VOL. XXill. 3 A

634

THE GERMANS FATHERLAND.

(jDm Deuttehtn VaterUmd*)

lUVa AM TBE NATIONAX. OTXH IX ALL TBE AKCKKT KOTEMSITTI U
TtLVUlA AVS OTBXft PAftTS OF OERUAVT.

^ Einmiithlg lich Terbvidcn, * daa Reich, und Ihre ftinitlicbo Ehre, an dor
del R«ich6e, an fteinen und ihrea H«chten, baadhaben, ichuub«a, una beachi
ZM wullen, nacb aller ihrer Macbt and Krafi, ohne Qefiihrde wid«r IcdenuaiU
ohse einige Atunabme.' "

** They united with one mind, 'for the purpose of managing, protecting and
defending the empire and their princely honour, in the Electorate of the emptn.
and in all its and their jurisdictions with all their might and atreogth, without
fraud against erery one without any exception whatsoerer/ *'

liesoiuiion t^tht Auembl^ ^f RenM, 15/A JtU^^ 1338.

*" ITof utd09 DeuUchen ValerlantC^—AnvjiT (1813).

What is the German's Fatherland ?
Is 't Preussenland ? is 't Schwabenland ?
Where, on the Rhino, the red grape gleams ?
Or by the Belt the sea-mew screams ?

Oh, no ! no ! no ;
His Fatherland is greater ! No I

What is the German's Fatherland?
Is *t Daicrland ? in *l Steierlaud ?
Or where the Marsian bullock lies?
Or where the Marker s sword replies ?

Oh, no 1 no I no 1
His Fatherland is greater I No I

What is the German's Fatherland ?
Is 't Ponmierland ? Westfalenland ?
Where dunes * and sandhills shifting sweep ?
Or Danube thunders to the deep?

Ohj no 1 no I no I
His Fatherland is greater 1 No 1

What is the German's Fatherland ?
Come tell me where 's that migbty land I

mn«n.

THE German's fatherland.

I»*t Switzerland? lanj of Tyrol?
Land, men, I love with all my aoul ;

But, no t no I no I
Ilia Fatherland is greater I No !

What fs the German's Fatherland ?
Now tell me where 's that mighty laud I
Of a truth it must be Oesterreich,
In glory, conquest rich alike? —

Oh, not no I not
His Falherlaud in greater I No t

What is the German's Fatherland ?
Come name at last that mighty land !
Far as the German language rings,
Where'er to God his hymn he sings,

That land is his — that land divine !
That landj Btout German, call it thine I

T/iat is the German's Fatherland,
Whore oaths are sworn by clasped hand,
Where truth and trust flash from each eye.
And warm in hearts love likes to lie.

That is his land, — (hat land divine !
That land, stout German, call it thine !

That is the German's Fatherland I
Whence Scorn sweeps out all strange command,
Whore '* false " and "foreign" say the same,*
And " German" means the heart's strong flame,

Tliat land is his [ land proud and free !
That land all Germany shall bo I

That land all Germany shall be \

Oh God [ from heaven look down on thee £

And give U9 thorough German soul

To love thee true, entire, and whole.

Then shall it be, then shall it be I
That land all Germany shall be!

b'S5

The play of words in the original can icaroety be rendered in English
*^ Wo wo/fcA uuAfalsch hat gleicbeu Klang."

FBOM PARia*

mij one. As
betide «s if dM7~
«w htUrami onln
te m <lcatfa. and it

the uHTMiuu of mmm ogl;
■1 other golden d«ji of cW

jeC mt iuelf to mocb eipeme l«r

oidjr the oM red and uk«>lu«*J

ideas hare been, to a fretf

tj, froa the jev "^iL We hare pU-

■■nelvcs out in all lanr

aihe Vhrjpan cap^ trees of Uberlr,

Thi* if the secood repreaentatioTi uf tlie piece

8ov«ragB Peopfef bat we hare ooC been able to afibcd aev

Hie adouma af coHomCm* oicd to think nrach of the GobeSa
tapestnr, hot thii ie nachiBg to the historical tapestry- that now d^
the waDs of Fsrii in all the coloon of the rainbow. Evoy
is a FBoalcTa Joonul, and aome houses exhibit fratn topis
of poKricsl fkith. You are called on to
laf|^ Pfp^ OK every two or three paces, and an tnraeiant Ki
' OM hetotm jom and the wall. You
boUethi conccming the health of the republic, thtf
throws joa into a dreadful fright ; but a few yardji funJier you n*
reoMorMl again by — ^CiTi2S>b! Cosfidekce and CoLnaGB. Bfr>
publican France is free, is happv, will be great f"

iH>me gentJenaen, anxious to recoramend themselves to electan»
hare written their autobiography all along the ground floors* and

Oar rmfcn wiU fhmm to abaenY, that in ^Makine of Pant we aDfw«r mtf

catdian ua diaoge thia Cynthorf

te the fmmng day. U*e can ooly h.^um u>
ttewiauw." '^

GOSSIP FROM PARTS.

esT

doctors in want of practice have affected to offer themselves aa can-
didates, to remind the public of their address.

The Champs Elysees are in the occupation of an army of mounte-
banks, -who have descended upon it in swarms, like the locusts oa
the land uf Egypt. Hyenas roar from their cages under the trees*
live Bsh jump out of their tubs and say "papa," and the eternal
giantess od*ers to allow all the grenadiers in the universe to past
under her arm.

As evening comes on, candles sprout out of the pavement, and
musicians by the side of the candles, old harps begin to promenade
the streets, and in coming out of a dark passage you may chance to
tumble over a piano which has taken up its poailion there, while,
from all sides, your ears are regaled with melodies, "married to
immortal verse," in which tyrants and chains and brandished swords
are what actors call *• stock properties."

One of the most favourite entertainments, however, is to be found
in an old coach transformed into a magic lantern, where may be
seen "Hell" and "Paradise;" in the former Louis Philippe and
Guizot are most satisfactorily deposited in the flames; the latter, in
a sky hideously blue, rejoices in the presencre of Julius Csesar,
Napoleon, and General Lamorciere.

As for the Pont des Arts, it really aeems as if, since the toll has
been taken off, all Paris had done nothitig but walk backwards and
for\vards over it incessantly, though some passengers have effected
a lodgment ; for you have to run the gauntlet between Savoyards
with their marmots, rows of gentlemen who deal in walking bticks^
and beggars with every description of deformity, and every " creep-
ing thing" that moves on the face of the earth, including a ter-
rible looking fellow without legs, who moves himself along on a
piece of board-
Journalism of course goes on at an awful rate, some " Citiiens"
writing whole papers " out of their own heads," as children say,
such as the Journal dex llonm'ifs GeuSy the Ami du Peupic, Sec,
The political fever has also seized on the fair sex, and gives utter-
ance to its delirium in the yoix des Frmmes ; George Sand has her
own review, the Cautt du Veuple, and under the porch of St. Ger-
main I'Auxerrois, an old lady aits offering the Kve houvclle. Pamph-
lets descend in showers, but one has scarcely time to read even their
titles. Some contain good advice to the government ; others, poema
smelling of the gunpowder of the barricades.

At the corner of one of the bridges, the eye is caught by a flaming
placard of a "whole, true, and particular account" of the exchange
of a young lady of the highest rank for a boy of the vilest condUiott,—~
videlicet, Louis Philippe. Thi» pamphlet, we are told, was destroyed
with the greatest fury by the agents of the late king, for in it the
whole story of his life is " completely unmasked," and all the facts
are supported by the most solid proofs -'written in characters of
fire !" Another of the same species is the amours of Louis Philippe
with Madame Stephanie Durrest de Genlin. The correspondence
of Louis Philippe and Abd-el-Kader, in which the crimes of Guizoi
are unveiled ; and another, the resurrection of the Uuke de Prasliii,
and his interview with the ex-royal family in London, "all for the
small charge of one halfpenny." The eruption of this mud volcano is,
however, less active than during the earlier days of the revolution.

638

GOSSIP FROM TARTS.

The theatres can, I fear, make but wry faces at the grand national
spectacle, -wliich has left them with empty benches, and provided
so many rival amusements ; they cannot maintain their ground
against the clubs, where a more exciting evening's entertainment it
to be had for less money, and in many of which one pays four sou
(the price of a quadrille at the gulnguHtes) for liberty to make a
fipeecn. It would be better, however, to pay one's four sout for i
listener, if such a thing could be found. Generally the whole as-
sembly talks at once, and the president's office is reduced to that of
ringing his bell without ceasing. He has been compared to the
hare's foot, which we see suspended by a string at the door of many
apartments in Paris, as a simple and elegant substitute for a beU-
handle.

One scene, witnessed a few days ago on the Boulevard Beaumsr-
chais, is too remarkable to be passed over. It was the eve of the
ftU of St. Joseph, the patron saint of the carpenters. At a certain
corner, a great 6re had been kindled of sawdust and shavings, round
which was assembled a crowd, seemingly of "tlie trade," who were
engaged, amidst acclamations of joy » in burning a bust. It was not
possible to obtain a distinct view of the features of the personage
who had the honour of figuring in this auio^fla-fe of the carpenters,
but conjectures as to who it might be were thrown out in abundanOK
by the passers-by.

" Good heavens !" exclaimed some, in a tone of consternation, "in
what a time do we live! Here is *95 over again. The workmen
are burning JSl. Guizot in efHgy." — "No, it is AI. Duchatel, — I saw
the face !"* — ** No, it is the bust of the organizaiiun of labour."

These and many other guesses were hazarded, and many were aC
opinion that the people were burning in etfigy a person ifi cation uf the
National Guard. "Ah, if his poor wife were to pass by/* Sftid a
spectator, pointing to the blackened bust, " it would be enough to
kill her." — "And his children, loo," said another tender-hearted
passenger, in a pathetic tone. ^

At length, one who had been looking on in silence, deterroined |fl
discover what unfortunate contemporary had thus incurred the dj»^
pleasure of the sovereign people, managed to force his way into the
centre of the group. Hut the features of the bust were by this time
quite unrecognisable. Searching out. therefore, among the execu-
tioners of the decree of the ^lob Alajesty, for the one whose couni
nance bespoke the most affable and condescending temper, be v<
tured to ask the name of him who had been ihu» Justly sacrifici
the assumption that the sentence was just, though he did not ki
on whom, showed his courtier-like skill, and was rewarded M^
ingly. He obtained an answer. It was the bust of — will ani
guess? — I am afraid you must give it up. It was the bust
taire ! ! I Shall 1 leave your mouths open with astonishment till
next month, or shall I give an explanation. It was not for his
enmity to Christianity that he was condemned^ but for an insul^
oifered in a certain couplet* to the trade of a carpenter, which,
his own day, as carpenters did not then read, had escaped det4

* The couplet oocun In die EpUr^ h UranU, where, ipeoklag of the Savi
liti Mys,

** Long t«mp« vil ntivrier, un rabot ^ Is rnain^
t>vi> Uwux joura ttuni perdua lUns oo ladie cxctvim.**

THE PRAISES OF COLONOS.

689

tioiij but the schoolmaster has been abroiid, and a youn^ professor
of the plane had just found Kim out. Singular that for this offence
vengeance ahoula have overtaken him after the lapse of a century.
His attacks on throne and altar, his cold sneers at everything beau-
tiful and sacredj might be forgiven ; but an affront to the carpenters,
a wound to our vanity, " Jamais I Jamais /"

THE PRAISES OF COLONOS.

£A«v«v, Citi.TM}f j^«^.— CEoip. Col. G08— 719.

Welcome, strangvr ! thou hast come
To the gods' well-fuvourM home,
Wherr Colonot icara on lii|(h
Its ch&lky cliffs unio the %ky ;
Listen, stranger, and I "^il tell
All the jiiys timt here do dwell !

Here are horses, that with pride
K'en a kin^ would deign to ride ;
Here the sweet-voiced nij^htiniiales
Softly tell their mnuriiriil tales;
"Where the purple ivy's Moom
Shrouds the vale iu twiUght gloom !

Here *8 the leafy, pathlesR fprove,
Which the Wiiie-gini deigns to love.
Where the uiighty trees have made
Olouniy aisles of utipienred * shade.
Where the terapest*s raging hreuth
Stin uot «*eu a leaf in deaih.t

Here, wjthia the leafy halls

Room the joyous Bacchanals;

The Nysiaii nymphs, wlio frum the first

Never left the God they uurst,

Dut now with taugh and merry stir,

Crowd aroimd the Beveller 1

Here, onrichM by heavenly dew,
The golden crocus bursts to vieWa
And the sweet narcissus throws
All around its clustering shows;
The holy flow*r which erat, 'cis said,
Wreath'd a mighty goddess* head.

VI,

Here, tlte sleepless fount^ns ever
Stream into Cephisstis' river ;
Univ. CoU.t Durham,

Earth enriching in their flow.
Nomad-like, they wand'ritig go,
Loved by all the Museti mighty
And by gold-rein *d Aphrodite.

VII.

Here, I 've heard, too, is a tree,
Such as Asia ne'er did see,
Unplauted by man's hand, the fear
Of friendly and of hostile spear ;
For 'tis here the olive growa.
In the land where first it roee !

VIII.

Here, shall neither young nor old
E'er be impiously hold
To cut down the sacred grove.
For 'tis watch 'd hy Mosinu Jov6,
And the great Minen'a too»
With her eyes of melting blue !

Here, (and this I reckon most
Fur the Mulher-City's boast,)
Here, 'twas tintt the Ocean King
Bade the staidy steed to spring.
And with bits did curb him then.
To be useful unto men I

Thus our dly 's reached the height
Where true Olory sheds her hght :
She '■ the nurse uf chivalry.
And the mistress uf the sea ;
And 'tis thou, O Saturn's son,
Tliat this mighty work hast done !

XI.

Dashing through the briny sea,
The tiill ship bounds on wondrously.
Tracking through the waste of waten
Nereus' hundrud-fouted daugltten :
Fur our King is Saturu's sou !
Stnsnger, now my tale is done 1

CUTUBEaT Bede.

* AviiXMf. — Where the unpieroed shade

Imbrown'd the uooutide bowers. — MiLTOX.

•f No stir of air was there ;

Not so much life as on n summer's day

Robs not one light seed from the feittlier'd grass.

Hut where tlic dead leaf fell, there did it lie. — Keats.

FH!*aMlKb"iv! wbanfctf Kek!

lafigfaiUiif hear!*'

O SfliA Sea! hov osr Ij^fctnxngs rend

nr BorkT iky 3 —
Tfaov in tliT 1^ dae& seek thdr end —
For thoftoe tbar ilufts diaih — Uiim mb
— Sboou tkm^ iht hmle bnak, and

Tkr BBrk r tkj !
From DennulL floMt tkr *■ thaDder-shifU *
Tka cMt tkvsdf OB beaven aad yield ! —
" Or «T I

Tboa Danifk road to frzoe and power,

Hkk gioomj- wave !
Ofa, lake tbr friend, vbo ne'er vOI cover.
But danger dares, vlicre'er it lover.
As proud as thou, in thy stonn-pover,

TboQ gioom J vaTe !
And quick thnogh shoots of joy and woe.
And fight and rictofT, bear me to

Myg^rel W.

INDEX

TO THE TWENTY-THIRD VOLUME.

Aliraham Elder's Lucky Grocer, 31.

Addison's (H. R.) Postman, 201.

A II wa I and Sir Ilairy Smith, by Char let

Whiithead.317.
Archduke Tharles (Narrative of tli« Wreck

of ih«), by a Naval Officer. 392.
" Aru there those who read the Futurel"

A Tiisoe of Stnuge CoiQcideooea, by

the Author of " Experience* of a Gaol

Chaplun,** 340, 465.

Banki*> (G. Lionsus) God will befriend
the Right, 689.

Battles (The Decisive) of the World, by
Professor Creasy. No. I. Marathuo,
54; No. IT. Defeat of the Atheoiaas
ai Syracuse, 125; No. III. The Me-
taurui,250i No. IV. Arininius's Vic-
tory over the Roman legions under
Vami, 384 i No. V. Tlie BalUe of
Tours, 524 ; No. VI. The Battle of
Valmy, 623.

Bci'llioven (Memoir of), by Miss Tboma-
sina Uoss, 1 15.

Blue Be;ird (Origin of the Slorrof), by
Dr. W.C.Taylor, 136.

Boleyn (Anne) and Sir Thomas Wyatt,
233.

Brooke (Rajah) Visit to hts IJighne&s at
Sarawak, by l*eter M'Quhae, (J5.

Burton's (W. E-) Two Pigs, a Swinish
Colloc)uy, 216; Yankee amongst Uie
Mermaids, 303.

By the clear silver tones of thy heavenly
voice, 132.

C. A. M. W.'s What can Sorrow dol

191 i Isles of the Hlcst, 455.
Captain Spiko ; or, the Islets of the Gulf^

by J. Fenimoie Cooper» 77, 193, 375.
Carver of the Hero of Acre, 74.

Chapters (Some) of the Life of an Okl
Politician, 515.

CKarles Edward Stuart ; or, Vicisaitudes
in tl]« Life of a Royal Exile, 492.

Child of Genius (The), by Alfred Crow-
quill, 249.

CliTistmas Festivities at Koroe, by Mra.
Percy Sinnelt, 247.

Coopcr's(J. F.)Captnin Spikr ; or, TTio
IsleU of the Gulf, 77, 193, 375.

Costello's (Miss) Summer Sketches in
Switzerland. 150, 258.

Country Towns and Inns of France, by J.
Marvel. 11, 143.

Creasy's (Professor) Sii Decisive Rattles
of the World. No. I. Marathon, 54 ,
No. II. Defeat of the Athenians al
Syracnse, 125 j No. III. TheMetauru*,
260; No. IV. Arminius's Victory over
the Roman Legion under Varus, 384 ;
Na V. The Rattle of Tours, 624 ; No.
VI. ITie Battle of Valmy, 623.

CrowquilPs (Alfred) Svarch after Truth
9; Love's Desertion, a melancholy
Fact. 124; Child of Genius, 249;
Return of the Birds, 374 ; Three Nuns,
446 ; Fairy Cup, 682.

Cruiksbank's (Percy) St. GeorHe and the
Dragon ; The 1 rue Tale, divested ol
its Traditional Fibs; {a got»t wo*f)
from the German^ 31 1-

Curling*s <H.) Ramble along the Old
Kentish Road from Canterbury to Lon-
don, 111.266.

Culhbcn Bcde's Reverie of Love, 110;
The Water-Lily. 114 ; Praises of Co-
luQDs, 639.

Danish Seaman's Song, 640.

Dilficulties in a Tour to Wiesbaden, by

the Author of *^Pnddiana." 185,
D'lsraeli (The bte Isaac) and the Geniua

of Judauni, 219.
DoDtzeilJ (Gaeiaoo). 537.

4*e

TW m Fi

ir' . tw ." units V t^L

•:.ifTt:ajin .art Ubt "Sa a.<reic ■ j=^rsB
n ZiiUJi. If I". * - C. ZtyMc L

^DtCET^ Till terse =--u i^irfu ic Rnsb

r->- *"".

:»fr«'

-risaed .:UH :t C. A. M.

I* -i -.■ ■■--• i*i= ti- . tT C- \. M. W„

Lbekv GnaET -1^*. W

«.'
Kir^Oi C*ii2r* Tc«-ss tAf Tx-::* o
tTLStx. v.. !*'* . P:p* ■-_:» tae L>Ltr:-

)ffcflux^j» Hja tad Fl: :<^. ty ::.e
.% cruj u - n* Hezsix ii B^^x '

Amv Jliimcr; or, D^'zifcx is 1^^^.

yitautn uic Aaceooaa of tac EJriiee:.:!

K^oerssek Pr.a»'. 431.

Uriu AL^Tvi AKfTKsi Pooa; a Tak .:
•-*« liiir^aa, b» 3Ji». Fr»nk Elliot.

jr.

Napc!eco (TV T«o Foamls oO, by R>

ber: Posuos, '270,
\ev Veu-'i E«e. from the GermAS oi

Richter. by H. J. Whiiliog, 73.
Xotts of an Ki-^rfioD frotn Ltsboo u>

Aii4alu*i«. «o<l to lh« Toasf of !Uon>c-

co, by Prince Lvwetuteio, 568.

OH ! Iliat luch bliu were mine ! by

Cvilhbert Hcdc, HU.
Oia MaD (The) and hit GuesU. by H. J.

WhilUng. 202.
Old Man'» (An) RecollectioDi of Oie

Pastoral CantoDsofSwiticilaQd, edited

by Mrs, Percy Siniiclt,25, 3(>6.

Pan ; or. Scenes aod Advcotares oa the
DaDUofthu AmazoQ, by J.£. Warren,
17, 169. 239. 347. 48i.

Pipe (A) with llm Dulchmeo, by J> Mar-
vel. 226. 417.

Politician (Chapters id the Life of an
Old). 515.

I'ustaos' (R'iberl) Two Funerali of Na-
EKileon. 270; Kattery Browo; or, Tbe
Privateer's CarouwJ, 575.

Postman (The), by 11. R. Addison, 2D1.

Praises C^he) of CuIoqo?, hy Cutliberl
Bede, 639.

Ramble (A) aloog the Old Kentish Road
from Canlerhury to I^odon, by Henry
Curling, 111,264,

Battery Urown ; or, I'Ue Privateer's Ca-
rousal, by Robert Posians, 575.

Republican Club.i in Paris (-4pri/, 1848),
by the Flineur in Pans, 605.

Republican Manners, by the FI&Deiu in
Pans. 542.

Return of the Birds (The), by Alfred
Crowqaill, 374.

Reverie of Love, by Cuthbert ReJe, 1 10.

Kippio^lle*s(C V.) Hospital of the San
Suiritoat Rome. A Narrative of Facta,
477.

Romer*s (Mrs.) King Mob, 325.

RoBs's (MisK Thomasiaaj Memoir of
Beethoven, 115.

8.
St. George and the Drajioo. The True

Tate, divested of its Traditiunal Filts

(n good VM^) from the German, by

Percy Crailuhanit, 311.
SL John's (J. A.) (juvcmmenl Plan for

the Defence of tlic Country, B9*
Savtlo's(Hon. C. S.) Journey from Shi-

nti to the Persian Gulf, 595.
Search after Truth (The), by Alfred

Crowquill, 9.
Sbakspeare Dirth-lmuse (Hoax of the)

and Relic Trade at SlraironJ-oo-.Avoo,

by a Warwicltshire Man, 279.
Shaw*s Cl'homas) Kinljali, the Bulgarian

Bandit, frum the Russian of Puslikio,

337.
She'i goDO to Bath, by <ireeusleevet,605.

Sbiraz (.lourney from) to the Persian
Gulf, bv the Hon. C. 8. Savilc, 696.

Sinnetl's (Mrs.) Old Man'ti Rc<-ulleeUuDft
nf the Pastoral Cantons of Switzerland,
25, 366 ; Fete Cbanipttre at ConsUQ-
tioople, 121 -J Chrislmaa Festivities at
Rome, 247 ; Literary Statistics of
France. 466 , Gossip from Paris, 634.

Sir Magnui and the Sea- Witch, by E. K.,
246.

Smith's (Sir Sidney) Career of, 74.

Switzerland (Summer Sketches in), by
MisB Coatcllo, 160.268.

TayWs (Dr. W. C.) Lord Hardioge, and

the recent Victories in India. 1. Ori-
gin of the Storv of Bluu Beard, 136;
The late Isaac D'lsrarli, E^., and the
Genius of Judaism, 219.

The earth lay dreaming, by Cuthbert
Beile, 114.

The golden Julian mom was gleaming,
by K. Keneaty, SB.

There stood in ancient times, 32L

They return, they return, with their plum-
age so gay, by Alficd Crowquill, 374.

Three Nuns (Hie), by Alfred Crowquill,
44B.

Two Pigs (The), a Swinish Colloquy, by
W. E. Burton, 216.

Visit (A) to the«MIauDls"of a Poetess,
by the Author of ^ Paddiana," 102.

Visits, Utnners, and Kvenin^at the (juai
D'Orsay. and at Neuiliy, 297.

VV.

Ward's (James) France and her National

Assemblies, 615.
Warien's (J. £.) Para; or, Scenes and

Adventures on the Banks of the Ama-

lon, 17, 159,239,347, 484.
Water-l.ily (Ihe), hy Cuthbert Bede, 1 U.
Welcome, sweet May ! 514.
What can Sorrow do ? by C. A. M. VV.,

191.
Wh.it is a Sighr 634.
What Tom Pringle did with a £100 Note,

167.
Whiichead*ft (Charles) Aliwal and Sir

lUrry Siiiilh,317.
W hilling's (H. J.) New Year's Eve, from

the German of Richter, 73 ; Old Man

and his Guests, 203.
Wreck of the Archduke Charles (Narra-
tive of the), by a Naval Otficer, 392.

Yankee (The) amongst the Mennuids. A
Yarn, by a Ca|>c Coddcr, 303.

B.S'D OP TUE TWBSTY-TUIBO VOl^UMB,

uindon:

Printrd hy s. & J. bbnti.ev, 1I'U.90n, and flbv,

Bangivr Hoiue, Sboe Laae.

Hueiiiiiiiin

3 bias DIS 2'\l M*)!

OATEDUi 1

STANFORD UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES
STANFORD, CALIFORNIA 94305-6004

Internet Archive Audio

Featured

Top

Images

Featured

Top

Software

Featured

Top

Books

Featured

Top

Video

Featured

Top

Mobile Apps

Browser Extensions

Archive-It Subscription

Save Page Now

Full text of "Bentley's miscellany"

See other formats